Not at all sure he did, Henri nodded back.
“Good. Now, you’re not to pull or tug, hear? She won’t like that.” Pa glanced at him. “The first squirt from each teat goes onto the ground, not into the pail. To clean her out, so to speak.”
“Yes, Pa.”
“Repeat with your other hand, going back and forth between the teats. Continue until that part of the udder looks deflated.” Deftly, Pa milked Grandma Belle, talking as he worked. “You’ll need to keep an eye on her back, for if she arches, she’s about to drop cow pies. You don’t want to foul the milk, so grab the bucket and move out of the way.” Pa glanced at Henri. “Ready to try?”
What if I can’t do it? But not wanting to disappoint Pa, he nodded.
Pa scooted back on the stool. “Sit in front of me and reach for the udder.”
Henri took a seat. Held between Pa’s strong legs, he leaned over and took a hold of the two nearest teats. They felt warm in his hands. His first squeeze didn’t produce anything.
“Slide your hands.”
He squeezed and slipped his hands down the teats. Some milk squirted out and splashed into the pail.
“There you go.” Pa spoke with an encouraging tone. “Keep doing it. Not both hands together, though. First one hand, then the other. Find a rhythm.”
The cow mooed, startling Henri, and he let go.
Pa patted his leg. “She’s just talking to you. Get on back to milking now.”
Henri bent to the task, feeling satisfaction every time he saw the white stream and heard the splash-splot sound as the milk hit the sides of the pail. After a while, his hands grew tired. He slowed, but kept going. The milk dried to a dribble.
Pa patted Henri’s leg. “Let me take over and finish up the ole gal. We’re not going to strip all the milk from her. When we’re finished, we’ll let the calves out, and they will do that.”
Henri didn’t want to stop, but he couldn’t make his hands move anymore.
“You can help with the next one.” Pa eased Henri out of the way. “Shake out your hands. That will uncramp them.”
Henri stood. He spread his arms and flapped his hands, watching Pa’s every move. This time, he better understood what Pa was doing.
Delilah lurked a few feet away, tail straight up and ears pricked. When he turned to her, she mewed and walked over to them, sniffing and rubbing against Pa’s legs.
The cat had birthed five kittens, and after a few days, she’d allowed Henri near them. He loved to spend time with the little bundles of fluff in the morning and after school.
To his astonishment, the cat walked right under the cow.
“Meow.” She sat on her haunches, front paws in the air.
Pa grinned at Henri. “Someone wants her supper.”
The cat eyed Grandma Belle’s udder.
Pa aimed a teat at Delilah and squirted milk at her mouth.
Delilah lapped at the milk as fast as she could. Some splattered on her face, but she didn’t stop to lick the milk off.
Henri laughed. “Delilah has a white mustache.”
Eyebrows raised, Pa sent him a glance filled with humor and pride.
Henri had never seen that look on Pa’s face, and something warm and good and achy swelled in his chest. “Think you could do that with Jacques, Pa?”
“Sure thing. Just have to get him to smile. That grin of his is plenty bigger than Delilah’s.”
Henri laughed again, thinking of Jacques’s grenouille grin and the surprised look he’d have on his face when Pa shot that milk at him. “Can we do it tomorrow?”
Pa winked. “We’ll introduce Jacques to Grandma Belle. Might as well bring your maman along so she can see what a good milker you are.”
After Erik bore Henri off to help with the horses and get his first milking lesson, Antonia cleaned and fed two cranky babies. Once they’d gotten dry bottoms and food in their stomachs, Jacques and Camilla settled down. Because the evening was still warm, she washed up on the porch using the washcloth and Daisy’s fragrant soap to clean herself all the way down to her waist.
Later, while she was cooking dinner, frying up the rabbits she’d taken from the springhouse, Henri rushed in, jabbering about learning to milk. He ran down the list of what he’d done, obviously repeating the instructions Erik had given him. Encouraged by her nods, he moved back and forth with her as she carried dishes to the table.
