Katie tried to raise one of Sara’s eyelids with tiny probing fingers. Down the hall, Baby Hannah wailed, likely hungry and wet, and near her ear, Pris whined.
Sara caught Katie’s wayward finger and managed to open her eyes. “Does this mean it’s morning?”
“Ya,” Adam said from her doorway, sitting Sara straight up. “Short night, I know.” He pointed his chin at the children as he raised a suspender over his shoulder and shrugged. “They don’t seem to care. Come downstairs, Pris, Katie. Give Sara a chance to wake up. Lizzie, go get the baby and bring her down.
“After you’re ready,” he said to Sara. “I’ll go milk. While you dress, I’ll start the stove.”
“And this,” Sara said as she stepped on an icy floor a minute later, seeking her robe against the chill. “This must be wedded bliss.”
* * * * *
Married life turned out to be both better and worse than Sara expected.
She supposed she should deny her yearning, even to herself, but she wanted Adam’s arms around her again. Who would have thought it? Certainly not her. She wanted his hands on her in more places than she’d known them—wicked, wicked thought.
Did a decent woman feel such things?
Not for the first time, Sara wished her mother had lived. She needed a woman’s advice more now than when her first suitor had turned from her, more even than with her second and last.
A surprising part of her new life was her relationship with Adam, which had altered to one almost of friendship. The small changes that brought this about had begun on the morning of their first full day of marriage. Adam had been there when she awakened, a surprise she wasn’t certain she liked then. But now….
Just this morning, two married weeks later, she realized as she awakened, before even opening her eyes, that she awoke now with a feeling of hope ... of anticipation.
As he had been that first morning, Adam was there, pulling up his suspenders and herding the children off her bed to give her a few minutes to compose herself and dress.
The first morning he’d been his sober self, but these days, especially mornings, there seemed almost a tilt to his mouth, though on one side only, which gave her heart a bit of a skip every time she saw it. And though his near-smile was a weak one, it was an improvement, nonetheless. A ‘good-morning’ to treasure.
Adam had begun to take on his own farm chores that last week before their hearing and wedding, not stopping for the noon meal, preferring to eat breakfast, skip dinner, and eat a large supper. That too had changed the first day of their marriage.
That noon he came in, sat at the table with them and said the prayer. He discussed all manner of topics, from the sheep he hated for a month after shearing to Roman’s gossipy ways.
If one of the children spoke, he listened politely, though he rarely responded. But there had been a change in that too. Sara knew instinctively that for perhaps the first time in his life, Adam Zuckerman saw his children, was aware they existed, though he was not always pleased about it, which annoyed Sara no end. To complicate matters between the two of them, he seemed now to see her, the wife he’d been forced to marry, as most times a nuisance, and at others, a wonder. His contradictory reactions, the unexpected shift from one to the other, was driving her daft.
If she wasn’t careful, he’d make her ‘mad’ as him.
A few days ago, when he’d been his old growling self at dinner, she’d dared ask why he married her. “Not to keep from being shunned,” she said. “I think I know you better than that already.” And not for love, she thought, wishing she weren’t so certain.
“For the children,” he replied simply. “We both saw they wanted you. Needed you. The same reason you married me,” he said. “For them.”
“For them,” she whispered now as she watched them screaming and chasing each other, having a wild, spring-lamb romp, despite the carpet of snow and the crisp in the air. They ran under flapping, dresses, the colors of spring meadows and blue spruce, morning-glories and cornflowers, asters and eggplants.
They wore the new frocks she’d made last week in a purplish wool leaning so near to red, Sara expected to be chastised by the Bishop any day. What a sight. Lines of blazing color against white snow. Three little girls running hither and yon, their black billowing capes flying behind them, dresses peeking out in bright defiance.
Sitting in her rocker by the window, Sara snuggled her face into Hannah’s belly. Her kapp got snatched by a pudgy hand, the baby’s gasping gurgle so much like a giggle, Sara laughed. Her happiness bubbled forth then, unexpected, wild, and stopping Adam in his tracks.
