The first time Sara actually saw scores of butterflies, all at once, she and the children sat right down in the grass to watch. They were beautiful, the butterflies, that is. Her children were beautiful too, their eyes aglow, rapt and eager to watch and study the bright creatures, as if storing new bits of knowledge to share with their father later.
He was a good man, their father. Sara knew it, even if Adam did not. He had put his own well-being in jeopardy to save a family in a blizzard. He had put even his horses’ safety before his own, leaving them with that family, making it necessary for him to walk for miles on his bad leg. Then, without a second thought, he had walked even further that same night, sick as he was, to save her life as well.
As to why he had hit that father for abusing his son; there was no question in her mind that he did it for the child, to save him, and his sisters and brothers, from further beatings. Now he was taking them and their mother to safety.
From the good and generous boy who had taken abuse onto his own shoulders in his sister’s place, had come a good and generous man. A loving man.
His sister loved him, the memory of him as a boy, that was. Now, either she feared that Adam was like their abusive father, or she thought he was their abusive father. If the first case were true, eventually she would learn that Adam was gruff, but gentle, loud but kind. If the latter were true, Sara didn’t know if they could ever make her understand.
Pris’s giggles brought Sara back to the half-circle she and the girls made around the butterfly garden. It didn’t take her long to notice, following Pris’s pointing finger, that Hannah, sitting in her lap, had a butterfly perched on her kapp.
“What kind of butterfly is it?” Sara softly asked so as not to frighten the winged beauty.
“A Monawk,” Pris said.
“Right, a Monarch,” Lizzie said. “That’s good, Pris.”
“A bright orange butterfly that thinks Hannah is a big white flower,” Sara said.
Katie doubled over with laughter.
Pris lay in the grass and folded her hands on her chest. “My’s a flower too.”
“My too. Lizzie too.” Excited, Katie lay down beside her sister, and Lizzie shrugged and reclined as well.
Sara was chuckling at the three of them, side by side in the grass, when she looked up to see Adam standing there watching them. Watching her. Lord and didn’t the sight of him pound her heart and weaken her knees? Seven long weeks he had been gone.
Handsome, Lena had called him. Ya, he was that. And big too, especially of heart. And the dearest man Sara had ever known. She was so happy to see him, she swallowed so she wouldn’t weep for missing him. She also kept herself from jumping up to throw herself in his arms. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d want that … then again, from the look in his eyes, she might be wrong.
Maybe, like her, he yearned for a few things he didn’t dare reveal, even to himself, which possibility, she would ponder at another time.
“I have been learning about butterfly gardens,” Sara said. “The girls have been teaching me. And look here at the baby.” Sara pointed to the tiny little kapped head where the Monarch sat, wings spread wide, sunning itself. “This butterfly thinks Hannah is a pretty white flower.”
The girls, solemn, unsmiling, had all sat up to watch their Datt, the look in their eyes much like his right now, as if they wanted things they could not name and were afraid to breathe, they wanted them so badly.
“Look, Datt,” Katie said pointing to the huge old oak not too far distant. “There is a woodpecker in those branches, building a nest. I think she will have some little peckers soon.”
Adam’s eyes actually twinkled.
“Come,” Sara said on a chuckle, extending her hand to him. “Come and sit by me and teach your wife and your daughters more about butterflies.”
Adam came and sat so close, his shoulder brushed hers, and she knew it was not an accidental touch, but one born of yearning.
To tell him she understood and shared his need, Sara nudged him back and ended up staying that way, shoulders touching. When he turned to face her, silent, wide eyed, as if he didn’t believe her response, Sara made so bold as to kiss his cheek. “I missed you.”
Adam looked down at his hands. Sara regarded them as well. Beefy, big-knuckled hands, trembling like a leaf in a breeze, hands that would never hurt a child.
To prove it, Sara placed the baby in them. “Hannah missed you too.”
Startled, Adam grasped his tiny daughter as if she were made of spun glass, panic a near thing.
