by Sarah Price
For a moment, Belle sat there and simply tried to digest all of this information. It was incredible, this story that Susie was telling her. How could so much good fortune befall her family just shy of three weeks after her wedding? If all of this had happened even four weeks ago, what a different future Belle might have had.
“Who’s been taking care of the haus?” Belle asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. With all of the recent changes, she half expected Susie to tell her that they had a hired girl helping with the housework.
But Susie’s answer surprised her. “Oh Belle,” she said in a teasing way. “Did you really think that we’d let the haus fall into disarray after you left? That we were incapable of taking care of things?”
Stunned, Belle’s mouth opened.
Susie laughed at her sister’s reaction. “We never helped out because you made it too easy not to help.”
“You’ve been tending to the housework?”
But Susie nodded, appearing quite pleased. “Ja, Verna and I have been cooking, baking, and cleaning. It’s not that hard, I reckon, as long as you stay on top of it.”
Belle could hardly believe it. “And you said that Verna’s with Daed?”
“She is, ja. In fact, she’s been helping him in Liberty Village. Third trip she’s made there.” Susie’s eyes sparkled as she added, “I believe she’s rather smitten with a young man who works at the hardware store.”
A hardware store? “Certainly she can’t know him well enough to be smitten.”
Susie reached out her hand and touched Belle’s arm. “He’s been here twice, once to take her to the singing in Echo Creek and once for a long walk by the lake.” And then, after a brief hesitation, Susie added, “And Gabriel has been stopping by to check on me when they go to Liberty Village.” The color rose to her cheeks. “He even offered to bring me home from worship service on Sunday, but of course I wasn’t there to take him up on his offer. You know we were in Liberty Village. We just came home on Monday, but Daed had to turn around and go back there again today.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Belle managed to whisper. “It’s unbelievable, all of these remarkable things that have happened to you.” Even as she spoke the words, she felt the far-too-familiar constriction in her chest. “No wonder no one has been to visit me . . .”
The look on Susie’s face startled Belle. It was one of confusion, not offense. “Been to visit you? Why, Adam told us not to.”
The outer periphery of her vision seemed to blur as she stared at Susie. Belle wondered if she had truly just heard her sister confess that Adam had told her family to stay away from the farm. If so, why on earth would he have said such a thing? Was he truly intent on keeping her isolated and away from the outside community? To learn this just when she was beginning to warm to the idea of their friendship was shattering to her trust in the man.
“I have to go,” she whispered and stood up. She made her way to the door, barely hearing Susie urging her to stay.
The rest of the ride home felt as if she were in a foggy dream. Everyone else’s life seemed to be headed into a bright, happy future, while hers was increasingly mired in isolation and despair. Had Adam thought that she wouldn’t have discovered his deceit? That she wouldn’t have learned that he’d told her family to stay away? And yet, if that was true, why would he have gone to the trouble to repair not just the fencing but also the other things? The porch, the clothesline, the broken window, the unhinged door . . . not one of those things impacted the care of his cow herd.
Something didn’t make sense, but there was only one person who could answer the questions that rattled through her head: Adam. If only she had the nerve to ask him.
Chapter Nineteen
Immediately after cleaning the breakfast dishes Thursday morning, Belle began working on the shirt for Adam. It wasn’t likely that she would be interrupted. Adam had hitched the Belgian drafts to the baler and driven them toward the back of the property. With a cup of warm coffee next to her, Belle focused on cutting the fabric, using one of his other shirts as a guide.
She had always loved sewing, almost as much as she loved reading. There was something exciting about creating something from scratch. And the quiet that filled the room gave her a strong sense of peace. Just the birds chirping outside the open windows and the soft noise of the scissors cutting the fabric. She knew that it wouldn’t take long to piece and sew the shirt, but she was surprised at how quickly it came together. Perhaps she could wrap it and give it to him as a present later today. True, the finishing touches were not yet in place—the bottom still needed to be hemmed.
As she busied herself peeling potatoes for dinner, she thought again of the previous day’s events. By the time she had returned home, the initial shock of Susie’s revelation had subsided, and rather than confronting Adam with how he had kept her from her family, she decided to focus on the kindness he had shown to them. After all, wasn’t that more important?
So at supper, she told him she had stopped at her family’s farm, and she sincerely thanked him for all he had done: the repairs on the fence and the porch and the barn, the hired help for the cows. Knowing he didn’t like her to go on and on, Belle kept her thanks simple and to the point. To her surprise, her words seemed to hit home. Although he said nothing, his face softened, and he lingered a bit after supper, helping to clear the table before he disappeared once again into the barn.
When Belle heard the horses on the driveway, dinner was still cooking. Glancing out the window, she noticed that the anticipated rain was not yet falling. So why was Adam back so early? Quickly, she set the table. Just as she was setting down a water glass by his plate, the sound of his heavy footsteps stomping up the porch steps carried into the kitchen. She turned and greeted him with a smile.
“Dinner’s not quite ready yet.”
He nodded his head in acknowledgment and walked over to the sink. She watched as he washed his hands.
“Did you finish raking the hay, then?” She held a towel out for him.