“It’s not dinner time yet,” Sara said, her heart thumping when she saw his look. Was he frowning because dinner wasn’t ready or because she had been laughing? Or was her heart racing simply from the sight of the man she felt the need to watch at every turn?
Large as he was, Adam Zuckerman looked like a lad tying empty tins to a cat’s tail, caught. “Mild out there,” he said, turning her thoughts. “The girls like it.”
So, he’d noticed them playing.
“Have to go up to the Millersburg buggy factory. Only place I can get a wheel for the market wagon. “Want to come?” Adam reddened. “All of you?”
Excitement beat in Sara’s breast, but Adam stiffened his spine, as if bracing himself for a blow. Sara was troubled by the image, but anticipation filled her nevertheless. “I think that would be fun,” she said, easing the furrow in his brow.
“Fun,” he said, testing the word.
What did fun mean to a man like Adam Zuckerman? Had he ever experienced it? Could a woman teach a man ... a madman ... to have fun? Perhaps it was time for a wife to try. “When do you want to leave?”
“When you’re ready,” he said. “Better get them in to ... you know.”
Sara laughed again. “Something had shifted in this house and it was big and burly and made lots of noise. Sara would wager all her worldly possessions that Adam had never, ever, paid attention to the potty habits of his daughters.
Ultimately, making the girls ... you know ... before they left, mattered not at all, because Katie was so excited by the outing, they had to stop to go to the bushes a dozen times before they reached Berlin, one town over, with thrice as far still to go.
Between stops, the sights they saw along the way had all three girls asking questions, Sara answering them all. They must never have left the farm before, except, perhaps, when she took them to her house.
At the buggy factory in Millersburg, they each got a licorice stick from the owner, which made their mouths black and comical. Sara trying to wash them off with snow caused Pris to screech and Katie to imitate her with an exaggerated, unholy howl. The factory workers, smoking their noon pipes outside, laughed at the show, and the more they did, the louder Katie got.
Lizzie was clearly mortified and tried to shush her sister.
Adam’s gaze shifted from the men, to his daughters and back, with a look akin to wonder on his face, until Sara began to get them into the buggy. There, she parceled out bread and cheese, but only she and Adam were hungry. They stopped at Escher’s Mercantile, a general store that sold everything imaginable. Sara was awed, but the girls….
From seeders and corn shellers to udder balm and lamp wicks, they picked up everything and asked what it was. And while Sara rocked baby Hannah in her arms and made sure they did not touch anything dangerous, Adam answered all their questions.
As he did, Sara was struck by two things. Adam displayed an incredible patience in explaining each item to the girls, though he never smiled nor did he touch them. He even bent on his haunches at one point so Pris could examine a sugaring spout. What also struck her was the length of time that passed between each question and Adam’s answer. At first, Sara was certain he would remain silent—he often ignored the girls’ questions—but today he answered, eventually, speaking with purpose and a complete knowledge of the subject, even keeping the age of his audience in mind.
Adam Zuckerman, she realized then, was not so much cold and aloof, he was ... contemplative. He, very simply, considered the subject, in order to give a proper and concise response. It was an enlightening and amazing discovery.
Sara could barely breathe, their outing was going so well, so easily, like any normal family trip to the store might … until Katie picked up a pair of white cotton bloomers, unfolding them and displaying them like a flag. “What’s this?”
Adam regarded Sara, turned the color of sugar beets, and turned away as fast. Then he looked to the heavens. Sara thought he might be praying for deliverance and her giggle rushed up and out before she could check it.
Adam regarded her again, suspicious of the sound, somehow sure it came from her. He looked back at Katie and nodded. “They’re for mommies. Put them back now.”
Katie did and Sara breathed easier, until Lizzie tugged Adam’s jacket. “I want to buy them for Sara.”