Sara refused to give into her inclination and take Hannah back. “Don’t worry; she won’t break.”
“My missed you too, Datt,” Katie said, from right beside him. She bent to kiss his cheek too. Then she sat on his leg, put her arm around his neck and her head on his shoulder.
Hannah, still in his lap, batted Katie’s kapp-strings making the both of them giggle.
Adam’s chest rose and fell at a quick pace for a minute, and again, Sara fought an urge to rescue him.
Lizzie stood slowly and came over too, but she stopped and stood before him, watching, her look much as it had been the morning Abby died, when Adam filled the stairway entrance. His look, however, bore not so much severity as yearning. And Sara realized that Lizzie’s fear was not of him, but of not being wanted or loved by him, a fear he should understand well. Sara intended to speak to him about it, as soon as she could figure out a way to approach the subject without scaring him.
At the notion that she could frighten Mad Adam Zuckerman, Sara giggled and Adam looked at her, eyes wide … beseeching. He was either afraid she’d lost her mind or silently crying for help.
In the event he didn’t know what to do, Sara leaned near enough to brush his earlobe with her lips, and he leaned too, inviting the touch. “You can fit another daughter under that big, long arm of yours,” she whispered. “Extend it and invite Lizzie in.”
Adam swallowed a protest before he hesitated, then extended his arm. “Come Lizziebelle,” he said, his voice riddled with gravel.
His oldest daughter’s grin was instant and brilliant, changing her face from plain to wondrous beautiful. It made Adam swallow thrice more as Lizzie snuggled in.
Sara was sorry that his oldest daughter was not as bold as her sister. Lizzie didn’t kiss him.
Pris, her pout hovering but not quite present, came forward finally, but to Sara she came and stood, even more awkwardly than Lizzie had.
“I have an empty lap,” Sara said. “Just waiting for my Pretty Pris.”
Fear filled Pris’s sad, dark eyes then, and her old whine began, faltered, and died. Lowering her head, Pris turned and walked away.
Sara’s heart splintered; her mind raced. “My heart aches, Pris,” she said. “For wanting to hold you so much.”
Pris stopped. She took a breath so deep that, even from behind, Sara could see her whole body take air in and release it. Still facing away, the sullen child took a back-step in Sara’s direction, speeding her heart.
Pris raised her head, looking far into the distance.
Behind her, her family waited in silence.
Not removing her gaze from Pris, Sara reached, and Adam’s hand was there.
Just when frustration made Sara want to scream, Pris stepped lively back, tripped on Sara’s crossed legs and fell into her lap.
Her sisters laughed as Pris turned into Sara’s victorious embrace. Had Pris feared she was not welcome? Sara hugged her again. She would be sure Pris became well acquainted with her lap from now on. “Thank you, darling. My heart feels better now. Happy. How about yours?”
Pris’s untried smile wobbled, but for a first effort, it was magnificent. Sara grinned at Adam, and Pris reached for baby Hannah’s hand.
In the way her husband had stared at her when he arrived, as if he had forgotten what she looked like, he now gazed at the children in the circle of their arms with like wonder.
Sara laced her fingers with his and rested t
heir clasped hands on his thigh. A family—connected by something less tangible than blood, but infinitely more binding. Love.
“Welcome home, Datt,” Sara said, leaning into him. “You want to tell this little family of ours why butterflies need the sun to soar?”
Chapter 16
Adam’s voice faltered during his butterfly lesson, the marvel of his homecoming filling him with some kind of new hope. This was not so different from other butterfly lessons, he told himself, except that he was not standing a distance away, the girls looking solemnly up at him.
Except that his youngest slept in his arms.
Except that Katiebug’s wayward curls tickled his neck and Lizziebelle’s small hand patted his back.
His heart beat altogether too fast and he didn’t know if happiness or something else made it pound so. To his surprise, he no longer feared his girls. At this moment, he didn’t even fear hurting them—likely the first time since Lizzie was born—which should scare the wits out of him, truth to tell, though it did not.
