How dare she pack up her things—not the things he'd given her, but her belongings from the colony—and gallop away. After the life they'd begun, the meaningful days and nights, how could she believe he'd slept with his brother's wife? Didn't she know him? Didn't she have faith in his honor, his honesty? Why would she imagine that he would even look at another woman? He'd never given her cause to doubt him. He'd bought her all the things he wanted her to have and enjoy—material things, sure, but they proved his thoughts were of her.
He was building a house for her. That showed he was a husband who wanted to provide for her, a husband who wanted them to have a permanent home of their own and children to raise in it.
Jakob lifted agonized eyes to a streak of jagged lightning. The countryside momentarily lit with an eerie gray. Thunder volleyed across the muffled heavens, reminding him of another night months ago in Accord. He and Lydia had stood beneath gas lamps, raindrops sparkling on the stone benches, and the scent of a hundred flowers had assailed them. His throat constricted with fear.
What if he didn't find her? Carolina could have thrown her and she was lying hurt or dying somewhere. The horrible memory of Sylvie's death stirred his fears to a fever pitch. A delicate young woman trampled to her bloody death by a horse. He shuddered.
What if she managed to catch a stage or a train? He'd never find her, never see her again. A heaviness he wouldn't have believed possible weighted his heart. Everything was working against him. Even the weather.
Well, rain wasn't going to stop him. He was going to find her. When he found her, he planned to confront her with each and every question and thought he'd had since leaving the farm. And she'd better come up with some good answers. Only Lydia could decide for herself what kind of man he was, and whether or not they had a future together.
Jakob reined Gunter up in front of Butler's only stable. Dismounting, he led him into the minimal shelter beside the building and rapped on the door. Receiving no answer, he pounded, finally rousing a bare-chested man who hitched up his suspenders and scratched his belly as he peered at Jakob.
"Yeah, I can put him up," he muttered, squinting at Jakob. "Two bits."
Jakob dug in his sodden dungarees for the coins and followed the man, who rolled open the stable door and led him into the fetid-smelling building. A lantern lit their way past rows of stalls.
Spying Carolina, Jakob drew up short. Thank God! "When did this horse get here?"
The man scratched his belly again and thought. "Earlier this evenin'. Lady rode 'er in. Asked me to keep 'er till a Mr. Neubaum came for her."
"Neubauer. That's me."
"That your horse?"
Jakob assured him it was, unnecessarily. Carolina nickered and bobbed her head, and Gunter returned the greeting.
"Where's the lady now?"
"Durned if I know. Paid me, that's all I care."
"Did she say anything that might give you an idea?"
The man eyed Jakob warily. "What d'ya want her for?"
Unbuckling his saddlebags, Jakob steeled his temper and said levelly, "She's my wife."
"Humph." He led Gunter to a stall.
Jakob dug for more coins.
The man closed stubby fingers around them. "Seems to me she asked about catchin' the train to Pittsburgh. Could be that's where she's gone."
Jakob left instructions and dashed out into the rain. He checked the deserted train station. He'd missed the last train by an hour, and there were no further departures posted until the following day. At Butler's one tiny hotel, the manager hadn't seen Lydia or anyone else new for weeks. Jakob checked in and carried his saddlebags to the dismal room.
He draped his wet clothing over a chair and lay on the lumpy bed. The room was as cold and silent as his heart.
Where was Lydia at this moment? Was she on that train? Just the night before, she had lain in his arms, and warmth and security had surrounded them. He thought of the closeness they had shared. He'd shown her physically how much he cared for her, how she filled his heart and mind to completion. Why would she run away now?
Before she'd come into his life, he'd been lonely. He'd only been able to dream of the pleasure a wife of his own would bring.
Now he knew... knew the immeasurable joy of lying beside her each night and the security of waking up beside her every morning. He knew the warm feeling of sharing a secret look over dinner or in church, and the bliss of hearing her speak his name in passion. His throat constricted with fear of never sharing those things again.
He would find her.