She and Adam looked at each other then. She knew she stared wide eyed with dismay, but she saw something new in Adam’s expression ... a sparkle in his eyes, a deeper curve, even, in that near-smile of his. It was enough to make her giddy. Considering the cause, she put her unsteady hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. “Thank you, baby, but I don’t need—”
“Put them in the bag,” Adam told Lizzie.
“Oh,” Sara squeaked, “But I don’t—”
“In the bag,” he said again, warning her that his decision was made. “Lizzie wants them for you. You shall have them.”
Stubborn, Sara thought, more stubborn than her, maybe.
He gave her his back, saying the subject was closed. And she followed him into the next aisle ... where Lizzie was holding a breast pump, which even Jordan had been embarrassed to explain to Sara. “What’s this for, Datt?”
And that was the end of Adam’s patience and their excursion. “Time to go,” he said fishing money from his pocket. “Sara, get them into the buggy.”
And Sara thought that perhaps he was more resolute than he was stubborn, and that there were times, like these, that such a thing might be considered good rather than bad.
The girls slept all the way home.
Snow muffled the sound of the horses hooves forming a harmony that blended with the jolting movement of the carriage. “We had a wonderful day,” Sara said after a while, her words making mist with her breath.
A sound escaped Adam that might have been a strangled groan. “I never talked to them before,” he said speeding Sara’s heart with the admission, making her pray he wasn’t sorry he’d done it. “Pris is like Abby,” he added after a while. “She whines because she wants something I cannot give her.”
Oh, Lord, and what did that mean? And why did the words turn her both prickly cold and panicky warm at the same time? Sara dared not speak, in fear of breaking the spell his words wrought, words freely given, a rare treat.
“You’re good for her, for them,” he said. “You’ve got something Abby never had.”
Sara was afraid of the answer, but she had to ask the question. “What do I have that Abby lacked?”
Adam was quiet so long, Sara thought he wouldn’t answer, then she realized he was considering his answer, as he had in the store. From now on, she was going to give him time before losing her temper or walking away in frustration.
“What did Abby lack that I have?” she repeated after a while.
He looked full at her then, letting that near-smile of his grow, along with an eye-sparkle that made her heart jump. “Bloomers?” he suggested.
That night, he came into her bedroom.
She had just donned her nightgown and let down her hair. And as she stood surprised and unsure, he examined her, head to foot. “Bare feet,” he said. “Bad as the girls. Where are your socks?”
Struck dumb, Sara could only point to the open drawer on her dresser. He picked up a pair and motioned her to the bed. “Sit.” When she did, he unrolled her socks and made to put them on her.
“No, I— Don’t.”
So he nodded and handed her the socks, sitting back on his haunches to wait while she put them on.
She needed to raise her leg to do so, but he was down there on the floor, where he could see, and she was only wearing her nightgown, after all. Frustrated, she threw her socks at his head. “Just do it.”
Adam raised a brow and complied.
Funny how such strong hands could feel so soft sliding along her ankle.
“Get in,” he said. “Cold tonight.”
Sara slid under her blankets thinking, ‘cold or not, there must be a fire around somewhere.’ She was sweating, and she couldn’t decide which way to settle. Sit up? Lie back? Lie facing him?
She sighed and lay on her back, her hands clasped over the quilt, feeling stupid, useless, as if he had the upper hand, towering over her as he was, a feeling she disliked a great deal.
Adam tried to sit beside her on the bed, nudging her legs over to give him room. He stroked one of her fingers, turned the hand over to examine her palm and trace her calluses.
His face was serene, kind even, maybe not as much sadness rested deep in his eyes, as she’d glimpsed hiding there in the past. His beard had been trimmed that morning but she liked it shaggy as well, maybe more so. There was a strength about him, a largeness, bending over her as he was, those wide shoulders of his, capable of hefting huge sacks of grain, or bails of hay. He could carry his girls on his shoulders if he wanted. Would he ever want so simple a joy?
He could carry her. Where would he carry her? Up the stairs? To her bed. She was in her bed. He was here with her.