Something more was at work here, Adam believed, than the usual, and if he were to give it a name, that name must be Sara. It was her.…
Adam faltered, searching for the right word. Magic was the only explanation that came to mind, and in a way it fit, for his wife did, indeed, enchant him, but magic was not an acceptable notion for his people. Love was not an acceptable notion for him, but he supposed it existed, between Sara and the girls, at least, which was fine, as long as he did not get tangled in it.
Whatever Scrapper Sara had wrought, it hovered all around them, almost as if….
And then Adam knew.
Sara was their very own butterfly, bright and shimmering. With joy, beauty and color, she enticed them. While in her sphere, they became infused with her warmth and light, and their hearts also took wing.
About Sara, they gathered … almost like a normal family.
Adam cleared his throat and tried to continue but found that he could say no more. Blessed, he felt, grateful, and sure such wonderment could never last.
And so it could not, for here came his mother. “Supper time,” she said, beaming down at them, the look in her eyes bright as he remembered it had been a hundred or more years ago.
So many wonders could never last.
The children stood for Grossmommie Lena as she gathered them up to bring to the house to wash, and Adam surprised himself by refusing to give up the baby. “She sleeps,” he said. “We’ll wake her if we move her.”
Lena nodded and she and the older girls grabbed hands. Still sitting beside Sara, Adam watched his mother run with his children toward the house. Sara turned to him and he thought he saw in her eyes a look that said she had missed him as much as he had missed her, even though the words, when she’d spoken them, seemed impossible to believe.
He wanted her alone. He wanted her lips against his. He wanted so much more. He wanted … everything he could not have.
He rose awkwardly with Hannah in his arms and was glad when Sara helped him, not because he needed help, but because he had been starving for her touch.
They walked silently together, until he slowed. “Come,” he said, veering toward the barn, wanting Sara to follow, which she did. He led her straight to the tack room and elbowed the door shut after she stepped inside, then he advanced on her until her back went up against the wall.
Sara could barely breathe for the hammering in her breast. Adam was home. He was home and they were alone. And he was going to kiss her. She read intent, lust, perhaps even caring, in his eyes. So eager she was to answer that she ordered her arms to remain at her side, else he would feel the evidence of their child. Their babe had done a lot of growing in the last seven weeks and he was now an undeniable form nestled silent and unmoving beneath her heart.
Fortunately, little Hannah rested between them, even now, as Adam leaned in for a kiss.
A husband. Children. Another growing inside her. Happiness. Yet it took her husband’s lips against hers, like a gentle flutter of butterfly wings, for Sara to know perfect joy.
When he pulled back, gazed into her eyes and swooped for her lips again, joy became desire, swift and pulsing. And Sara moaned and answered with as much desperation as his kiss demanded and she reached for him, despite herself.
When, some minutes later, Adam pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming in gasps, Sara did not need to be body to body to know how much he desired her.
Months ago, she would have crowed with delight to find her husband eagerly seeking her out, locking them in a room together away from everyone else.
But not now. Not with the secret of their child between them. She couldn’t keep her pregnancy from him forever, she knew. But Adam had come so far with the girls, she could not break the tenuous bond that had formed any sooner than was absolutely necessary.
Somehow, she knew that when he realized there was to be another child, progress would falter between him and the ones he already had. As if that were not enough, all would be lost between the two of them, as well, because he would never forgive her for what he would think was an attempt on her part to make him break his vow. This she accepted. She had given him just cause to suspect her of seduction. But between him and his girls, the bond must remain intact, however tenuous, for they could not bear to lose him again.
As she could not bear to be the cause of such a loss. Yet how could she keep from it?
Sara touched the whiskers on Adam’s upper lip, to turn her thoughts and his. “You need to shave. Another night’s growth and you will break the ordnung.”
He scoffed. “They have rules for hair above the lips and none for men like….”