Here he be! The sight of her son’s bright face made her heart soar. Up until now, she’d only caught glimpses of the happy boy he’d been before Jean-Claude’s death. However, after those cheerful moments, Henri always retreated into his sadness.
His voice trailed off.
She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Proud of you, I be. Now out to the porch and wash up.”
Antonia set the table, including the serving pieces that Erik wanted but she thought unnecessary. More dishes to be washing up after dinner.
Henri skipped back inside, heading toward Jacques.
She watched with amusement, seeing a now-clean boy tell his little brother all about milking a cow, complete with hand motions. She laughed at his glee when he recounted Pa squirting the milk at the cat and promised Jacques a treat tomorrow.
Jacques’s enthusiastic “Baa, Harri!” apparently served to encourage him.
Henri took the small boy’s hands and tried to show him how to move his fingers as if clutching a cow’s teat.
Through the open door, Antonia heard Erik’s heavy footsteps on the porch, followed by the sound of splashing water. She pushed the frying pan to the cooler part of the stovetop. Picking up the liniment bottle from the table, she stepped through the door.
Bare to the waist, Erik bent over the washbasin.
Suddenly, she wondered if the liniment was such a good idea after all. Without his shirt, Antonia could see the breadth of Erik’s shoulders and how his muscled back sloped to a narrow waist. The position showed his tight, well-formed buttocks and massive legs.
She inhaled a sharp breath, and with a sudden feeling of shyness, almost turned and fled inside. But a stronger current swept her across the porch, her moccasins silent on the wooden floor.
Straightening, he picked up the second bar, the one smelling of bay leaves, and rubbed the washcloth over the side of the soap. He tried to reach the center of his back and winced.
His arms must be sore. “Here, let me help.” She set the bottle on the porch rail.
He paused, glanced over his shoulder at her, and his lazy smile widened into a slow grin. “Can’t say I’ll turn down your offer.”
Antonia took the washcloth from him and placed it just under his neck. She slowly ran the cloth down his spine and across the bottom of his back, then moved her hand in small circles.
He shivered.
In almost sensual motions, Antonia stroked the cloth until she’d covered his whole back. She dunked the washcloth into the basin and rinsed it out. Picking up the ewer, she poured some clean warm water over the cloth and wiped the soap off his back. She switched the wet cloth for a towel and patted his skin dry.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick.
“Once you be done, my liniment be helpful with soreness.” She held up the brown bottle. “Later, I could rub some on you.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And you, wife? I’m sure you could use some liniment as well.” The suggestive tone of his voice gave another meaning to the words.
Warmth swirled in Antonia’s stomach, and she stepped back. “I have supper on the stove.”
His blue eyes held a knowing look. “We’ll do this liniment of yours after the children are in bed.”
Antonia shut the bedroom door behind her and hesitated a moment, listening to hear if the boys protested. She loved having the luxury of a separate room where the children could fall asleep, giving her and Erik a little time to themselves.
Instead of sitting and reading like she’d expected, Erik stood with a closed book in his hand. He’d turned down the lantern on the table. The yello
w light had dulled to a dull orange glow, casting the rest of the room into dark shadows. He slid the book into the gap between two others on the bookshelf. “How shall we do this?”
Something about the tension in his body told Antonia he was as nervous about the idea of their massaging each other as she was. “With Jean-Claude and I, we, ah, just laid down. But. . .” Her voice trailed away, for she wasn’t sure how to tell him that position had often led to other kinds of touches, ones she wasn’t sure about.
Seeming to understand, Erik gestured toward the table. “I’ll just straddle a chair.” His fingers worked at the top button of his shirt.
Heat rose in her cheeks, and Antonia turned away, chastising herself for her reaction. I haven’t blushed so much since I be a girl. She reached for the brown bottle on the table and uncorked the top, smelling the yarrow and other herbs she had no English words for.
Behind her, she heard a rustle as Erik removed his shirt. He laid the folded shirt on the table and turned the chair around, straddling the seat and crossing his arms over the back.
