by Kelly Long
He found the staircase unoccupied for a moment and went upstairs to look for Martha. He found her in his and Judah’s auld room. She was standing facing the window, looking outside, but she turned when he came into the room and eased the door closed.
“Martha?”
“Ach, Joel—I don’t mean to be idle, but the sheep look so lovely against the new grass.”
He crossed the room and put an iron grip on his desire to touch her . . . I’ll use my words to touch her instead . . . The thought came unbidden and fast, and he gazed down at the bed he’d occupied for so long.
“You find beauty in uncommon things,” he said huskily.
She smiled her beautiful smile, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black wool pants. “And you know how to flatter, I think,” she replied.
His gaze slipped from her profile to the high, rounded curves of her breasts beneath her dress and apron and he swallowed hard. “It’s not flattery to compliment your wife.”
He didn’t miss the sudden downturning of her mouth and knew what she was thinking . . . Not a wife. Not in truth . . . He took a step closer. He could smell the fresh scent of her hair and something sweet and womanly that he knew to be uniquely Martha. Dear Gott . . . there’s a bed right here . . . But she deserved so much more than to be taken on a single bed in the room he’d shared with Judah . . . And I’m not taking... I’m courting . . .
“Will you bundle with me tonight?” she asked softly, wistfully. “That is part of courting.”
“Jah,” he whispered. “It is, and I will.” Even though it’s going to kill me not to touch you . . .
Chapter Nineteen
Later that evening, Martha had a free moment to bend and pet the sleek cat, Puddles, who seemed to make himself at home anywhere. Now the cat was curled up on a kitchen chair where Martha had thought to sit to drink a cup of tea.
She looked up from the animal as Joel and his mamm came in through the back door.
“There he is,” Sarah Umble cried as she scooped Puddles up into her arms and held him very close while rocking slightly.
Martha rose to her feet and glanced from mother to sohn. “I—uh—I do not want to intrude on your time together. I was going to make tea . . . Perhaps I can make some for you both before I bid my family gut nacht.”
“Nee, Martha. Sit down and I’ll make the tea for you and Mamm,” Joel said with a flash of his blue eyes. “You are no servant or caregiver, here to fetch and carry.”
“And I have been no servant, Joel,” Martha contradicted softly. “It was my privilege and pleasure to care for my family.”
She heard his sigh. “I know, Martha. I just want things to be easier for you now.”
Joel’s mother looked up at her, being shorter by at least a few inches. “He said he’ll make tea. He’ll make tea. Now sit!”
Martha dropped hastily into the chair and waited, having no desire to upset her new mother-in-law.
Joel sighed again. “Mamm . . .”
“I’ll say what I like. It was my haus . . . maybe it still is. Is it?” She lowered pleading eyes to Martha’s.
“Of course it’s your home.” Martha ignored the impulse to hug the older woman. “Joel and I will perhaps build something in the coming year and you will be free of all of these new people.”
Martha met Joel’s eyes, hoping she’d said the right thing, and was relieved when he nodded slightly, then turned to the sink.
Sarah Umble slid onto a bench at the table, and Martha smiled at her. Joel’s mamm looked down at the cat in her lap, then back up to eye Martha suspiciously.
“Are you pregnant?”
Martha burst out laughing, while Joel dropped a teacup into the sink.
“Mamm!”
“What? I can ask. No harm in asking.”
Martha reached across the table to pat Sarah’s hand and quickly swallowed her laughter. “Nee, I’m not pregnant . . .” And nor am I likely to be any time soon . . .
* * *
Joel was exhausted—not only because of the pain in his still-healing ribs but also because he hadn’t been sleeping well and now faced the prospect of bundling with Martha in the large wood-hewn bed of the master bedroom. As was the custom of his people, his mamm had moved her things to one of the smaller bedrooms upstairs, while he and Martha took over the large room on the main floor. He opened the door, then automatically pulled it shut behind him while he stared at Martha.