He couldn't imagine life without her now. Heavyhearted, Jakob slid from the bed and knelt. He thanked God for the time He'd given them together, and begged for help finding her. He prayed long into the night.
Lightning slashed across the sky. Emily looked out the window and felt sick at heart. Lydia was out there somewhere and it was her doing. She was a stupid foolish person, and she'd brought suffering to good people.
No one had spoken to Emily at supper. She should have tried to explain—should have at least apologized, but none of them cared a hoot about her, anyway. The meal was silent, Jakob and Lydia's empty places awkward reminders.
She'd known as soon as she'd seen the look on Anton's face that she'd gone too far. She had to make him love her some way, but this had been wrong. What had she been thinking when she'd said that to her husband? Sometimes things got fuzzy these days. Time and events seemed to melt into a blur.
Emily rubbed her belly. She'd thought Nikolaus would have been the answer to making Anton love her, but he had only loved his son. At first she'd imagined everything would be different with this baby. Anton would talk with her, rub her back—she would come first. He would want to build a home for the two of them where they would spend winters in front of the fireplace. She would sew him shirts.
Thunder rattled the panes, and Emily glanced out the window into the darkness. But then she'd realized it wasn't going to happen that way. One child hadn't made a difference. Two wouldn't either.
It was her. She was unlovable.
She had no one now that she'd driven away her husband and his family.
Jakob paused in front of a Pittsburgh jeweler's and tugged up the collar of his sheepskin jacket. From under his hat's brim, he gazed into the display window, barely noticing the gold and silver rings. He'd purchased Lydia's wedding ring here months ago. The gold bracelet, too, he'd bought, impulsively, on his way home to her. Lydia.
He turned and examined the busy street. Carriages and wagons rumbled past, horses' hooves clomping on the pavement. Men in three-piece suits strolled alongside saddle-weary drifters. Ladies dressed in elegant bustled fashions carried matching parasols. A yellow one caught his eye, and his heart dared to lift. The woman on the boardwalk slipped her arm through that of a tall gentleman, and tipped her face up. She wasn't Lydia. How foolish of him; she hadn't taken the yellow dress.
How he wished he could share the city with her. Why hadn't he before this? These were things she'd never seen, things she'd wanted to see, and he should have been the one to introduce her to them. Instead, she walked somewhere alone. Ifhe—when he—found her, he'd show her the city.
"Want a paper, mister?"
Jakob glanced down at the freckled face of a youngster and dug into his trousers for a nickel. "Sure. Have you seen a pretty dark-haired lady in a gray dress? She might be wearing a white cap and a gray shawl."
"Nope."
"Thanks anyway." He tipped the lad a penny and took the newspaper, tucking it under his arm as he walked. Five days he'd been looking for her. Five days without the slightest clue as to where she'd gone. Five days of the purest hell he'd ever lived through. He doggedly checked hotels until the proprietors assured him they'd send word if someone fitting her description appeared. He was a regular at the train station, arriving well before each departure and hounding the clerks.
Pittsburgh was a big city. He could have missed her anywhere—if she'd ever arrived. None of the railro
ad employees remembered her from the only train he'd missed that first night. Surely someone would remember her distinctive dress, or the oddity of a woman traveling alone.
That night he lay awake, wondering if he'd gone in the wrong direction. Perhaps he should have backtracked to Butler, scoured the countryside. Finding Carolina in the stable had proved she'd gotten that far. Anything could have happened once she boarded a train.
He'd given himself so much credit for going slow and easy with her. As if it were a sacrifice to patiently win her confidence and attentions. He'd loved every minute of it. He'd felt alive and brimming with sensations for the first time in his life. And the whole time he'd been planting seeds of trust and reassurance, Emily had been sowing seeds of doubt and deceit he hadn't seen coming.
Why would Emily say a thing like that, anyway? It had been plain there was tension between his brother and his wife, but he didn't know anything about it. He tried to imagine what she'd been trying to accomplish by telling Anton the lie. If only he could only find Lydia and talk to her.
