"Yes." Amusement lit his expression, and she lowered her gaze. Doubting him left her plagued with guilt. She felt adulterous herself, guilty she'd been harboring sordid uncertainties.
Franz had finished with the cows and carried the buckets out of the barn. Jakob forked hay from the loft down the chute into the troughs and closed the horses in their stalls, and then his hot gaze returned to her. Silence ensued, swallowing the space between them. Jakob faced her, feet apart, and regarded her with steely-bright eyes.
Quick-springing expectancy soared through Lydia's veins, gaining momentum when he stepped toward her.
He caught her around the waist and pulled her against his hard body. "I missed you."
Three words! Three words made the difference between night and day. Between misery and ecstasy. Jakob buried his face in her hair. Running his hands up her arms, he bracketed her jaws, pulling her face up to his.
No wonder the animals stood docile beneath his attention. He was tall and magnificent, and his touch was incredibly exhilarating. His body radiated the warmth of the afternoon sun. He'd missed her. "I missed you, too."
Her confession came easily after his. Her hands, uncertain as always, fluttered in the air by his hips. Before she could decide what to do with them, he stepped back and smiled at her. "I'm hungry."
She wanted him to fold her into himself and hold her in his goodness forever. Hiding her disappointment that he hadn't kissed her, she returned his smile and ran to prepare him a meal, pleased that the other women were elsewhere. She sliced bread, fried sausage and warmed biscuits left from breakfast. Just as she held eggs over a skillet, Jakob treaded through the back door, his arms laden with packages wrapped in brown paper and newsprint. He steadied the pile and sat it on the table.
She stared. "What are those?"
"Your presents," he replied matter-of-factly. "Smells good. Is it ready?"
She cracked the eggs into the hot skillet. Never could she recall eggs taking so long to fry. At last she heaped his plate and placed it before him.
He'd washed at the pump, and his sleeves and hair were damp. Taking a buttered slab of bread, he bit into it. "Mmm... Missed this, too," he said around a mouthful. A teasing gleam lit his eyes. "Well?"
She tilted her head.
"Going to open your presents?"
As if he'd fired the starting gun at a race, Lydia plopped down on the bench across from him and picked up the first package. The string was difficult to untie, and impatiently she reached for the bread knife. Inside a red velvet-lined box were a silver thimble and a tiny pair of matching embroidery scissors, sunk in wells of fabric. She touched them cautiously with her index finger before taking them out and holding them in her palm. "Thank you."
He nodded. She read the importance of these offerings in his eyes and sensed instinctively his desire to please her. She opened a box with a hinged lid. Inside nestled a gold-plated signet bracelet. The rolled band opened with a spring and closed snugly around her wrist. The signet top bore a flat heart with curlicues on either side, and her initials engraved in roman script: L on the left, R on the right, and a dominating N in the center.
"Oh, Jakob, this is beautiful." Her eyes filled with guilty tears. Tears of remorse. While she'd unjustly doubted his fidelity, he'd had her initials engraved on a gold bracelet. His fork paused, hovering in the blur of her tears.
"I hope those are happy tears."
I was miserable without you, Jakob. She could only nod.
She unwrapped a soft green belt with a filigree buckle, followed by an ivory fan, and ribbed cotton-and-wool vests and drawers. Pink-faced, Lydia glanced at him.
"You'll thank me this winter, when you see how cold it is on the way to church."
Three pairs of black cotton stockings were next, with elastic tops and ankles. Fabrics followed. Lydia ran her fingers over various textures of fancy figured flannelettes, fine cambric percale, dark red chambray, slick black sateen, heavy German calico, white shimmer crepe de chine and bleached table damasks. Mentally planning Jakob a dark red chambray shirt and herself a white crepe blouse, Lydia discovered a royal blue fabric at the bottom of the package.
She slid it out, unrolled it and ran her hands across the cool satin. On a spring morning only months ago, she'd wistfully imagined a dress made out of material like this. A dream. A fantasy she'd conjured up to relieve the boredom and monotony of colony life. So much had changed since then. So many dreams had come true. Life here was far from boring. Her reality was bewildering. Exhausting and sometimes painful, but never boring. "Oh, Jakob."
