“Well . . .” She didn’t recognize her own voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Shall we go inside, Marcus?”
“It’s Mark,” he said quietly.
“What?” She turned slightly to look at him but without committing herself to facing him head-on.
“Mark. Everybody calls me Mark.” The last few words faded until they were barely audible.
“They do?” Hannah thought it was funny that she’d never heard him called that. But then she thought about it and couldn’t really remember his name ever coming up. Back in their school days he’d been called Marcus, she was sure of it.
He nodded silently.
“Well then, Mark it is.” Hannah didn’t know why she was surprised that she didn’t even know this much about her new husband. Husband! The very idea threatened to send her back into her daze, but she forced herself to head for the house.
She heard Marcus—Mark—trailing along behind her.
There was light gleaming out of every window of the wide house made of boards rather than log and stone like most of the buildings in town. Someone had come ahead of them to light the lanterns and make their homecoming more welcoming. She got to the front door and reached for the knob. It was locked. Marcus produced a key and opened it. She stepped inside.
It was beautiful.
The hallway was painted in a light shade of yellow, the exact shade of her favorite bonnet.
“There are two bedrooms on the left.” Marcus cleared his throat as he pointed awkwardly. “On the right is a parlor.” An open door on her right revealed finely made furniture and upholstered couches. There were rich, heavy drapes adorning the windows.
“Down this hallway,” he continued, “the kitchen’s on the right, with another bedroom on the left.” She saw that the hallway stretched all the way to the back of the house. Hannah didn’t know what to say. It was already more house than she’d ever seen.
She felt a hand rest on the small of her back.
“I hope you like it, Hannah. I know it needs a woman’s touch. You can change anything you don’t like.”
She turned to face him at last. His concern for her happiness pierced the strange foggy world she’d been dwelling in all day. “Marcus . . .”
“Mark,” he said.
She must have quirked her lips a little in a half smile, because she saw his eyes flicker to her lips and linger there a moment.
“Mark, I haven’t seen it all yet of course, but it’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ll want to change a thing.”
Then, with no warning, much like yesterday, he kissed her. And just like yesterday, Hannah liked it.
Chapter 10
He thought he might keel over from pure happiness.
Thinking of falling over in a heap made him think of the upholstered sofa in the parlor. He lifted Hannah clean off her feet and carried her in there. He lowered himself onto the sofa and pulled Hannah right along with him until he cradled her on his lap.
When they sat down, Hannah pulled back a little as if she was noticing where she was for the first time. He didn’t think that was a good idea, because if she had a chance to think clearly she might never want to kiss him again, so he slid one hand into her hair and tilted her head back a little further until she was nearly lying across his lap, and he rushed back into his dreams that were coming true.
He lifted his head and stared into her beautiful blue eyes. He saw himself reflected in her pupils and wondered what she could possibly be thinking about.
Then Hannah said, “My furniture! I just bought all that new furniture!”
Mark said, “I have furniture.”
Hannah pulled away just a bit. She looked at him with her eyes wide as if he’d spoken words of great wisdom. “You do, don’t you?”
He nodded.
Hannah said, “Let’s bring my furniture here.”
Mark almost laughed out loud to think Hannah wanted to bring her things over. That sounded like she intended to stay. He grinned at her, and she rested both of her hands on his face and kissed him with such aching sweetness that some of the words Mark wanted to say were jarred loose.
“You’re beautiful.”
She withdrew only slightly. “Oh, Marcus, thank you.”
“I love you, Hannah. I . . . I didn’t just decide because of the way we had to get married. I’ve admired you for a while—quite a while. A long, long, long while. But I . . . I didn’t . . .”
“It’s my fault, Marcus.”
“Call me Mark,” he reminded her. “Everybody does.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said firmly. “Nothing’s your fault. You’re perfect.”
She smiled sadly. “It is my fault that there’s never been anything between us. I’ve spent so much time moping. I don’t know if it was Ma dying or Pa marrying Essie. Or maybe watching my little sisters get married before me.”
“Or Charlie,” he said quietly.
Hannah nodded. “I just haven’t been able to think about anything else. It’s been so selfish, the way I’ve been wrapped up in myself for so long.”
“You’ve been through a lot. You needed time.”
“Six years?” Hannah asked incredulously.
“Apparently.”
She smiled at him. “You’re sweet.”
Mark knew he was going to blush. He had a lot of things about himself that he didn’t like but none so much as the baneful red that washed over his cheeks when he was embarrassed. And having Hannah give him a compliment was too much. He dropped his chin down, wishing that she wouldn’t notice.
“You’re blushing because I said you’re sweet?” She lifted his chin and ran a finger over one cheek, then the other, taking her time, studying him.
He shrugged and prayed for the heat to leave his head before his hair caught fire.
“I like it, Marcus . . . Mark. I’m going to try and make you blush five times a day.”
And that set his blushing off again, and he laughed just a little bit, something he’d never been able to do about his blushing in his life.