He glanced at the towel, almost as if surprised that she had offered it, before he took it.
“Ja, I did.” Adam wiped his hands on the towel and handed it back to her. For a moment, he stared at her intently before clearing his throat. “Mayhaps I could use your help baling this afternoon.”
Stunned, Belle’s mouth opened. Had she heard him correctly? Had he just asked her to lend a hand in the fields? “I’d like that very much.”
“Gut.” He walked around her and sat down at the table.
With a newfound energy, Belle hurried to finish preparing the meal. She felt as if her insides must be glowing. She set the white bowl of applesauce next to him and stood there for a moment, staring down at him as her thoughts raced. Was it possible that he was beginning to warm up to her? To see her as a wife and partner, not just an unpaid housekeeper? Adam must have sensed her presence. He glanced up, and Belle blushed. She felt flustered and scurried to the oven, but not before seeing that he raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his expression.
When she finished putting the food on the table, she sat beside Adam and lowered her head to give thanks in silent prayer. Adam remained still, and she thought she saw that he had also bowed his head. She wasn’t certain, however, and when she opened her eyes again, he was watching her.
“Something amiss?”
He took a moment to respond, his eyes studying her face. She waited for what felt like an eternity for him to answer her question.
“Nee, Belle. Nothing is amiss.”
“You appeared to have something on your mind.” She reached for the bowl of steaming vegetables.
But he merely shook his head and turned his attention to the food as he mumbled, “Helping me in the fields is enough for one day.”
For the rest of the meal, they ate in silence because, as usual, there wasn’t much to discuss. Still, Belle felt something different in the air. A growing tension. And while tension usually made her emo
tions feel strained, there was something different this time. Almost as if butterflies tickled her insides. She stole a peek at Adam, pleased that he was enjoying the meal that she had prepared for him. And that surprised her. She had never felt joy—truly intense joy!—over such little things. The cleanliness of the house. The pristine garden beds. The mouth-watering aroma in the kitchen.
With a newfound warmth in her heart, she bent her head and tried to focus on her food, even though she no longer had an appetite.
Thirty minutes later, with the dishes only partially cleaned from their meal, Belle found herself driving the Belgian horses, who pulled the baler while Adam stacked the hay bales as each one emerged from the bale chute. With the sun high and the air not necessarily cool, it was hard work, and Belle wished that she had thought to bring out a thermos of water for him. By the time the wagon was full of bales, her own arms ached from holding the reins as she guided the horses along the long rows of dried hay. Sweat dripped down her back, and she knew that the back of her neck was sunburned.
She felt his hand on her shoulder. His touch made her jump. “Best take this load in,” he said. “You can take a break while I stack it.”
“I can help stack,” she heard herself say. “But I’ll fetch us some water first.”
If she thought that he might argue with her, she was pleasantly surprised. He did not.
For the rest of the afternoon, they worked together. While they rarely spoke, Belle felt a sense of calm just being in his presence. Occasionally, she would look over her shoulder to make certain that she wasn’t driving the horses too fast. When she saw him working, his white shirt clinging to his chest and arms, the sweat glistening on his cheeks, she felt those same butterflies inside of her. He was so strong and independent when he worked. She couldn’t even imagine how he had ever baled hay without someone’s help in the past. However, if any man could do it alone, she knew that it was Adam.
The sun had begun to dip toward the horizon when he approached her once again. She sensed him before he laid his hand on her shoulder, just as he had done earlier. “Reckon we can call it a day.” Only this time he did not remove it. While she guided the horses back toward the farm, Adam stood on the baler behind her, his body almost pressed against her back. Occasionally the swaying of the baler and wagon caused him to brush against her. Each time, his hand would tighten, just a little, on her shoulder, and she felt as if a bolt of energy coursed through her veins.
“What is it?” he asked.
Embarrassed that he must have sensed her reaction, Belle stammered a quick response. “You . . . you startled me. That’s all.”
Did she imagine it, or had he gently squeezed her one last time before removing his hand? She glanced up at him and saw that he was staring straight ahead. Perhaps it was where she was sitting on the baler, or maybe it was the way the light shone on him, casting a slight shadow from the brim of his hat, but Belle realized that she could barely see the scarring on his face. In fact, she almost had to search in order to see the burned skin. It was as if it had evaporated, simply disappeared. She blinked and looked harder. Only then did it appear, and she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her.
Once in the barnyard, Belle stopped the team near the hayloft. Adam jumped down from the wagon and, rather than hurry to unhitch the horses, he turned toward her, lifting up his hand to help her get down. She placed her hand in his, surprised at how warm his skin felt against hers. Her eyes fluttered upward, looking into his face once again. Only this time, he stared back at her. She jumped down from the wagon and stood before him, her hand still inside his. She was close enough to him that she could smell the musky scent of a hard day’s labor mixed with the fresh smell of hay.
“Danke for letting me help you,” she said.
He frowned. “You thank me? It should be the other way, ja?”
Belle laughed. “Mayhaps, but I’m truly grateful.”
“As am I.” He took a step backward and leaned against the wagon. “Certainly made it easier, having your help.”
“How on earth did you ever do all of that baling without help?”
