by Judith Pella
Then there was the challenge of other household tasks new to Elise, but which she was quickly mastering—churning butter, making medicines, soap, candles, and preserving the early harvest from the vegetable garden she had planted a couple of months ago. She was also working on perfecting her technique for cooking and baking in the hearth. Baking johnnycakes was one thing, but she was determined to make Micah a cake for his birthday. So far all she had produced were burnt offerings.
No, loneliness and boredom were not a problem. Neither was discontent. Still, she missed Benjamin—for himself alone. The intensity of his voice, even when he laughed or teased. The flash of his eyes when he was passionate about something, the blue that could turn so vivid at times yet also could fade to a gentle softness that took her breath away as much as the dark intensity they sometimes held.
She missed his laughter and the way it would surprise even him when it slipped out unexpectedly. At times he was like a child, discovering life for the first time. And he would make her part of those discoveries, whether it be a spiritual truth or a farming technique or an antic of one of the children. He was always seeking her out to tell her about something new he’d found, and she was doing the same with him. They were learning afresh about life—together.
All at once, as if wishing indeed could make it so, Elise heard the faint sounds of hoofbeats. Could she be imagining it? She went to the window but saw nothing. Perhaps Micah was exercising their second horse. It couldn’t be Benjamin, because he’d told her it would take at least a month to cover his circuit. But Elise’s thudding heart made her head for the door and step outside hopefully.
The sound drew closer, and she was certain now a horse was approaching. Unconsciously she smoothed her hands over her dress, sorry she had put on her old skirt and blouse today while laundering the better dress that had belonged to Rebekah. She patted her hair, the mass of curls escaping the pins she had put in place that morning. Nothing could be done for it now, especially as she soon saw a head bob up behind a clump of mesquite.
It was definitely Benjamin, his straw-colored hair glinting in the sunlight as if gold dust had been sprinkled in the hay. She wondered somewhat protectively why he was not wearing his hat. He would get sunstroke in the afternoon heat.
But she forgot this as his figure emerged from behind the brush and trees, tall in the saddle, almost regal, though he had exchanged the fine black frock coat he used to wear on his circuit for the simple garb he wore while working the field—a coarse white homespun shirt and brown trousers braced with suspenders over strong, sturdy shoulders. He’d said the other clothes were too pretentious. They had belonged to a different man, a man he wanted to put in his past.
Her breath caught, and her heart, which had already been thumping wildly, now skipped a beat. Was it wrong to feel this way? He was her husband. Everything within her shouted that she was no more than a housekeeper, yet the fact of the matter was that their lives had touched and intersected in such a way that it should not be surprising more might have grown between them. They had been drawn together, two souls as different as night from day . . . even adversaries of sorts at first. But mutual need had forced them to see past those differences, oblivious of where it would lead.
Then she remembered her secret. She hadn’t thought about it since her wedding day. That had been a terrible mistake, because her forgetfulness had made her careless of her emotions, of the fact that she had no right to fall in love. Was it true, then? Is that what had happened? Perhaps it wasn’t too late to make it go away.
She could deny it. She should deny it. Yet as her heart careened like a raft out of control on a wild river, it was almost impossible to hide from the truth, to repress the burgeoning fact, the terrible, the wonderful fact that she . . . loved him, her husband.
As Benjamin rounded the corner of the path where the cabin first came into view beyond the brush, he saw her. Standing in the yard, her slight figure appeared forlorn, like the poor waif he had once imagined her. That image was heightened by the frayed, old dress she was wearing. The garish yellow silk of the skirt and the tattered ruffles of the blouse gave her the appearance of a child playing dress-up. But that image ended with surface observation. He knew there was so much more beneath mere appearances. Like her hair, the sable black strands gleaming in the sunlight, unruly curls escaping from the restraints of the pins, there was rich complexity mixed with her tender vulnerability. He’d once equated that life with evil, but he knew now it was nothing of the sort. The life she displayed radiated light, and that light had descended upon his life in an astounding way.
In the three weeks on the trail he had thought about her more than he let himself admit, thinking often of small things, the way her eyes crinkled tellingly when she teased, the music of her laughter, the sweet smell of lilac. He dreamed about her and woke from those dreams feeling a disturbing mixture of disquiet and exhilaration, missing her as if an important part of him had been left behind.
He hadn’t wanted to think how anxious he was to get home. After the first week on the circuit, he had practically raced through the rest, until his poor horse was ready to collapse with exhaustion. He had ridden hard the last two days thinking always of his home, his children, but mostly of her.
It was wrong. He knew it. Wrong because Rebekah had been gone not even six months. Wrong because he had made an agreement with Elise. He could not feel this way. He could not feel such happiness, such contentment, such stirrings that he sometimes ached with the fullness of it all. It was wrong, wasn’t it? It was wrong to love this woman, his wife.
He rode into the yard and dismounted. They both stood still, facing each other. His throat was so dry, he could barely creak out a stilted “Hello.” His arms ached to reach out to her, to draw her to him, to hold her and feel the warm security he knew he’d find in her arms.
