Everett worked his lips apart in order to speak. “Are you saying I’m no better than Ned?”
Dex leaned over slowly and spit over the fence. “What I’m saying is, from what I’ve seen, nothing about your behavior toward your wife looks any different than Ned’s behavior to his. In fact, I’ve seen you treat Helga better than Julia.”
Every muscle in Everett’s body turned to stone.
Dex shook his head. “Never thought I’d say I felt sorry for one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
Everett hung his head. His stomach felt like lead.
“Now, I know you. And I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing is a true reflection of your character. But if it is, I hope you have enough brains to change.” Dex threw the strap of the canteen over his shoulder and pushed himself off the fence post. “Now, I can finish helping with the roof if you like, or I can leave. But it had to be said.”
Everett wanted to punch Dex in the nose and tell him he had it wrong. But Dex didn’t have it wrong. He’d known he was being a blockhead, but to be called on it smarted. He stifled his desire to snap at his friend. His friend had said nothing amiss. “We’ll work.”
Dex nodded and headed back to the barn.
God, how do I start something I know is going to hurt me even more if I fail?
Everett walked slowly behind Dex’s wagon. He needed to walk a long, long way, sit down in the middle of nowhere, and think and even make himself pray a little. Before too long, his friend drove over the ridge and disappeared just like the sun, and Everett kept on walking until the path to the far creek materialized. He fought through the bluestem and sat on a mound of grass next to the muddy bank so he could dip his hand’s purpled flesh into the cool moving waters. The back of his hand throbbed under the big bruise growing across his knuckles.
Dex’s lecture had proven just as distracting as Julia waltzing around the farmyard, and he’d hit himself more times than someone with a brain and pain perception should have been capable. He’d been surrounded by the cacophony of hammer versus nail for the rest of the afternoon, but all he’d heard was Dex’s words over and over with each whack.
“I have to wonder why God casts His pearls before swine.”
A few minnows nibbled his swollen hand. He swished them off, lay back, and stared at the stars and bright moon.
Was he truly no better than Ned? He’d never laid a finger on Julia. One day, his attraction to the woman under his roof would wane and he could be her friend. Who was he kidding? Why had he ever promised that? He’d only grow crankier and more malcontent until one day he did indeed turn into Ned.
He stared at the silver rippling on the pond surface while crickets sang him a monotonous lullaby, but he couldn’t succumb to their call. Even if his mind hadn’t been all jumbled, he wouldn’t want to worry Julia by not returning until dawn. Not that she should worry about a fool like him.
He was wrong to be running from her still. If he stayed away from her, he’d have no chance at winning her, which he couldn’t do alone on a creek bank. He pushed himself off the ground with his bad hand and flinched. Would she still be awake? The moon’s travel indicated an hour or two worth of movement. He hadn’t meant to stay out so long.
At home, he inched open the shack’s door and saw a lamp burning low on the stump next to the bedstead. He let his eyes adjust, waiting for her to barrage him with questions, but soon he heard sleeping sounds. She lay across the bed, fully dressed, one stockinged foot dangling off the side. How was she handling the lack of company? Did she even miss him?
He stifled a groan as he lowered himself into a chair to pull off his boots. After donning his nightshirt, he crossed over to turn off the lamp. He stumbled over her dangling foot, wrenching her leg back. He tensed, but she only groaned, curled up, and rolled over.
Surely he’d hurt her. Yet her breathing quickly returned to the sound of restful slumber. He bent over and looked into her face. Not restful. Her face seemed pinched and worried. He brushed hair off her furrowed brow. Not even an eyelid fluttered.
He sat beside her on the mattress, careful not to sit on any of her hair. Even with circles under her eyes, she was gorgeous.
Her tiny hand lay relaxed, poking out from under the blanket. Cracked skin around her nails and a huge gash on her hand gave him pause. She worked for no thanks. Not even liniment for the open sore on her hand. He didn’t know she had need of it, and the bottle probably sat in the barn where he’d last used it, where she wouldn’t know to look.
In an attempt not to hurt himself, he’d hurt someone far more precious.
Precious.
That word caught him off guard.
If she stayed only one more day, she was precious. If not to him, then most certainly to God. But as his wife, that’s how he should be viewing her anyway. What had Dex said? Something like He who finds a wife finds a good thing.
Everett pulled his Bible off the stump next to the bed and thumbed through Proverbs until he found the verse: Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the Lord.