Jakob stood in the dark, staring down at the street below. His belly growled, but he didn't have the inclination to take care of it. Food couldn't fill the aching hunger inside him. Only Lydia could. One more day. He'd search Pittsburgh once more, and then he'd go home.
"You're a wonder!"
Lydia rolled piecrusts with the rapid efficiency born of years of practice and glanced up at the woman who spoke to her. "Ma'am?"
"You make that look so easy. I've never seen a body since my grandmother who could roll pastries like you do. Our breakfast crowd has doubled since you've been here." Florence Allgood ran Butler's only boarding house and one of its two eateries. She was big and buxom, and a heart of pure gold beat within that ample bosom.
Lydia gave her a demure smile. "I think you're exaggerating."
"Well, it's not exaggerating to wonder how you can work from the crack of dawn to the setting sun without any time for yourself in between." Mrs. Allgood grabbed an iron kettle from a hook over the stove and pumped water into it.
"I'm used to hard work." Lydia shaped crusts into a row of pie plates. In Accord she'd worked the same hours with as little pleasure. She was accustomed to the role. It was one she fit into easily. When she'd discovered her money wasn't enough to buy train fare and a place to stay, she'd had to think fast to come up with a plan. The first establishment hadn't been interested, but Mrs. Allgood had remembered her from church and welcomed her without question. Lydia was grateful for the position and the room.
"You can always stay, you know. You don't have to go all the way to Pittsburgh for a job. You'd be safer, too."
"Thank you, but I must go after I've earned the money."
"Won't be long, the way you work."
Lydia nodded and grabbed hot pads. Carrying a kettle of pie filling to the table, she stirred it, reflecting. A hundred times she'd thought about going back to the farm. About confronting Jakob. She hadn't even waited for him to tell his side of the story. Maybe he'd made a mistake and repented. Everyone deserved forgiveness.
Sooner or later in the small community, Jakob would learn where she was. Lydia ladled apple filling into the crusts and mindlessly wove cinnamon-and-sugar-sprinkled strips of dough over the tops in an intricate pattern. She would have to face him then.
She stood up from placing them in the oven, and a wave of dizziness caught her by surprise. She steadied herself against the worktable.
"Customers loved your Spatzle last night." Mrs. Allgood spoke with her back to Lydia.
Lydia took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling better when she opened them. "I'm glad."
The mention of Spatzle reminded her of Jakob's pride the first time she'd made them for the Neubauers. Everything reminded her of Jakob. But then thinking of him brought Emily to mind. She couldn't seem to get the image of the two of them out of her mind. Work was the only thing that helped. No doubt Mrs. Allgood wondered why she had left her family, but she didn't ask. Lydia was grateful. She didn't need any more friends to leave behind. She didn't need any more heartache.
The monotonous clacking of the train over the rails set Jakob's teeth on edge. He stared sightlessly out at the black night. Raindrops meandered down the window glass. He hadn't slept for more than a fitful hour at a time for the past week. His six-day stay in the city had stretched longer than he knew was wise, but he hadn't wanted to give up. Lydia! Lord, help me find her.
"Butler!" the conductor called out. Jakob unrolled his slicker from a saddlebag and headed for a cafe. It was a two-hour ride home in the rain, and he'd need to eat.
Dodging the weather, he darted between overhangs, his boots echoing on the wooden boardwalks, and stepped in mud up to his ankles. Cursing, he ran on. Light shone through the windows of the first restaurant he came to. He shrugged out of his slicker and wiped his feet best he could.
A thin girl he recognized from church took his order. He was served stew and coffee and ate sullenly, not tasting a bite.
"Want a piece of pie?"
Jakob looked up at the slim-faced girl. Her eyes were round and friendly. "Sure. Why not?"
She plunked the plate in front of him and took away the soiled dishes. Jakob stared at the slice of apple pie.