She had the top of her shift ruched down around her hips and was washing her arms and breasts with a cloth and water from the bowl and pitcher. She glanced up at him and stood frozen, her full lips forming a single “O” of surprise.
“I—I can geh out,” he choked, never wanting to do something less in his life. His eyes helplessly followed the rivulets of water down the supple white curves of her body. A single lantern burned on the dresser, and her full breasts glowed gold.
“Nee. I’m sorry, Joel. I can hurry.” She wriggled her hips, and her shift fell to the hardwood floor, leaving her completely naked to his hungry gaze. She sloshed the cloth against her belly and dipped the fabric back into the bowl.
“Wait,” he said softly.
She looked at him, and he was across the floor in three steps, his feet coming to land at her side. He put his much larger hand over her slender fingers and pushed to submerge the cloth deep into the water.
“Will you allow me to finish for you?” he asked, his eyes touching her everywhere.
“Jah,” she whispered.
He tugged the cloth free of her fingers, and she moved her hands to her sides, giving him complete freedom, he knew, to touch her anywhere he wanted . . .
* * *
Martha couldn’t help the delighted shiver that trailed down her back when Joel stepped behind her and bent to put his mouth at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He kissed her with tiny, sucking motions, loosening her hair; and all while he trailed warm water down her throat and breasts. Her nipples stung with sensation as she felt his fingers tighten on the cloth. She was conscious of her body more so now beneath his touch than at any other time in her life. She straightened her shoulders and arched her back, and he groaned aloud as their bodies touched.
He dropped the cloth, and she turned by instinct within the circle of his arms. She stood on tiptoe and found his mouth, pressing her wet body to his fully clothed frame.
“Dear Gott, Martha . . .” He kissed her in return, sliding his hands to her waist, then hips. He pulled her tight against him, and she felt the hard press of his body, burning like a brand against her belly.
It all seemed so wonderfully natural, and her heart pounded in her chest as she thought of the bed so near. But Joel dropped to his knees before her, and she put a hand down to touch his dark hair, trying to steady herself against the onslaught of his hot mouth. He kissed her everywhere, leaving her gasping with desire. She swallowed wanton cries from the back of her throat, then clung to the shoulders of his damp shirt.
“Joel—please. Sei se gut . . .” She both knew and didn’t know what it was she wanted, only that she had to press her thighs together in hopes of quelling the startling flame that burned within her.
Joel got to his feet and swung her up in his arms, carrying her to the freshly made bed. He laid her down, then leaned over her with arms that trembled as she arched toward him in supplication and hot want. But he pulled away abruptly with a hoarse cry and walked out of the room in long strides, leaving Martha to turn into the feather pillow and sob.
* * *
Joel’s breath came in harsh gasps as he practically ran from the haus to the relative privacy of the sheep barn. His body felt as though it burned beneath his clothing, and he turned against the far back wall, leaning his head on his forearm and using his other hand to find the hardness that throbbed against his belly. He sought release in frantic motions, then sank into the hay on his knees when it was over. His breathing still roared in his ears as he thought of Martha, wanting her so badly that
he could taste it, but then he remembered the vision, and his body cooled rapidly . . .
* * *
Martha saw the hectic color in his fine-boned cheeks when he came back into their room. She’d given up on crying and instead had drawn a quilt from a nearby chest. She rolled the quilt until it was firm, then carefully laid it down the center of the bed. She did not know where there was a bundling board, so the quilt would have to do.
“Do you want me to turn the light down while I undress?” he asked in a husky voice.
Martha shook her head and turned her back to him as she curled into a small ball on her side of the rolled quilt. She heard the subtle slide of fabric being removed and then the few patters of straight pins being placed on the dresser. She heard the brisk splash of water from the basin, and then he was climbing into bed next to her. She felt that he was looking at her, but squeezed her eyes shut tightly, feigning sleep.
“Martha?” he whispered. “Can we talk?”
She didn’t answer, and when he finally extinguished the lamp, she heard him sigh softly as he lay down in the darkness.