Sara ached to ease the pain she saw furrowing his brow. “Let’s go inside. You will have time to shave before supper so as not to scandalize your mother with your whiskers.”
“If my mother knew what I want to do before supper, it would kill her.” Adam’s kiss was rough and possessive and it cut off her laugh. Sara loved it. She let her tongue play with his, felt herself opening, flowering under the onslaught of his need and her own.
Lena called to them from somewhere nearby.
Adam pulled from the kiss and swore beneath his breath.
Sara surprised them both with her giggle. “We’ll be there in a minute, Mutter,” she called, winning her husband’s gratitude.
“I missed you too,” he said, kissing her cheek, trailing that kiss to her ear and below. “Weeks, I spent with Jenny, and all I could think about was coming home to my Sara.”
“If I thought you’d feel any different, I would not have let you go,” Sara said, her bold assertion a perfect balance to the melt taking place in her heart. My Sara, he’d said.
One of her husband’s eyebrows rose at her daring, then he grinned, shrugged and followed her from the tack room.
Later that night, Sara washed quickly so she could change into her nightgown while Adam was still out bedding down the stock. Roman had fled like a field mouse before a barn cat the instant he spotted Adam. He’d not wanted to be thrown out again, her mother-in-law guessed. So Adam had more work to do than usual after supper, which was just as well.
Reaching for her gown on the bed, Sara stopped mid-move, when she felt something … different. And wasn’t ‘a flutter of butterfly wings’ the perfect way to describe it. Wonder and awe filled her as she smoothed the mound of her bare belly. Her child had just—it happened again. A flutter, yes. Movement, slight, but oh so grand. Her child saying, ‘hello, I am here.’
Sara’s eyes filled as she stroked the swell and waited for another sign from the very precious and tiny life growing inside her.
Adam stopped as he beheld her. So intense was his Sara’s concentration that she had not heard him come in or shut the door. He devoured the sight of her, naked, perfect, in the soft light of the oil lamp. Like a fall of water after a spring rain, her hair cascaded down her back, all turns and swells and soft as new wool. Her breasts, proud and
uptilted, were as perfect as her long legs, even her fingers, as they stroked—
Adam reeled as his world tilted and fell from beneath him.
He had never seen a pregnant woman naked, but he knew, without doubt, that he beheld one now. His insides lurched. Panic grabbed him by the throat. Sara was going to die. She was going to leave him. He would lose her in childbed and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He knew it as well as he knew he’d killed Abby and he cried out for knowing it.
Sara turned at the sound of agony that tore from him, her face glowing. “He moved,” she whispered.
Adam swallowed his sob. What had he done? Why had he—
Sobriety could be painful. Reality could cripple.
Adam approached his wife, mesmerized by the evidence of her condition. When he blinked and looked again, it was still there.
Sara’s eyes widened and she began to tremble. She grabbed her nightgown and held it before her, as if she could cover the evidence of her condition and deny the moment just passed. Fear, clear, undeniable, engulfed her.
The English. “The English!” Adam shouted in fury. “Did you know you carried his child when we married? Did you think to keep from being shunned by passing that man’s bast—”
The sting of her slap came fast; Adam hadn’t caught her leap from fear to fury. A spitting cat, she became now, attacking and shoving him with both hands.
Unprepared, unresisting, he stumbled but caught his balance.
“You stupid, stupid man. You are the worst of fools. You refuse love from your children when they beg to give it, and now you turn me away. I understood your fear because of Abby. My judgment on the night she died was unforgivable. I will be sorry for the words I spoke until the end of my days, as should be. I knew what this would do to you. I have worried myself sick over it. And this is how you repay my concern?”
“Hush,” he said as her voice rose. “My mother will hear you.”
“Your mother is right. You are a dummkopf. Too stupid to see the bounty you have been given. Go away. Go sleep in the barn like you once threatened. Just go.” Sara marched to their bedroom door to open it and point his way out, as if she bore the wounds from this sickening revelation.
Butterfly Garden Page 21