Sara thought she knew exactly how he must have felt when she gave him his baths. There were parts of her that reacted so physically to the soft stroke of his hand, she’d be standing the sheet up too, if she had the right parts. As things were, she knew she was ready, eager to cooperate with whatever he might offer.
Should she offer? Did wives do such things, seduce their own husbands? Better than seducing other women’s husbands, she supposed, swallowing a bubble of laughter.
Despite her determination not to allow it, Sara’s gaze wandered to the flap of his trousers, and she was sorry, because he was as ready as her.
She looked to see if he’d noticed her perusal, but he was too busy watching where her breasts pointed her gown. “Cold,” she said to excuse her embarrassment.
“I don’t think so.” His voice was ragged, his gaze directed there, where he reached to touch one aching peak, almost as if his hand weighed too much to do anything else.
Sara arched, reaching too, and met that hand, sooner than he expected. A flick of his fingers, a rasp at the nubbin, and Sara could feel herself moisten in anticipation.
Adam’s hand trembled, but he continued.
Sara grasped the bedclothes and closed her eyes while he teased her through her nightgown. Both hands now, touching, molding, lifting each breast toward….
Adam leaned over and took her nipple into his mouth despite her gown, and Sara almost came undone. Stretching out beside her, he suckled hard, wetting her gown, pulling delicious shivers from her, with his lips and tongue.
Streams of pleasure shot from the sight of his torture to her throbbing womb. She wanted him there, inside her, filling that empty place, that place meant for him alone.
If she could just touch the heat of him.
Sara rolled against him to get closer, close enough to touch ... and knocked him to the floor.
Adam said a word Sara didn’t know and sat up, then he hung his arms off his raised knees while he took several deep, unsteady breaths.
Sara was having trouble getting air, herself, and she wanted badly to cry.
A sound escaped Adam, strangled again, hoarse. She thought for a minute he was crying, until she realized it was laughter, of a sort, hard and rusty. He seemed as surprised by it as her. Mad Adam Zuckerman was laughing, even if the sound did have an edge of hysteria to it.
Sara burst into tears.
Tha
t stopped him. He jumped up and took her into his arms to soothe her and rub her back. “Don’t cry. It’ll go away. The want will pass. It always does.”
Sara shoved him. He was torturing her, putting his arms around her while he was telling her to let the yearning go. She rose to her knees and poked his immovable chest. “Adam Zuckerman you have to be the stupidest man God ever created.”
He sobered. “So my father said.”
Sara realized, barely in time, that pointing out her frustration over his unwillingness to make her his wife in truth, might not be in the best interest of a successful seduction. She sat back on her feet. “I was crying because I was happy.”
“Well, there you go. I am stupid, ‘cause I have no idea what the devil you’re talking about.”
“I never saw you laugh. Abby said you never ... but you just did. Don’t you see? You laughed today. You talked to the girls, instead of ignoring them. Did you see their faces?”
Adam lowered his head. “I saw their faces. And just now, in that bed, I saw yours.” He touched her cheek, tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Ah Sara, don’t you see, I’m no good for any of you.”
“Let us be the judge of that.”
He didn’t say anything to that, considering his answer again, no doubt. Best she not give him too much time. She lay back and yawned. “I’m tired.” She scooted over to the far side of her bed and turned to face him, patting the empty side. Get in and let’s get some sleep. It’s been a long day.” She pretended indifference, as if it were easy for her to make such an offer, when it was not, and waited for him to make the next move.
Yearning she saw on his face. Need. Want. Despair. “It’s not going to happen, Sara. You and I will never, ever, share a bed. And that is the way it has to be.”
“Then why did you come in here tonight?”
“Because I’m an idiot, but don’t worry, I won’t make the same mistake again.
And he didn’t, not even the next morning or the morning after that.
A week passed, during which he avoided her room altogether, morning, night, and in between. They were back to where they began. Adam Zuckerman was madder and more remote than ever, and Sara was almost as bad.
Butterfly Garden Page 9