Jakob drank in her wholesome candor, sharing her lingering smile. He was glad to be home, glad to be near her. Though he was hard-pressed to know just how to work out the physical aspect of their marriage, he'd determined to try.
"I can sew now."
He was paying attention to the delicate bow of her upper lip when the import of her words sunk in. "Now? You can sew now?"
"Yes! Charlotte and Annette taught me. Emily too. We are friends." A length of string wrapped around her thumb, forgotten, the end trailing across the tabletop.
Why hadn't he realized she couldn't sew? How thoughtless of him to purchase material she had no idea what to do with. He'd wondered why she hadn't made herself dresses. "Why didn't you tell me you didn't know how to sew when I bought the first fabric?"
Dark eyes scanned his face. I was afraid you'd regret marrying me. "You did not ask."
He grinned. "I didn't, did I? Could you tell me things sometimes, even if I don't ask?"
She whisked his plate away and replaced it with a cup of steaming coffee. Her weaknesses far outnumbered her strengths. It wouldn't be easy to share them. "I'll try."
The uncertainty in her reply troubled him. He'd been so starchy and headstrong that she'd been afraid to tell him she couldn't make dresses. No doubt there were other things she hadn't voiced. He'd have to assure her he hadn't married her for her domestic skills.
But hadn't he? At one time he had considered the help she'd be around the farm. Thinking of the help Lydia would be to him had been part of his justification for wanting to bring her here. Later he'd told her he didn't care about those things, and he'd meant it.
Lydia sat limply on the wooden bench, surveying the pile of new belongings. She raised her eyes to his. "Why did you spend your hard-earned money on gifts for me?"
Jakob looked at his coffee mug. Why? Because he'd spent every waking hour for the past six weeks thinking of her and wanting to please her more than anything. Because he hadn't done a very good job of offering himself to her. Because he wanted to start over again and do it right. "I wanted to. I promised to be a good husband and provide for you."
He rose from the bench and walked around the end of the table, seating his hip next to hers, his body facing the other way. He took her chin in his fingers and held her face close to his. Lydia's heart do-si-doed inside her rib cage. His fingers on her chin were hard and callused, like she remembered. It pleased him to give her these things. How could it be sinful to feel pampered and cosseted on such an occasion? It pleased her immeasurably to think of him shopping for her. "Thank you, Jakob."
"Bitte, schon weib." His lips touched hers gently, and she tasted coffee. His hand slid from her chin into the hair at the back of her neck, his mouth widening over hers.
She forgot the dishes in the sink and the wagonful of supplies as he kissed her with disturbing reverence. The kiss had been conceived during long, empty nights over the past weeks, and was born now as she rediscovered her emotional thirst. Her heart caught in her throat, hindered her breathing. Oh, how she had missed him.
"Ah, Lydia." He breathed her name against her ear, fluttering wisps of hair. He took her shoulders and held her at arm's length. "I have to unload the wagon."
"May I help?"
"Come on." With childlike enthusiasm, they scampered outdoors.
How he had packed it all in one wagon, she couldn't fathom. Barrels of nails, doors and windows, a
stove, lamps, lanterns, paint, plaster, wire, tools, rope, a pump, an enamel sink, a steel bathtub, hinges and doorknobs and bits and bridles burdened the wagon.
Perspiration dotting his forehead, he handed her the last package. Inside was a woven jacquard lap robe with a heavy knotted fringe. "You'll thank me this winter."
"I'll thank you now." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his damp cheek. His face pinkened considerably, and she doubted it was from the sun or the exertion. Lydia took secret satisfaction from the knowledge that he wasn't immune to her aggressive show of affection.
She discovered a cache under the wagon seat. A dozen bars of soap, ranging from oatmeal to clear glycerin and buttermilk. She smiled. She had a husband who bought soap rather than using homemade lye. The more she learned about him, the more she... loved him?