She didn’t know what to think of the crooked smile on his lips that did not seem to match his eyes, which smoldered like ice caught on fire.
How she ached to run into his arms like a wife should upon her husbandfs homecoming. Her answering “Hello” was the most inadequate word she had ever spoken.
“You look tired.” She resisted the urge to brush away a drop of sweat trailing through the travel grit on his face.
“You look . . . well.” He could barely get that final word past the lump in his throat, especially when it hardly began to describe just how excruciatingly wonderful she did look. To steady himself, he reached for his saddlebags.
“Let me help,” she said, stepping close and reaching up her slim hand. Even the smell of trail and sweat and horseflesh did not abate the wild beating of her heart with the nearness of him.
“I’ve got it.” But he wasn’t fast enough to avoid brushing her arm nor her loose tangle of lilac-scented curls. He wanted to plunge his whole face into those curls, breathing lilac until the sweetness of it oozed from his own skin.
She giggled as he pulled one way on the saddlebag and she pulled the other. She dropped her hand when she saw he had a firm hold on the bags, but she could not seem to make herself move away from him. It was he who moved, rather quickly, she thought.
“You must be hungry,” she said.
He had been hungry for three weeks, deprived of the sustenance of her presence. He had been empty and realized only now just why.
“That’s a good guess” was his casual reply. “Let me get my horse settled first.”
Could he possibly guess just what he was doing to her at that moment? Could he see how every fiber of her heart, even her soul, was stirred? Could he realize what she was only just now discovering? Perhaps he would despise her if he knew, resent her for ruining a perfectly good arrangement.
She forced herself to walk calmly at his side toward the barn. But as they walked, the door of the cabin flung open, and Leah appeared.
“Papa!” The child grinned, then toddled forward. She had been walking for a few weeks now but was still not completely steady. With her eyes
focused on her father, she forgot about the step as she careened toward him. She tumbled down.
Elise and Benjamin both rushed to her rescue. They reached her at the same moment, their four hands thrust out. As they bent, their heads brushed.
“Sorry,” they said in unison, their warm breath mingling. It was a full moment before they jerked apart and refocused on the child sprawled at their feet.
Benjamin scooped Leah into his arms. She was whimpering a bit and had a skinned knee, but otherwise she was no worse for the mishap. Her father and stepmother, however, were practically panting, as if they had been the ones to fall—not down a single step, but rather down a precarious cliff.
CHAPTER
47
YOU MIGHT SAY I RECEIVED a mixed reception,” Benjamin told Elise when she asked about his circuit. “I frankly confessed my mistakes and asked their forgiveness. I wanted to tell them all about the new perspectives I’ve been learning, but I restrained myself for the most part.”
“Why is that?” Elise asked.
They were alone in the barn. Micah had left when Elise and Benjamin entered, taking Leah with him back to the cabin. He looked anxious to leave the barn as soon as Benjamin had entered and attempted to engage him in conversation. His answers to Benjamin’s questions had been short and strained. He’d noted Leah’s skinned knee and volunteered to tend it.
Elise should have gone back to the cabin also to check on the children, but she simply could not pull herself away from Benjamin’s side. She asked Micah to let her know if she was needed. She wanted to hear about Benjamin’s trip almost as much as she wanted to be near him.
“I didn’t want it to appear as if I was just foisting a new doctrine upon them.” He paused thoughtfully as he brushed his tired horse’s coat. “It is all so very personal that I found it hard to properly express it. I hardly know how to preach from my heart. It would be best if they saw it in a changed life rather than in words from my mouth.”
“But that’s rather difficult, seeing them as you do only on the circuit.”
“Yes. I wish it could be otherwise. For more reasons than one.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. His were nearly the color of sapphires now in the dim light of the barn.
“What do you mean?” As she looked into his eyes, she sensed that somehow she was involved in those reasons.
She was right.
“I realized something while I was gone,” he said. “I missed being home. I missed . . . everything. The children . . . everything.”
“Everything . . . ?”
“Yes, you know . . . everything.”
As he breathed that final word, her heart began its thumping drum-beat again. She could barely steady her voice to ask, “What will you do, then?”
“Maybe I should make my parish come to me for a change!” He chuckled. “At any rate, as things now stand, I doubt very many would. I wrote a letter to the mission board in Boston and left it in Cooksburg on my way home for Mr. Petty to post. I haven’t communicated with them since Rebekah’s death, when I wrote to inform them of that and of my inability to maintain my circuit, what with caring for the children. This time I formally requested an extended leave of absence.”
“So you aren’t going to continue your circuit?” She tried to mask the hopefulness in her tone.
“I can’t right now. Maybe it is just my imagination—a pathetic hope that it is so—but I feel I am needed more in my home now. I need to strengthen my bonds with the children. I cannot lose the younger ones as I have Micah. You have been wonderful with them, Elise, but they still need a father.”
“I agree.”
“I set out on my circuit this time mostly to discover just where I belonged, and it was never clearer to me that I belong here. Oddly, though, I made that discovery just as I have realized I have so much more now to impart to my parish than I ever did before.” He shook his head. “Life is never simple, is it?”
