"Nein, I—"
"Is he a man who makes impulsive decisions and then later regrets them?"
"Grandmother, I know what you're trying to do."
"Have you considered the possibility that Herr Neubauer was attracted to you for the very reasons you think he regrets marrying you for? My guess is he's the envy of every man who knows him. What man wouldn't enjoy the opportunity to teach a wife to do things the way it pleases him?"
"But I don't please him. There is a feeling I get... something I sense... that he's uneasy. Uncomfortable with our relationship."
"Comfortable doesn't come for years and years, child, and you wouldn't want it to. All newly married couples have things they must work out, even if they come from the same background and faith."
"Did you and Grandfather?"
"Goodness, yes! But I wouldn't have traded one of those differences for anything."
Lydia smoothed her new green skirt over her knees. How could she express the fears and inadequacies plaguing her? How could she say her husband's touch stripped her of thought and reason—that, in fact, she craved it? As long as she could remember, she'd lived with the elusive feeling that something was missing in her life. She'd been determined to change that by marrying Jakob and fulfilling that need. Yet the yearning remained. Still just out of reach was the answer for which she couldn't formulate the right question. That feeling was still the same.
Grandmother patted her hand. "What, Lydia? What can make a flower such as you unhappy?"
"Grandmother... is lying together for reasons other than... creating a child... a sin?"
"Foolish girl. God created a woman for Adam when he was alone in the garden."
" 'The pleasures of the flesh are—' "
"You're going to quote Scripture to me?" Paper-thin eyelids closed for a long moment, as if she were searching for the answer inside, before flying open again. "He pleases you? Is that what the torment is over?"
Lydia felt herself blush, and her grandmother's voice grew stronger.
"I've never spoken a word against your father, but there is a limit to how much I can see and not speak the truth. This... fanaticism he's developed over the years is not healthy for any of you children.
"Why do you think we left New Harmony in the first place? They had done away with marriage! Father Rapp said we couldn't marry, and Matthaus knew marriage was a part of God's plan. Think of it. Think of how perfectly your bodies fit one another. Didn't God create us in a most miraculous way?"
"I have thought that," Lydia agreed.
"It's as natural to take a man to your body as it is a baby to your breast. Your grandfather and I were married because we loved one another. What we shared will only be bested by the rewards awaiting us in heaven... and I cannot wait to see him there." Her chin trembled. "Why did you go? Why did you leave, Lydia, if you're not going to change? Do you think Jakob will love you because you wear that green dress and have butchered your hair?"
Lydia's mouth fell open in indignation. She had changed. She wasn't the same wistful girl Jakob Neubauer had flirted with over coffee in the bakery. She'd had enough courage to make the daring decision to leave her home and become his wife. She had changed, hadn't she?
Lydia wrestled with her grandmother's words. Was she right? Had she changed or not? "Just because I wish something does not mean it is God's will."
"The same goes for your father. Just because he wishes something doesn't make it God's will. Do you remember when I told you to follow your heart? God is in there, guiding you."
Lydia's brow furrowed in thought. If Grandmother was right—Lydia might dare to hope to enjoy all the aspects of her life with Jakob.
The time passed rapidly, and before she realized it, she had to bid her grandmother goodbye. She brushed the soft, dry cheek with her lips and held her bony hand until the last moment. Tight-throated, she gazed at her grandmother's beloved face. The tenderness she'd always seen was evident, yet there was something more. A resignation. A fulfillment.
"I'll die happy knowing you love him, Lydia Rose."
Lydia spread her hands on the quilt she'd once thought her heritage. A bolt of grief slammed through her, and her chest constricted. She should be here, spending these precious last days and hours with Grandmother. The inevitability of her death didn't make it any easier to deal with. It was unfair that Lydia wasn't free to sit here all day and all night if she wanted. She choked back a sob and hugged her grandmother goodbye.
As she rode home, the afternoon sun, high and hot, baked her through her layers of clothing. When she came to the stream, she was sorely tempted to dismount and cool her hands and face in the refreshing water, but she sat her saddle and allowed Freida to dip her nose in the water for a drink.