Dinner was a celebration, everyone caught up in having the family once again complete. Jakob's steady, familiar voice asked the blessing, and he squeezed Lydia's hand.
By midafternoon, it was obvious that lack of sleep had taken its toll on him. His face was drawn and dark, and his buoyant mood diminished. He barely ate any supper, a sure sign of exhaustion.
Lydia touched his wrist with her fingertips while the others enjoyed dessert. "Why don't you go up and lie down? You're worn out."
Jakob half smiled. "You don't mind?"
"Of course not. Rest."
He closed his fingers over hers on his wrist. "Will you check the horses for me?"
"Yes." Pleased that he trusted her with the chore, she dropped her gaze to his fingers. Almost regretfully, he pulled his hand back, bade the family good-night and with one backward glance at his wife, climbed the stairs.
Later that evening, Lydia found the massive pair of horses resting in their stalls. She spoke soothingly and offered them each an apple. They munched placidly, sniffing the front of her apron. She scraped their massive foreheads with her fingertips, as she'd seen Jakob do, sensing that it would be a familiar gesture.
The magnificent pair was a symbol of Jakob's desire for independence. He was weaning himself and Lydia from the extended family, preparing for the day they moved into their own home. The step was easily recognizable as part of his plan for them, the one he'd spoken of so wistfully.
Low voices floated through the front parlor on her way past. The lantern cast a swinging shadow across the stairway walls. In their room, she rested it on the washstand. Discreetly checking to make certain Jakob was indeed asleep, she slipped out of her undergarments, bathed her body and dressed in her thin cotton nightdress. Perching on the bed's edge, she studied her husband in the glow from the lantern, reassuring herself with his presence.
He slept on his back, one hand on the sheet at his hip, the other in a loose fist on her pillow. She had never seen him asleep. His muscled arms and shoulders were bronzed from hours of work in the hot sun. The broad expanse of his chest was unmistakably disconcerting, the fuzzy hair golden in the lantern's glow. She wanted to delve her fingers in and ruffle it, feel the texture of his bronze skin beneath her fingertips.
His weary face was relaxed, his breathing even and his eyelids appeared to flutter in slumber. The taut skin over his cheekbones seemed kissed by the summer sun. If he woke at this moment, he would see desire in her eyes. Maybe he would take her chin in his fingers and pull her face to his. Maybe he would make up for every day they'd been apart.
It was perhaps unfair, yet it was gratifying, to postpone blowing out the lantern so that she could relish the fact that he was lying in this bed again. She took his hand from her pillow and held it a minute longer than necessary before laying it at his side.
He was home. For tonight, it was enough.
Though he slept soundly and was unaware of her, his solid presence comforted Lydia. More than that, it was a joy. She'd longed for this night. Her chest filled with an ardent, all-consuming tenderness for this husband who'd worked weeks in the blistering sun to bring her gifts and buy materials for a house. Their house.
Today he had reminded her of the promises he'd made months ago in Accord. He had promised to be a good husband, to provide for her, to see that she never regretted her decision and...
He'd pledged faithfulness.
She reached her hand toward him, then withdrew. Overcoming her hesitancy, she slid a single finger over his wide forehead and his tawny brow, down his long nose and across his full upper lip. His lips parted, and his hand returned to her pillow. She picked it up and laid her palm against his, comparing. His hand was considerably larger, work-hardened, with a sprinkling of golden hair on the back.
She remembered his fear that she would find him unacceptable. Never! He was strong and tender, outlandish and beautiful. He had taught her how to laugh and enjoy life. How ironic that she was the unacceptable partner. If she woke him now, he might pull her beneath him in the lamplight, might stroke her with callused palms, might plant his seed within her—
If only Lydia knew how she displeased him. She tried her best to talk and dress like the women he was familiar with. She would try harder, and offer encouragement for his touch.
Without disturbing him, she tiptoed to the oil lamp and blew. It guttered, spat and went out, the smell of the wick threading a trail across the darkened room. She lay down, and Jakob turned, fitting his long body against hers. She could willingly lend encouragement. The thought provoked quavery delight. She found his hand and held it to her breast until sleep took her.