The apples were a golden cinnamon color, and the crust was a delicate, flaky masterpiece. He guided his fork to the dessert and lifted a bite to his mouth. The distinctive taste melted on his tongue. There wasn't another who could make an apple pie like this. No one other than...
Lydia.
"Miss!" Jakob stood so rapidly, the legs of his chair scraped the wooden floor and teetered precariously.
The girl turned back, framed by the kitchen doorway. "Sir?"
"The lady who made the pie... where is she?"
Her eyes widened in alarm. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I just want to see the person who baked that pie."
"Well, I—"
"Mr. Neubauer?" Florence Allgood stepped up behind her daughter. "Can I do something for you?"
"Awfully good pie, Mrs. Allgood." Jakob eyed the woman. He'd known her for years. Lydia was here.
"Thank you."
"I want to see her."
"Who?"
"Mrs. Allgood... we both know my wife made that pie. I..." He hesitated. "I need to see her."
Her face softened. She had no choice. "She's staying at my place. The boarding house next door. She's fine."
"What room?"
"Sixteen." She stepped back into the kitchen and returned with a key. Jakob's fingers closed over it, but she held on fast. "Don't wake up the boarders."
Jakob accepted the double warning. "I won't."
She let go, and he strode from the room, hard-pressed to keep from running. Lydia was here!
Chapter 24
Thunder shook the flimsy building. Beneath the covers, Lydia shivered with cold and loneliness. Above the storm, a soft but distinct clicking caught her attention, and she held her breath. A stream of light poured into the dark room, and a man's shape stood outlined in the doorway. The form was tall and broad... and achingly familiar. Her heart threatened to stop.
His slicker crackling, Jakob entered the room and closed the door behind him. He removed the wet wrap and dropped it on the floor.
"Where's the lamp?"
"H-here." She raised up on hands and knees and struck a match, lighting the lantern.
Jakob blinked his eyes, letting them adjust to the light. They flickered over her nightdress and focused on her satchel, under the foot of her bed. His bright blue gaze fixed on her accusingly. He took off his hat and tossed it. "You took a foolish chance, woman."
Lydia's heart jerked into action and slammed against her ribs. What could she say? What choice had she been given?
"I've looked everywhere for you. I was scared to death something happened."
"Nothing did." Even after everything, she appreciated the sight he made, tall and formidable, his hair a shade darker than usua
l because it was damp. Seeing him flooded her soul with bitter joy. "There's a towel over there," she offered.
Finding it, he rubbed his hair furiously. "You're just damned lucky, I guess."
"I hardly consider myself fortunate in this situation."
"Did you stop to think before you ran off half-cocked?" He flung the towel toward the rack, but missed.
"I did nothing but think."
"What the hell happened between that last night and the next day?"
Lydia pulled the thin blanket up and clutched the cover against her chest, as if to ward off his anger and any more pain. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Well, that's too damned bad, because we're going to."
"Jakob, don't curse at me."
He opened his hands, palms downward, in a gesture of acknowledgment. "I'm sorry."
Jakob paced the room, then turned back to the door and twisted the lock. He was dripping wet, his boots tracking the floor.
"You'd better get out of those wet things."
He plowed a hand through his hair in outward irritation, but didn't comply.
"You'll get sick if you don't. You can wrap up in one of the blankets." Why did she care? After all this, why?
He conceded, struggling with a boot until she crept from the bed and knelt before him to help. Feeling his gaze on her, she lifted her own and met that vivid blue heat. Quickly she tugged the second boot off, stood them both on a newspaper near the door and wiped her hands.
"Lydia," he whispered. "Why?"
She fixed her gaze on his wrinkled bare toes. How could that one whispered word make it sound like he cared? What warped sense of duty had brought him after her, when he didn't love her? Did he expect her to throw her heart on the floor and let him trample it again?
"Why did you just run off like that?"
She scrambled back into the bed, tucking her feet and legs under the covers. Plucking at the blanket's edge, she avoided his eyes. "I couldn't stay."
"Because of what Anton told you?"
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 27