God had sent Jakob to save her from the fire for a second chance. Her Jakob was not the serpent in disguise. He was a Godly man. To think otherwise was impossible.
She watched intently, and the landmarks guided her return trip. At the fork that marked the last trail, Freida lifted her tail and ears, and it was all Lydia could do to keep the horse from taking off at a dead run once they reached the main road running past the farm. At the end of the drive, she gave up and simply hung on.
Exhausted from the day's heat, the long ride and her own turbulent emotions, she wiped the animal down with fistfuls of hay and walked her around the corral the way Jakob had shown her. Jakob. The chore evoked memories of the day she'd been stung and the deliberate way he'd forestalled climbing the stairs and tending her bites. Lydia used the curry brush, measured food and water and dried and hung the saddle and tack. For the first time she wondered if he was as ashamed to admit his feelings as she. That first night—that very first night, he'd expressed his inadequacy....
"How was your ride?" Annette was taking in laundry.
"Exhausting. Do I have time for a bath before supper? I smell like a horse."
"Go freshen up. I can't wait to hear about your visit."
That night Lydia blew out the lantern and tried not to listen to the raised voices drifting up from the darkness in the yard below. Why did Emily and Anton waste precious time arguing? She would be content just to have Jakob near. She lay atop the lofty bed, the now-familiar longing engulfing her. An insoluble knot of yearning ached in the hollow of her breast.
Lydia pulled Jakob's pillow over her head. She lay on her side and drew herself up into the tiniest ball she could manage, wrapping her arms around her knees, her nose pressed into the nightdress covering them.
Lydia pictured Jakob, remembered his supple form as she'd glimpsed it the morning after they were married. The memory glided through her body, squirmed, swelled, ignited her longing for him.
The afternoon they'd gone riding was vivid in her mental register of disturbing encounters. The feel of his silky hair against her flesh, his rough cheek stroking her breasts. She'd felt... worshiped.
And then, as always, he'd withdrawn. Had he been shocked at her compliance, as she'd thought, or was there perhaps some encouragement she'd neglected to offer? In her ignorance, had she committed an offense? Somehow, Lord help her, she didn't find their intimacy as objectionable as he did. Jakob. Oh, Jakob. She squeezed her eyes shut and her thighs together, hoping to escape the overwhelming burden. She prayed for strength and guidance—and sleep.
Emily glanced up from hanging her freshly laundered under-things on the clothesline. Picking up the empty basket, she made her way to the house. In the kitchen, Lydia and Annette were discussing Jakob's return. Lydia sounded as excited a child anticipating her birthday. Annette left in search of jars in which to put up her berries.
"When will he be home?" Emily asked.
Lydia pressed butter into wooden molds. "He left the bridge site yesterday, and he will be in Williamsport for a day or two, then in Pittsburgh a day. That should make it about Saturday."
With a swoosh of her blue damask skirts, Emily dropped into a chair and selected a sugar cookie from the plate in the center of the table
. "I confess I've never let Anton go."
Lydia looked up. "You did not allow him?"
Emily shook her head.
"You said he should not go and so stayed here?"
"It bothers me that there are women in the cities who can be bought." She gave Lydia a deliberate look. "Women who make it their job to know ways to please a man. Anton and I have enough things to work through without that temptation."
Lydia's hands stopped shaping the yellow butter and dangled lifelessly over the half-full mold. "Do you mean harlots?"
"Nicer name than some I've heard." Emily rose and picked up Nikolaus's clothing from where she'd dropped it after a particularly messy breakfast.
"But that is adultery. Anton would never—"
Emily was still hurt from her argument with Anton the night before. "Honey, don't say 'never' when you're talking about a man. They all sample the wares." And Emily knew better than most. She'd lived in the rear of a brothel most of her formative years. She'd learned exactly what went on. She knew the so-called 'respectable' patrons. Why, she was even aware of the going rates. "How do you think the profession manages to flourish?"