Antonia poured a puddle of liniment into her palm and stepped behind him, rubbing her hands together to coat her fingers and palms and warm the oil.
The lamplight played over the ridges of his bare back. Erik had the well-muscled body of a hard-working man.
The sight made her heart thump harder. She lowered her hands to his shoulders, first slicking the oil over his skin, and then skimming her fingers over the muscles, assessing where he felt tight.
“Hmmm.”
“You be having rocks here under your skin,” she teased.
“Feels like it.”
She kneaded the muscles of his shoulders, paying particular attention to the tight areas.
Sometimes he made a sound, a grunt or groan, which told her when she’d hit a hurting place or one that felt good. She spent time on his shoulders and neck, then moved to probe with her fingertips between his shoulder blades.
Rubbing liniment over Erik felt more intimate than washing him had, for there was no cloth between her fingers and his skin. Placing her hands directly on his body felt like a whole new kind of exploration. She took her time rubbing, kneading, stroking, and imagining her fingers soothing all his aches and pains. She reached his lower back. “Stand and brace yourself against the table.”
With a swing of his leg, Erik turned in the chair and rose. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”
She stared at him in astonishment, careful not to let her mouth gape.
“Well, not so. . .” Erik waved his hand to indicate his upper body. “Daisy would rub on a sore spot if I asked her. But not the whole back like you just did. And she never volunteered to do so.”
“I ain’t be done.”
He turned and lowered his hands to the edge of the table, bending so she could reach his lower back.
As she worked on him, Antonia mulled over what he’d just revealed. For the first time, Daisy didn’t seem like such a perfect wife. She couldn’t imagine a couple not using massages to relieve stiffness and pain and lead to a deeper physical and emotional connection.
With her thumbs and knuckles, she dug into his lower back, which must be aching from the bending and twisting he’d done the last few days. Hers certainly was.
Erik growled.
She laughed. “I’ll be making the same noises when you do this to me.”
“I’m massaging you?” He rotated to see her face. “I wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable with that.”
“Ain’t sayin’ it’ll be comfortable. Fact that it be our first time doin’ this.” She smiled at him. “You should be knowin’ by now. . .we’ve had uncomfortable firsts and will be a havin’ many more.”
Erik grimaced. “That we will.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a cocky leer. “I’m looking forward to some of those firsts.”
“Oh, you.” Antonia playfully swatted his arm. She circled her finger in the air. “Turn around and sit back down. Let me do your front.”
He twisted his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders. “Much better.”
“There be more to come.” Her flirtatious tone surprised her. Rubbing Erik’s front felt more intimate. As she kneaded his shoulders, Antonia was acutely aware of how close her breasts were to his face, of the heat pooling in her body, the rich scent of the herbs on his skin.
She didn’t make eye contact as she worked. Instead, she kept her gaze lowered and concentrated on his right shoulder. But when she snuck a peek at his face, she saw his eyes were closed, which made her feel less tense. When she finished both shoulders and arms, she asked him to stand.
With that lazy smile she was coming to love, he obeyed. In the lamplight, the hair on his chest gleamed golden, the muscles were shadowed. She wanted to skim her fingertips over his hard flesh, and then trail kisses over the same path. Not this time.
Antonia rubbed her palm over his chest, pausing over his heart, feeling the beat—hard, fast, and so very alive. The rhythm echoed in the pulse thrumming through her body. If she concentrated, she could almost feel as if they flowed together, his blood to hers. She could have stood there, palm to chest for a long time.
Although reluctant to finish the massage, Antonia knew the evening was growing late for a busy farmer and his wife. They needed to be up with the dawn, especially with another day of haying planned. She moved her hand to knead the muscles between his arm and chest, eliciting a groan.
When her hands started to ache, Antonia patted his shoulder in a sign she’d finished.
Erik squeezed her into a hug, burying his face in the crook of her neck for a kiss. His body pressed against hers.
The touch of his lips on her skin tickled, and she squirmed.