She kissed his face as if she were savoring the red, and Mark began to think of his wretched fair skin as something private and special between the two of them and that helped him to talk again. He thought he ought to confess the worst news he had for her first. “I’m not good at talking, Hannah, especially to someone as pretty as you. I don’t mean to be difficult. Your life with me . . . well, I’ll try and get better. I know you don’t want a man who won’t tell you what’s in his heart.”
He waited for her to nod and say, Yes, I remember now what you’re really like, and then climb off his lap.
Instead she said, “You told me you loved me.” She caressed his burning face again as his cheeks reddened with his confession of what an awkward fool he could be.
He said fiercely, “I do love you.”
“Maybe a man can say what needs saying without it taking a lot of words.”
“I’ll try and say what’s important, Hannah. I’ll try to never go a day without letting you know I’m the luckiest man on earth.”
He saw tears well up in Hannah’s eyes and immediately began apologizing. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. If you—”
She wrapped her arms around his neck until he could hardly breathe, and he heard her first cry. It was a sob that tore out of her throat from so deep it shook her whole body.
“Hannah honey, what did I say? I’m sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for the—”
She pulled away from him so suddenly that he thought she was getting out of his lap, and he thought he might cry, too, as he braced himself for her to walk away.
“That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Mark Whitfield! Quit apologizing for it. Sometimes . . .” Her voice broke, but she steadied herself. “Sometimes a woman cries because she’s happy. Did you know that?”
Mark shook his head helplessly. He said weakly, “I don’t know anything about women. I’m not sure
I know anything about anything.”
Hannah smiled at him, then suddenly she was laughing. She threw her arms around his neck again and laughed so lightheartedly that Mark couldn’t help but laugh himself.
Chapter 11
But sitting there in Mark’s lap seemed too idle for all that she had to do. Such as plan her whole life. She jumped up, and the reluctant way Mark looked when she stood made her heart warm toward him even more than the kiss had. When she realized how radically different her feelings were right now than they had been before he kissed her last night, she had her first bout of uncertainty.
What was true? A lifetime of not having any romantic notions about Mark or a day of being completely in love. Because, to be honest, she had to admit she’d been in love with him ever since he’d kissed her last night.
She said hesitantly, “There are things we should talk about.”
Apprehension flooded across his face. “Okay.”
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. There was something infinitely appealing about a man adoring you. And she wanted to climb straight back onto his lap and start kissing him again, but things needed to be said. “The thing is, Mark, up until last night I have always been under the impression that you didn’t like me very much.”
Mark gasped, “What?” and then he stood.
“Now, don’t be upset, but I think we should clear the air, don’t you?”
“Hannah, I have been trying to get you to notice me for, well, forever.”
“But you never talked to me,” Hannah protested. “You didn’t even look at me. In fact, I thought you didn’t like me, other than in a friendly way, because I would swear that you’ve been deliberately avoiding me for years.”
“No I haven’t,” he insisted.
“I decided at Nelda’s wedding that since we were the only two single people in town, at least the only two churchgoing single people in town, that we would be a likely match.”
“At your sister’s wedding? That was a long time ago.”
“Yes. I mean, I wasn’t exactly sure we were . . .” Hannah wondered if she should have started this. She would never admit to Mark that she had dreaded the idea of being stuck with him. Right now, looking at his entrancing blue eyes and his disheveled dark blond hair, all she saw was a man who was sweet and smart, and she couldn’t remember what she’d found fault with. She couldn’t think of anything about him she didn’t like.
She was suddenly frightened of her emotions, not knowing whether to trust her old feelings or her new ones. And underlying her fear was such a strong desire to be married that her longing for that might make any man seem appealing. In short, was she in love or was she just desperate?
Hannah was practical enough to know it didn’t matter. They were married and they’d strive to have a good life together. But she wanted everything started off on a good footing. She turned away from him and sat down in another chair. She looked up at Mark and said, “Sit down.”
“You’re coming to your senses, aren’t you?” he said forlornly.
Hannah couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Please, sit.”
“It’s too late,” he said firmly. “We’re married, and I’m never letting you go.”
Hannah smiled again. “If it helps any, I have no intention of coming to my senses.”
That must have struck him as funny because he grinned.
She added, “However, I think if I did come to my senses, I’d still want to be married to you. How do you like that?”
He shoved a chair around so it faced her, then took his seat. “I like that fine.”
“Now, you say you’ve liked me all along.”
“I’ve loved you, not liked you. There’s a difference and I don’t want you to forget it.”
“Well, in all honesty, I haven’t loved you.” She glanced at Mark and saw him flinch at her bluntness. “The idea of us being together had occurred to me because of the logic of it, but I wasn’t harboring feelings for you until now. And now those feelings are so strong that they almost frighten me.”
He looked crestfallen when she said she’d only begun to care for him this instant, but he was no less determined. “I think that’s because you’ve been having such a hard time. You just haven’t had room in your heart for a man.”