Lydia resumed her task. "I don't believe Anton would do such a thing and I am certain Jakob would not. He is an honorable man."
"How do men know what to do when the time comes—on their wedding night? I'm not naive enough to think there wasn't someone before me when I married Anton. I'm not saying Jakob is the same. Maybe he's not."
She stood and pressed her fist into her lower back. Already the pull of her abdominal muscles had given her an unbearable backache. She wished Anton would care enough to rub away her misery with his big, work-worn hands. She was weary of the strain between them. Sometimes she just wanted to cry. Or scream. Or run away—but where would she go?
But no, she wouldn't do any of those things. Her head ached and she rubbed her temples. She hadn't cried since she'd been nine and her mother pulled away in a fancy carriage belonging to one of her string of 'friends.' Oh, yes, Emily knew what paid women in the cities did for men.
A sense of unworthiness had filled her that autumn afternoon as dry leaves crackled under the wagon wheels. The vehicle had pulled away from Savannah Stockwell's, and she'd retreated to the two bleak rooms she'd shared with her mother.
Born of her shame had been a determination to get as far away from the dreadful city as she could, never again to be the kid nobody wanted. Citizens had looked down their sanctimonious noses with disdain; classmates had treated her with contempt. Pious church ladies had pointed fingers and called her names. But far worse had been the occasional adult who looked at her with pity, as if she were a starving kitten to be put out of its misery.
Aloof, and too wrapped up in herself and her callers to bother with a troublesome child, her mother had driven Emily, the only person who ever truly cared for her, away. A mother should love her child.
At fourteen she'd run away, found a job in a mill and rented a room. For three years she'd worked and saved, until someone had recognized her and she'd moved to another city and started over. Two years later she'd been working as an assistant to a steel mill worker's wife when she'd again been recognized and fired. She'd known then that she had to get as far away as possible. But she never cried.
A week later she'd seen Anton's article in the Pittsburgh Gazette. After a sleepless night, she posted a letter. A week later, his response came, along with money to buy whatever she needed. She didn't need much, but she spent it anyway, on dresses, jewelry and hats—enough to make her look respectable.
Anton showed up at the boarding house and took her to dinner. He was handsome, polite, and he was her ticket out of town. She didn't want to linger and risk having him talk to people at the boarding house or chance upon someone who knew her mother. She cast aside his suggestions that they get to know one another better. After taking care of last-minute business, they were married the following day, spending their first night together on a train.
Lydia was studying her closely now. She hadn't meant to plant seeds of doubt in the girl's head or reveal so much about herself. She was just tired.
Emily glanced at Nikolaus, who was sleeping soundly in his small crib in a corner of the kitchen. Anton was crazy about the child. She'd vowed any children of hers would be acknowledged, provided for and loved by their father. She couldn't ask for a better father for her son.
She stepped to the window and watched Annette carrying a basket across the yard. Franz had married her because he loved her, not because he wanted children and no one else was available. They had no children, yet he adored her.
And Lydia. Jakob had fallen all over himself when he'd met her. Emily wanted love like that for herself. After a childhood of loneliness and persecution, she wanted more. She wanted better.
Anton had brought Emily to his home, their marriage certificate tucked in his bag, and right away she'd known this was a place she could feel safe.
After living with the family for a time, she appreciated this life more than ever. She trusted Anton—and sometimes she thought she loved him. But she wasn't sure the feelings were mutual.
Chapter 16
None of Lydia's chores held her attention, and she found herself repeating tasks. At meals she picked at her food, finding the empty space between her and Johann cavernous. At night she lay awake in bed—Jakob's bed—her thoughts rife with doubt and self-doubt.
Each time she pictured him, his expression the day she'd cut her hair superimposed itself over the face she wanted to remember. Grievous disappointment. Curious vulnerability. And something else she couldn't pinpoint...
She'd sensed it since the morning after that first time, after she understood the act of becoming one flesh. If only she'd known what was expected of her. If only she'd been able to sew pretty dresses and wear them before he left. If only...