Erik kissed her cheek. “Your turn, wife,” he growled and released her. He reached for the liniment bottle.
With her back toward him, Antonia untied the strings of her tunic and rolled it down to her waist. The air was cool on her skin. She hitched up the bottom of her tunic to straddle the chair, leaning forward over the seat back. Intensely aware of her naked upper body, of the weight of her breasts hanging loose, she lowered her head to her arms, waiting in anticipation, listening to the sound of Erik rubbing his hands together.
His palms came down on her back, instead of her shoulders as she’d assumed.
The unexpected touch gave her a ticklish shock, and Antonia gasped and flinched.
Immediately, Erik pulled back his hands.
“No, no, I be fine. That be a good jump.”
“If you’re sure. . .” He splayed his hands over her back, hesitated, as if waiting to be sure she was ready before he moved, seeking her sore areas. “You’re tense.”
“I know.”
His palms and fingers settled on her, soothing and sure. His hands were bigger than Jean-Claude’s, his touch different, more exploratory but no less deft.
The sensations of Erik’s rough hands on her body felt exquisite. Warmth from his palms tingled into her muscles. I needed this. Not just the massage for her stiffness, but a man’s caring focus on her body. Like chilled butter set in the sunlight, she gradually melted into a deep sense of relaxation.
After he’d massaged her neck and shoulders, Erik moved to the middle of her shoulder blades.
An area that she hadn’t known was sore until his fingers probed the muscles. She gasped at the sharp pain, and tears pricked her eyes. Where did that emotion come from?
“Too hard?”
“No. Just a hurting place.” Her voice sounded wobbly.
“I expect you’ve been carrying far too many burdens lately.”
’Spect so. Antonia blinked back tears, grateful for his understanding.
“Would you like me to stop?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll go back to your shoulders for a while. When I return here, I’ll start softer then increase the pressure.” His fingers probed the area where her neck and shoulder met. He lifted her braid and pressed his t
humb around the base of her neck.
The feeling of needing to cry ebbed. Antonia began to relax and enjoy the sensations he awoke in her.
The more Erik worked on her body, the more the tightness in her aching muscles eased. Pleasure simmered under her skin.
Antonia felt his mouth on her shoulder as he dropped a kiss on the exposed skin. She shivered, and a pleased hum escaped her.
“Like that, do you?”
Too much.
She didn’t turn to face him, although she longed to do so.
“I want to love you tonight, Antonia,” he said softly, his mouth near her ear. “And I think you want that, too.” He paused, obviously waiting for her answer.
The silence stretched. She could only nod.
“But I’m not sure we’re really ready or how we’d feel in the morning. I couldn’t bear to feel guilty, as if we’d done something wrong, even if we know that’s not so.”
“I know. You be right.” Antonia pulled up her tunic and fastened the ties. When she finished, she swiveled on the chair to face him.
He extended a hand to assist her to her feet and gathered her into his arms for a kiss.
His lips and tongue, the taste and feel of him, were familiar now, yet just as new and exciting as earlier today.
Erik’s kiss was demanding, yet also patient, arousing her, as well as promising fulfillment in the future. He lifted his head and touched her heart with his forefinger. “We’ve been planting seeds, you and I, between us.” He moved his finger from her chest to his and back again. “And with you to my daughter and me to your sons. The seeds have sprouted and are growing just fine. We need to see they are watered and the weeds kept away so they bear fruit. The harvest will come in due time when the fields are ripe and ready.”
Touched beyond words, Antonia reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You be a good man, Erik Muth, and I thank you for your patience.”
“I have enough patience for tonight.”
Left unspoken was a question, hovering in the air between them. How long should we be patient?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Two days later, Antonia and Erik stood at the window watching the drizzle mist the early Sabbath morning. Behind them, Henri still lay in bed, although he was awake. He’d been so hard to rouse that she’d taken pity on him and let him lie for a bit. She’d already changed and fed Jacques and had given him two spoons to play with.
Healing Montana Sky Page 23