Hannah nodded. “I have always liked you. I’ve always known you were an honorable, hardworking, kind man. Marriages have been built on less, I think.”
He scooted his chair closer and grasped her hands in his. Their knees bumped together, and when Mark leaned forward they were almost nose to nose. He said, “I want the woman who has been prepared for me by God. I have believed for a long time that you were that woman. That doesn’t mean we won’t ever have hard times. I’m a quiet man. Like I told you, I struggle with . . . with my . . .”
Hannah slipped one of her hands free from his and ran her finger lightly over his face. He was blushing again.
He forced himself to go on. “I’m no good with words. I’ll never be a poet. I’ll never speak flowery words to you. I . . . I don’t want you to be disgusted with me. You deserve the very best.”
Hannah traced her finger over his cheek as she listened to this kind, shy man speak so eloquently from his heart. “That’s flowery talk, Mark.”
“It is?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes.” Tears bit at her eyes, and she knew that Mark noticed them immediately because he began shaking his head in regret for them. She realized how sensitive he was to her feelings and thought that sounded like a wonderful trait in a husband. “What you said was beautiful. Just because the words come hard, it doesn’t mean you won’t say them.”
“I’ll try, Hannah. I promise I’ll try.”
“And, Mark?”
“What?” He was looking so deeply into her eyes that he seemed mesmerized.
“This love for you that has blossomed in my heart—it’s wonderful. It seems like . . . like . . .” She smiled, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. In truth, she wondered if she might not be blushing herself. “Now I’m trying to be a poet.”
“I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me.”
“What I want you to know is, my affection for you is like frosting on a cake.”
“Well, that’s poetic, I suppose,” he said rather dryly.
Hannah relaxed when Mark made that tiny stab at a joke. She realized then that he had a sense of humor, and that was something she wanted in her life. It made it easier for her to keep talking. “What I mean is, the cake was already there. I’ve thought of you as a man I admire and like. So, adding the frosting—romantic feelings, I mean—to my respect for you is easy. It seems right. If I had gone from thinking you were a low-down skunk . . .”
He chuckled softly.
“. . . to loving you . . . well, I would be worried about that. I’ve watched my sisters marry men who wouldn’t be my choice but who are perfect for them. When I was young I believed there was a man like that for me, too. But I had given up in recent years. And now here you are. Here you have always been. I feel like God has performed a miracle in my heart. He has opened my eyes to see what was right in front of me. And maybe I needed to go through all I have in the last few years in order to appreciate what a special man you are and how lucky I am to have you care for me.”
He leaned forward and kissed her very gently.
“Can I say one more thing?” she asked breathlessly.
“You can say anything,” he said, moving their hands until he cradled both of hers in his and held them like they were precious gifts.
“It’s . . . it’s hard to be Leah.”
Mark shook his head. “Leah?”
“Leah, from the Bible. Remember how Jacob wanted to marry Rachel and he worked seven years to earn the right?”
“Yes, Leah was Rachel’s older sister. But I’ve never thought of her story as being an important one. It was how much Jacob loved Rachel that was important.”
“Well, Leah is important to me. Pa t
eased me after both my sisters got married that he should have put me in a heavy veil and passed me off as the bride because the oldest should be married first.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Hannah, but I don’t think I like your pa very much.”
She nodded, then shrugged and went on. “Anyway, when people think about Jacob, they think about Jacob and Rachel, and they think poor Jacob—tricked into marrying the older sister. His love was so strong he agreed to stay and work another seven years to earn Rachel. But what about Leah? No one thinks about how humiliated she must have been to have been married in such a fashion. Ugly and undesired, unmarriageable except through her father’s lies.”
“Hannah,” he whispered fiercely, “you are not ugly and undesired. I won’t let you say such things about the woman I love.”
“Thank you, Mark. I didn’t mean I was ugly, although sometimes it’s hard not to feel that way. I just want to say that I think I know how it was for Leah. It’s so hard to be that older sister. I had to keep smiling, and I truly was happy for my little sisters. But it hurt.
“I think underneath all my grief for Ma and Charlie, and the pain of losing my brothers to Essie, was the notion that there was something wrong with me. That made it hard for me to believe any man would want me. And it made it easy for me to mistake your shyness for dislike. Having you want me for your wife heals so many old hurts. For that alone, even without your decent nature and your kisses . . .”
“The cake and the frosting?”
She smiled. “Yes, the cake and the frosting. Even without them, I’ll always think of you as my knight in shining armor. You have saved me in so many ways. I love you and I consider it the highest honor to be your wife.”
Mark stood up, pulling her with him, and kissed her until her head felt as if it were spinning. Then he said gruffly, “Let me give you a tour of the house.”
“I’d like that.”
As they left the room, Hannah thought of her ma dying with her seventh child. “Mark, do we have to have seven children?”
He staggered slightly and bumped his shoulder against the doorframe. “Seven children?” he repeated weakly.
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