None of that mattered now. Jakob was honorable. He would not lie with a harlot, no matter how dissatisfied he was with his wife.
Saturday morning she told herself the same thing while milking. A warm liquid stream hit the back of her hand and splashed up onto her nose. She jerked in surprise.
"What's the matter? Suck a lemon for breakfast?"
She returned Franz's grin and dabbed at her nose with her sleeve. "Just thinking."
"Wonderin' where that brother of mine is?"
"Which one?"
He laughed. "We know where Anton is. He's still in the doghouse. I mean Jake."
"I didn't know Jessie had a house. Whatever is Anton doing in it?"
Franz laughed heartily. "In the doghouse means he's still in trouble with Emily after that fight at the barn dance and their argument the other night." He aimed the cow's teat at her with a devilish grin.
She shrieked, and the stream of milk caught her neck and shoulder.
"He's comin'! Jake's comin'!" Johann's call from outside the barn caught her attention.
Lydia set her pail well away from the cow and straightened, automatically tucking in loose hairs. She dried her neck with her apron. "See now? You've got me smelling like a cow!"
Behind her Franz laughed.
Up the incline toward the barn rumbled a brand-new springboard, loaded as high as the driver's head and covered with a tarpaulin. Two massive black horses with white blazes pulled the wagon. Perched high on the seat indeed sat Jakob. Lydia's heart smiled in welcome.
The team reached level ground. He reined them in and pulled the brake, his eyes on his wife's face. Hesitantly Lydia moved to the side of the wagon. Would he be glad to see her? If he didn't acknowledge her properly, she would die.
Jakob leapt from the seat, sweeping his hat from his head. His fair hair shone gold in the morning sun, the breeze catching it like tassels in a cornfield. He needed a haircut. His face and neck were darker than ever, burnished the color of teak by the sun. He removed a worn pair of leather gloves and stood staring at her.
She was beautiful. Just as he remembered. A rosy blush complemented her fai
r skin, and beguiling tendrils of dark hair lay against her neck and temples. Lydia. She was tantalizing, even in her day dress, with perspiration glowing on her cheeks. He'd wanted to bring the world home for her, buy her a lifetime of happiness and wrap it with himself. He'd been an emotional washout since before he left. Now he was going to fix that.
With sudden haste, he pulled her against him and held her head near the steady beating of his heart. God, she felt good. She was strong and warm, smelling faintly of bread and—cows? Releasing her, he turned to his waiting father and slapped him on the back.
Johann hugged him in return. "You're home sooner than we thought."
"Yeah. I got my shopping done and left without sleepin' last night."
Unconsciously Lydia caught the sleeve of his jacket, her wide eyes on the mysterious covered load on the wagon. At the slight tug on his wrist, Jakob turned. "Help me."
She was quick to assist him in removing his jacket, eager for his touch, no matter how insignificant. He unstrapped his leather holster, laid it and the gun under the wagon seat and gestured proudly toward the pair of ebony horses. Their coats glistened with sweat in the sun. "What do you think?"
"Where did you get them?"
"A ranch this side of Pittsburgh. Blaze and Carolina." The horses' ears pricked up at the sound of their names. "Aren't they beauties?"
The muscles beneath the shirt on his broad back undulated as he unharnessed the team, speaking softly to them, running his hands over their necks and flanks. He wore an unfamiliar pair of black suspenders crisscrossed over the damp, wrinkled white fabric of his shirt. Being so close and not touching him was like drowning. Lydia wanted to run her hands over him the way he did with the horses. He reached under Carolina's belly, and his shoulders pulled the material of his shirt taut. The thought of another woman touching him sliced her heart into ragged shreds. "May I walk her?"
He turned, squinting into the sun, and her tortured heart skipped a beat. "Sure."
Together they walked the pair around the barn and corral, leading them into the shelter of the shady building. Lydia brought fistfuls of hay and wiped the animals down while Jakob poured feed and water. The anxiety she'd been repressing for two days bubbled near the surface. "You were shopping, then?"
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 17