Chapter Twenty
Joel’s days spun into increasingly frantic motion as the spring lambing came early and suddenly to the farm. Lost Lenore was first, and she labored long while Joel waited. Finally, he knew he’d have to help her. It was nearly four a.m., and he looked in on Martha sleeping next to the bundled quilt, wishing he could feel her warmth. Instead, he pulled the pins from his shirt rather carelessly and took it off. Lambing could be a cold, messy business, but it was well worth it in the end.
He went out to the sheep pen where Lenore had been isolated, as all laboring ewes were. Then he scrubbed up from the bucket of hot, soapy water he’d brought from the haus and used a disinfectant on his hands. He was gentle, careful not to hurt the sheep, but her uterus was a tangled mass of legs and heads. Joel closed his eyes and imagined the layout of each twin lamb’s body. He straightened a bent foreleg, which seemed to be the holdup, and the first lamb was shortly delivered. He rubbed it in the hay quickly, then turned back to Lenore. Twins were a common but sometimes dangerous outcome for a ewe, and if he wasn’t fast enough, the second lamb could stop breathing or be rejected by the mother. He hurried with the next birth, seeing that this lamb was covered in amniotic fluid and not breathing. Joel grabbed a towel and started to rub with frantic motions.
“Kumme on,” he muttered. “Kumme on.”
“Turn her over.”
Joel’s head snapped up with a start. Sebastian, the hired Englisch man, stood with a boot on the pen’s wooden rail.
Joel looked back down at the lamb and turned it over onto its back, figuring he had nothing to lose. Immediately the lamb snorted and struggled to get free. Joel smiled and gave it the same hay treatment as its twin, then breathed a long sigh of relief when Lenore swung around to examine both lambs with interest.
Joel sank back on his knees and looked over to Sebastian. “Thanks for the tip.”
The other man tossed him a towel. “Not a problem, Joel.”
“What are you doing up at this hour? I wish I had a better place for you to sleep than the big barn, but the haus is pretty well full up.”
Sebastian laughed. “It’s a fair amount of comfort that you’ve given me, and all the privacy I could want. And it’s much better than hiking to the cabins on the other side of the mountain every day.”
Joel nodded, wiping himself down. He turned to watch with satisfaction as the lambs tried to rise and suckle. “Always the best part.”
“You’re a true shepherd, Joel, right down to your soul.”
“Danki . . .” Joel eased himself to his feet. “But sometimes I wonder . . .”
“About?”
“Ach . . . about leading a family—or—Martha’s family . . . My family now . . .”
“And what of children?” Sebastian asked softly. “I expect you’ll want a brood.”
Joel felt himself frown as he shook his head. “Sometimes Gott does not give us what we want.”
“Nor should He.” Sebastian smiled.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because what we want is not always best for us.”
That’s easy for you to say . . . You haven’t seen your wife scream, your children buried . . .
“But you have.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Joel had to shake his head to try to figure out if he’d spoken aloud. “What? Did I—I mean—I think I’m overtired. I’ll say gut nacht now.” Joel wanted to run from the barn, from the strange man whom he’d hired without even giving it a second thought. The man could be evil, or—
“No.” Sebastian laughed ruefully. “Though evil and good are sometimes mistaken for each other.”
Joel stared at him in the light of the single kerosene lamp.
“You see, Joel, you have been given a great gift.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joel snapped, suddenly angry without knowing why. “I don’t want any gift—any second sight. I’ve got enough trouble dealing with what I see in the moment.” Joel wanted to scream at the nacht sky, or call out in fury to Gott. He looked at Sebastian, who seemed to be waiting, silently, steadily.
“The gift can be refined, used as a blessing,” the Englischer said.
Joel pushed past him out of the pen. “I’m tired, Sebastian, and I expect you are too. Get some sleep.” He shivered as he left the barn and made for the warmth of the haus, unsure whether he had dreamed the last ten minutes or not.