“I obtained your favor,” he whispered. The circles under her eyes haunted him. “And squandered it.”
Julia moaned in her sleep.
No, he’d ground it into the dirt.
His throat constricted as he looked at her in the flickering light. How could he ever face anyone who’d seen how he’d treated her? Did they talk about him around their dinner tables, how he cared for his animals with more love than the woman who shared his home?
Careful not to wake her, Everett slid his fingers beneath her own and caressed the rough skin that had been silky-white and smooth the day they’d met. Despite being left to fend for herself in a land and occupation foreign to her, she’d worked without complaint. And he’d watched her struggle and hadn’t had the decency to come alongside her to teach, help, or encourage. He was a rat.
Would you forgive me, Lord? I’m not sure she should.
He put the Bible on the table and fingered the dark hair framing her pale face. He could feel his pulse thudding in his throat.
I’m afraid to feel, Lord.
How I’ve treated her . . . Even if this is a temporary blessing and she leaves tomorrow, I should treat her better. I know that. I’ve known that. I’ve allowed my pride to turn me into a scoundrel and keep me from befriending her. Just because Patricia married a stranger the morning I was going to officially propose doesn’t mean Julia is going to run away with another man the minute I start being nice to her. Nothing the other women did to hurt me means Julia will follow their footsteps.
The memory of Miss Gooding arriving after her untimely death stopped his breath. Please, Lord, don’t let Julia die before I make this right.
His heart felt as bruised as his hand. He wanted her to stay. More than he had ever wanted anything in his life. More than even making his homestead a success.
Everett blew out the lamp’s flame, crossed over to his pallet, and settled under the covers. Though Julia was only a black silhouette, he continued to watch her.
If she weren’t beautiful, I’d still want her to stay. She’s what I need.
He sighed. He’d probably ruined any chance he had with her, but his desires and God’s commands pushed him to give in and do as he ought. His brain wouldn’t let him sleep, as if allowing him to do so would erase this revelation.
But there would be no forgetting—he’d start tomorrow. No matter how much being rejected by his wife might hurt, he couldn’t remain a coward forever.
Everett woke before Julia. The early morning sun only highlighted the creased lines of exhaustion surrounding her eyes. He slipped out of the house and headed to the barn to milk the cow before the sun took over the sky.
A half hour later, the scent of sausage filtered through the front door, along with the sound of off-key singing. He bumped open the door with the milk-heavy bucket and mustered a smile.
She quit her song mid-word and shot up from the bed,
where she’d been tugging on her boot. “Why, Everett. I was just about to do that. Did I sleep too late?” She pulled a strand of hair away from her face. The dark waves he’d fingered last night called to him like a siren’s song, but she’d braided and piled it on her head sooner than he wanted. Maybe it was a good thing she kept it up.
He smiled at the picture she made in the hazy sunlight. “No. I figured I could help you with chores this morning.”
She dropped her button hook, straightened, and gave him a confused look.
He crossed his arm across his midsection and played with the fabric at his elbow. “I’m going to check the chickens and gather eggs.” He turned and rushed through the doorway. Biting his cheek, he headed to the coop. He’d been worse than he thought. She’d acted like he’d taken leave of his senses by merely helping with an insignificant chore.
He could beat himself up about this all day and then some, surely. But it would be better to simply give her no cause to bestow such a stymied look upon him again.
When he returned with a handful of eggs, he set them near the stove, where she was stirring gravy. “I didn’t know if you wanted to use these today.” Close to her, he could tell she used no special perfumes like Rachel, yet she still smelled feminine. Her scent even changed the aroma of his cabin. Her presence had effectually changed his entire life, yet he’d been living like he could keep her at bay.
She frowned at the six eggs. “That’s more than they laid yesterday.”
“In a few more weeks, you’ll probably get a dozen a day.”
He almost laughed at the utter devastation on her face. How was increased egg production a bad thing? Did she hate eggs?
But she made them every day.
Julia got a bowl and reached for them, not bothering to hide her disgusted sigh.
“I didn’t mean to imply you need to cook them now. I’m sure biscuits and gravy will be plenty. I just thought you liked them for breakfast.”
She shook her head. “I used to. But I’m so tired of them now.”
“Then why don’t you save these?”
“But why, when they’ll just make more? Soon we’ll be eating eggs for every meal just to use them up before they go bad.”