“No, it isn’t, but . . .”
“Yes?” He looked at her eagerly, as if he hung on her every word.
A bit flustered, she continued. “Nothing is truly final. Now you will bide a season with your family because that is where the need is. Another time may come when you will be free to minister again.”
“Of course. I see that . . .” His voice trailed away, but his gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then he jerked away. “Everything seems so clear and simple when I am with you, when I talk it out with you.” The brush hung limp in his hand, the horse seemingly forgotten. “Elise . . .”
She heard a small thud as the brush fell into the hay, then suddenly his arms were around her. The embrace was hard, even clumsy, but she felt his arms tremble with fervency. He kissed her hair, and somehow the pin came loose and the waves tumbled in his face. He murmured things she felt rather than heard.
“Benjamin . . .”
She lifted her face, her lips parted and inviting. He accepted the invitation and pressed his lips to hers. She felt the hunger of his kisses, the passion seeming to explode. There was no finesse, little gentleness, only passion and immediacy, as if something had burst within him and escaped his control. She responded at first because she had longed for him more than she realized. Then his kisses grew rougher and seemed to bruise her lips. He pressed her so tightly to him she could hardly breathe.
Panic seized her as images of other men gripped her—men filled with urgency and nothing else. Men who had had their way with her, then tossed a few coins in Maurice Thomson’s cash box.
“Benj—” She tried to stop him. “P-pl.”
Suddenly he did stop, and she knew by the devastated look in his eyes that he was as appalled as she over what had happened.
“Wh-what have I done?” he gasped, horrified, his entire body shaking.
“It’s all right.” She tried to steady her voice.
“I didn’t mean . . .” He closed his eyes. “I never wanted to make you feel as you did . . . before . . . with Thomson.”
“Benjamin, listen to me. I understand.” Instinctively she knew what had just happened had nothing to do with her past, with cash boxes, with cruelty.
He stumbled back against the wall of the barn, hugging his arms to his chest. “How can you understand when I don’t—dear God! I have never taken a woman like that. I have never lost control. I almost—”
“But you didn’t!” she was shaking, but she knew him too well to believe for an instant that he would have hurt her in any way.
“It’s just that it’s been a very long time, and you were so close.”
If only he’d said anything but that. Yet what had she expected? Declarations of love? They had an agreement, and he was a man of honor—a man of honor who was only human. But had it meant nothing then? Nothing but the primal urges of a long-deprived male? Did he feel nothing at all for her? She thought she had sensed something from him when they were in the yard, but no doubt her own feelings had made her attempt to read something in him that just wasn’t there.
Miserably she realized her love once again had been spent on a man who would not return it. At the thought of Kendell’s harsh rejection combined with what now seemed another rejection, sudden tears sprang to Elise’s eyes.
She tried to blink them back, hoping, praying Benjamin would not see them, but they just kept flowing, ignoring her attempts to stifle them.
“I’m so sorry,” he said miserably.
“It’s n-nothing.” She sniffed and swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. But the tears would not cease.
“This will never happen again. I swear!” Benjamin was a man of honor, she knew, and he meant what he said.
The tears continued to flood.
“Please don’t cry!” he implored.
“I c-can”t help it!” Then she turned and fled.
Benjamin slammed his fist hard against the barn wall, barely grazing the hard log but drawing blood from his knuckles. He didn’t even consider chasing after Elise and comforting her—well, he did consider it
for a crazy, idiotic instant. But who was he to comfort anyone?
It seemed all he could do was hurt the women he cared for. And even if he couldn’t admit more, he knew he cared for Elise. She had done so much for him, been so kind to him, encouraged him, supported him, loved his children, and he repaid that by treating her like the kind of woman he had once thought she was. But he knew in his heart Elise had never truly been that kind of woman.
What must she think of him now? How she must despise him. Yes, she said she understood, but just what did she understand? That he was like all the other men, thinking of her as merely an object with which to release his baser urges?
Was that in fact the case? He didn’t know . . . he didn’t think so. . . . He was so confused.
She was his wife, yet she wasn’t. He had missed her so on the circuit but shouldn’t have. He had yearned for her while he was gone but had never thought of her body, not in that way. Then the moment she was close, he had wanted her, body and all.
And the most confusing thing of all was that he still wanted her, yet feared losing her—not her body, but rather her sweet, dear spirit. She had run off in tears, probably wounded to the core. She would never be able to look at him again.
Perhaps that was for the best, after all. He couldn’t bear to hurt her as he had hurt Rebekah. He should never have allowed himself to get close to her, to need her, to even enjoy her. Their marriage was and could only be words on a piece of paper. It had been pure folly to have let it grow into more, to have become emotionally involved. He hadn’t planned for that to happen. They just seemed to have slipped into being comfortable with each other.
It wouldn’t happen again.
He’d put a tight rein on himself. If need be, he wouldn’t even look at her. It wouldn’t be easy, what with having to interact in the care of the children. Even eating meals was going to strain him. Too bad he couldn’t fall back on his circuit. But he would find enough distractions with his chores to maintain a proper distance from her.