Jakob placed his fiddle case under the seat of his new springboard and leaned against one of the wheels, whistling. From his jeans pocket, he withdrew the watch he'd bought in Williamsport and flipped it open.
The rest of the family had gone ahead a half-hour ago. With his own rig now, he was staying behind to wait for Lydia. How unlike her to take so long getting ready. He didn't want to be late for the dance at the Karssens'.
What was she doing, anyway? He was idly rechecking the harnesses when the front door closed and she stepped off the porch. A flattering green dress with a snowy-white tucked and embroidered bodice emphasized her full breasts and narrow waist. He stared for a full minute after she reached the wagon and stood waiting for his assistance.
The green kid belt he'd given her drew attention to the soft curve of her hips below. His body responded immediately. The dress was a far cry from the uncomplimentary grays and dark blues she normally wore. In those drab dresses, behind the concealment of her starched and prim white aprons, she was lovely. But in this dress...
Lydia was breathtaking.
Beneath a matching bonnet with white eyelet trim, her hair hung in glistening dark ringlets past her shoulders.
"You're beautiful," he said at last.
"Thank you." Her cheeks pinkened. She reached both gloved hands toward him and brought him to his senses.
"Oh, here." He spanned her waist with his hands, lifting her into the wagon. A perfectly gentlemanlike thing to do, but he was no gentleman. Climbing up beside her, he adjusted his dun-colored hat on his head, and gave her sidelong looks from beneath its brim, thinking of the heavenly body beneath the dress. And he'd been so exhausted the night before. She'd lain right there beside him during the night, and he'd slept through it.
Not tonight. Her subtle lavender fragrance incited his senses. Not tonight.
Lydia was easily coaxed onto the sawdust-sprinkled dance floor. Jakob taught her a few new steps, feeling desire and anticipation flowing between them. Every dance, every comment, was an opportunity to touch her. He watched her devotedly during his turn on the musicians' platform. Lydia danced with Johann and deliberately stayed clear of Anton.
As usual, the heat in Jakob's corner was oppressive. After ten o'clock he walked outdoors to clear his head. Returning from the outhouse, he saw Lydia framed against the open doorway. His breath caught.
Slowly walking toward him, Lydia used her new white fan, which proudly lifted her hair from her face with each arc, the tiny silver spangles on the edge of the fan shimmering in the moonli
ght. She looked like any other young woman he'd seen in the cities and the community, except she was more lovely. For a fleeting moment, Jakob wondered if she could lose her unique identity and blend right in with the others.
Her speech reassured him it was impossible.
"Darf ich bitten? Das ist fur Sie." She extended a pint jar of lemonade.
"Danke." He accepted the jar. "What did you ask?"
"If you'd like to dance."
"It's hot in there. I drank a couple of beers, and I need to clear my head."
"You promised you were a sober man, Jakob."
Jakob jerked his gaze up. She fanned her lifted chin furiously and gave him a look that on any other woman would have been considered coy. She was teasing him. He laughed sheepishly.
"Come. Walk with you I will," she offered.
He drained his glass, and she slipped her arm through the crook of his. They strolled the Karssens' long drive, enjoying the breeze whispering to the leaves in the treetops. Cicadas chorused from tall grasses on either side, growing louder as they reached a grove of fruit trees.
They continued along the roadway. The unmistakable earth-smell of tomatoes wafted on the summer air. "Feeling better?"
"Um-hmm..." was his noncommittal reply. "What did you do while I was gone?"
"Your papa taught me a card game. I wish I could have known your mother."
"Yes, well, she was..."
"Schon."
"Beautiful. He told you that."
"It seems you Neubauer men place quite an importance on the physical attributes of your wives."
He shrugged. "We're just appreciative."
"Perhaps you're flatterers and bull-throwers."
"Bull-throwers?" Jakob chortled. "Where'd you pick up that one?"
"Anton."
"I should have known. I wonder if it was safe to leave you alone with my family for six weeks. Gambling and cursing! What other transgressions did they lead you into?"
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 18