* * *
The following morning, Martha let Joel sleep late, wishing there was something more that she might do to help him. But she kept meals hot and ready, cared for the family’s needs, and snatched an hour to clean each day as well.
She was dusting the rather large bookshelf in the living area when there was a knock at the door. Puddles raced to get there before her as she hurried lest the visitor awaken Joel. To her surprise, a sturdy-looking teenage Amish girl stood on the porch.
“Frau Umble, your husband hired me to help you a bit around the haus each day. I’m Milly Stolfus.”
Martha stood in indecision, considering the girl. While she was grateful to Joel for somehow finding the time to hire help, Martha worried that he felt she couldn’t manage the housekeeping on her own. Then she sighed and widened the door. I might as well be thankful . . .
Milly came in carrying a wooden bucket filled with cleaning supplies, and Martha gestured to the bookcase. “I was dusting there, if you’d like to continue. And please, Milly, call me Martha.”
Milly nodded and went straightaway to the books. Martha pottered about for a few minutes, wanting to make sure that the girl would do all right.
“Ach, Martha—what a wealth of books you have.” The girl slid one volume from the shelf with visible care. “Moby Dick? I love this one—don’t you?”
Martha swallowed and stared at the eager young face. “I—I don’t . . .” She was saved from a response by Joel’s whistling as he entered the room.
He came forward and kissed Martha’s cheek, then put a hand on Milly’s shoulder. “Moby Dick, hmm? I’ve always thought that ‘Call me Ishmael’ has got to be one of the best opening lines ever . . .” His deep-throated laughter joined with Milly’s as she agreed and Martha looked on, feeling stupid. And left out.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to learn to read and cipher and write her name, but helping around the haus and caring for her family had kept her from school. Now she was reminded once again that Joel Umble was far superior to her in learning, and even in thinking. She wondered sadly if it had been truly wise to marry such a man . . .
Another knock on the door broke into her thoughts, and she hurried to open it. May Miller, the healer, stood there with a stack of books in her arms, and Martha had to suppress the sudden urge to scream in frustration.
* * *
“Hello, May . . . what have you got there?” Joel moved past Martha to take some of the books f
rom his friend.
May cleared her throat. “I thought, now that you’re married, we can stop our poetry reading together.”
Joel waved away her words. “Ach . . . of course not. In fact, I think it would be wunderbarr if Martha joins us.” Joel looked to his frau, expecting to see a smile in agreement, but instead, he was met by a fierce frown on Martha’s lovely mouth.
“Excuse me . . .” Martha murmured. “But I—I have things to do.”
Joel watched in confusion as she stalked from the room, and he looked back at May.
“Well, Joel Umble, clearly you messed things up gut this time . . .”
He waved May in to make conversation with Milly and went in search of Martha.
He found her standing in their bedroom, looking out of the window. “Martha? Is everything all right?”
“Jah,” she said softly, turning to him. “What could be wrong?”
He eased the door closed behind him and turned her words over in his mind, trying to pick through her mixed tone. “I have a feeling that means you’re really riled up about something.”
“Perhaps you do not know me well, Joel Umble . . . Or I you . . .”
He took a few steps toward her, and she visibly tensed. Then he went to the top drawer of the oak dresser near the window. He pulled out a white envelope and handed it to her. “This may be a gut time for you to read this . . . It’s not great . . . I think I wrote it at four o’clock one morning in the barn, but I hope you’ll like it anyway.”
He stopped himself from embracing her and slowly made his way back across the room and out the door.
* * *
Martha was caught. She held the white envelope between her thumb and forefinger as if it might burn her skin, then finally brought herself to open it. She stared with numb concentration down at the jumble of letters and felt tears fill her eyes. How can I tell him I cannot read? Surely he will think less of me, realize I am not a proper match for him . . .
Puddles ran into the room, startling her, and Joel’s mamm soon followed. Martha hastily wiped at her cheeks and folded the letter, trying to stuff it into her apron pocket.