He gave her a slight smile, and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Angels help me.”
“Angels?” She put her hand on her hip and pursed her lips. “Really, Adam.”
“You don’t believe me?” He reached out and tugged at the white ribbon that hung from her prayer kapp. “One helped me today, ja?”
The gesture surprised her as much as his words. She knew that her cheeks reddened at the compliment. “Such flattery. I only did what any good wife would and should do.” She reached up and touched the string that he had just touched. “And now this wife needs to prepare supper for her husband.”
She hurried into the house while Adam unhitched and unharnessed the horses. For a moment, she stood at the window and watched as he worked, her fingers still caressing the ribbon. She didn’t understand her conflicting emotions. She wanted so much to feel like a wife, but she did not. Not truly. And yet she did not know why.
Slowly Adam was shedding the wall that protected him from the outside world. The fact that he had reached out for her help with the fieldwork proved that he was willing to adapt. Certainly she, too, had changed, but was it enough?
It was only after they had finished the meal—a meal they ate in silence—that Belle had the courage to speak up. She had already cleared the table, and, to her relief, Adam had remained seated, reading an old newspaper under the light from the kerosene lantern. Nervously, she stood next to him with her hands holding the wrapped package behind her back.
“I . . . I have something for you.”
Adam looked up, surprise in his eyes. “Something for me?”
She nodded her head and waited until he put down the paper, the pages crinkling in the silence of the room. He turned his chair so that he faced her, not the table, and raised an eyebrow.
“Close your eyes.”
“Belle . . .”
She gave him a stern look. “Please, Adam. I want to surprise you.”
He grumbled but did as she said.
“Now hold out your hands.”
He started to argue, but she silenced him with a quick shh.
Another grumble escaped his lips as he held his hands out before him.
Carefully, she placed the package in his hand. She didn’t have any real wrapping paper, so she had cut up an old brown paper bag that she had found in the basement. Since she hadn’t found any tape, either, she had tied it with twine from a bale of hay.
“What’s this?”
“A surprise!” Joy radiated from her face and she rocked on her feet, anticipating the moment when he would see the gift she had made.
“I . . . I don’t understand.”
“Open it, silly.”
He glanced at her, his forehead furrowed in confusion, but did as she instructed. He untied the twine and pushed back the brown paper. Inside was the white shirt that she had made for him that morning. The confused look on his face did not go away as he lifted the shirt and held it in the air before him. “A shirt?”
She nodded. “Ja, I made it for you this morning.”
“I don’t need a shirt.”
She gave him a stern look. “Usually people say ‘thank you’ when they receive a gift, Adam.”
He blinked his eyes.
“And it’s a short-sleeved shirt.” She slipped her hand into one of the sleeves. “See? When you are working outside and get hot, you won’t sweat so much.”
In silence, he stared at the shirt. He swallowed and let his fingers move to the shortened sleeves. Something changed in his face and he scowled. Abruptly, he stood up, clutching the shirt in his hand. “I don’t wear short-sleeved shirts.”
“I . . . I know that all of your shirts are long sleeved, Adam. And I can guess the reason why. But surely you don’t have to suffer when it’s warm out. Even October can be hot, especially when we get an Indian summer.”
T
he scowl on his face darkened as a wave of rage shadowed his expression. “I don’t wear short-sleeved shirts!” he bellowed, throwing the shirt onto the floor before he stormed out of the kitchen.
“Adam!” She knelt down to pick up the shirt and ran after him.
This time she followed him into the barn. When he realized that she was following him, he spun around. “The dairy barn is no place for you!”
She held out the shirt. “I made this for you. You have no right to speak to me in such a manner, Adam. I am not the enemy!”
He took a step forward, anger still in his eyes. “I didn’t ask for that shirt. I didn’t ask for you to make it. And I won’t wear it.”
Putting her hands on her hips, she stared him down. “Why? Because you have scars on your face? On your arms?” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh, Adam. You don’t have to hide your scars from me.”
He lifted his chin and looked at her defiantly. “I don’t hide them from you.”
“Then who?”
Taking two steps, he stood before her, leaning down so that he not only towered over her but stared directly into her eyes. “From me. I hide my scars from me!” he hissed, and then, snatching the shirt from her hand, he started to walk away. “Leave me alone, Belle! I mean it!”
She stood in the entrance of the barn, watching as Adam disappeared down the aisle where the cows stood, chewing their nightly ration of hay. Shep ran after him, his tail wagging, oblivious to the heated exchange that had just occurred.
Frustrated, Belle stomped her foot and turned around, crossing her arms over her chest. How could he continue to isolate himself from everyone, including himself? If only he would open up to her and try. While nothing about their marriage was ideal, at least Belle was willing to make an attempt at serving Adam as a wife should. What, if anything, was he doing for her?
Chapter Twenty
The lengthy walk to Echo Creek was exactly what she needed after another long, restless night. She had tossed and turned, wondering what she could do to make Adam understand that it was up to him to open up in order for his life to change. She wasn’t certain of the exact time when she heard her bedroom door open, the hinges creaking just enough to announce his presence, but surely it was after midnight.