“But they’ll last almost a year in the cellar. And you’ll want them come January, when we’ll hardly get an egg a day.”
She searched his face and her shoulders slumped. “A year? How?”
He resisted smacking his head lest she believe the gesture meant he thought she was stupid. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.” He gathered the eggs in the bowl and took her hand. He pulled on her arm, but she seemed riveted to the spot. “Come, I’ll show you what to do with them.”
She dragged her feet as he led her to the root cellar, so he let go of her hand. Did she not want him so near? He’d not been close to her these past weeks out of fear, but what if she was happy with that arrangement? What if he repulsed her in some way, and she would detest his attempts to be around her more? His heart sank a little, but his resolve to do right propelled him toward the underground storeroom.
Lifting the door, he led her into the dank interior. He handed her the bowl and pulled the lid off the large barrel in the corner. “This is lime and salt water. I’ll teach you how to make it the next time we need it. You’ll have to get your arm wet, because you have to gently put the eggs down in the bottom. I keep them in here until I get around to larding and salting them. Don’t like toting tons of water in here, but I like to do the packing in lard and salt in big bunches.”
He rolled up his sleeve, grabbed the eggs, and put them in.
She stood with the empty bowl, looking at the crock. “I should be the one doing this.”
Too many things he had taken for granted. Too many things he’d been a fool to assume. “I’m almost done, and I’ll help you with how to do the packing when the time comes. Is there anything else you need to know about what ought to go in the cellar?”
“I’m sure there is, but I don’t know enough to ask. The next time Rachel’s over, I’ll have her show me other things to preserve, so you don’t have to bother. I’m sure she can show me the larding and salting process as well.”
He rubbed on his neck. It’d be too easy to let her run to Rachel for everything. “I don’t mind showing you.”
She turned to look at him, gnawing on her lower lip.
“Let me.” A strand of hair covered an eye, and he reached out to pull it from her lashes like he had done last night.
Her eyes widened, and then she turned to run out the cellar door.
Such a simple touch couldn’t have scared her that badly. If she ran at that, knowing how much her lips distracted him into thinking how they would feel against his own again would have put a fire under her feet. He peeped out the exit. She was running at full speed across the yard. Turning this relationship around wouldn’t be easy if such a little thing scared her off.
Then he smelled biscuits. Burnt biscuits.
He closed the cellar and made his way to the front door.
She bounded out of the cabin, dispersing the smoke rising from the round blackened mounds by waving her hand.
He stopped chuckling when she glared icy darts at him.
“This is not funny. Now we don’t have breakfast.”
He shrugged and worked hard to keep a smile from forming. “You can toast bread for the gravy. I’ll wait.”
She flipped the baking sheet over, dumping the charcoaled lumps on the ground, and huffed back inside.
During breakfast she kept her eyes averted, like she was daydreaming, and he let her. But when she got up to clean, he grabbed his Bible off the stump and sat back down.
He cleared his throat and pushed the opposite chair away from the table with his foot. “Come sit, Julia.”
She wrung her hands as she crossed over to take a seat. “I’m sorry that I didn’t know how to store the eggs. I promise I’ll have Rachel help me figure out what other things I don’t know. You have better things to do than help me with what a woman already ought to know.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll do that today if you’d like.”
She looked ready to bolt out the door. Like a frightened rabbit. Though no frightened rabbit had ever made him feel so terrible. He had no gun leveled at her, but from her stance, one would think he had. He let her reaction sink in. He’d really messed up this whole marriage thing. “No, really. I’ll help you. But I thought we ought to have some reading time.” He fingered the leather front of his Bible. “We ought to start our day with the Word. I apologize for not doing this sooner.” Her posture hadn’t changed. “That’s all right with you, yes?”
She shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
He flipped open to his bookmark. It had been too long since he’d read his Bible daily. He’d done this whole searching-for-a-wife thing with hardly any communion with God. No wonder he’d made a mess of it. He sighed.
She sat stiffly while he read James 4 aloud.
“‘Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.’”
He grunted and shut the book.
I got it, God. I’m working on it already.
He bowed his head to pray. “Father in heaven—”
Julia’s seat screeched, and he looked up as she returned to her seat and folded her hands in her lap.
“Thank you for the food and shelter you have provided us. Thank you for providing me with a wife who works hard. I know I don’t deserve her. Forgive me for how I’ve treated her and being arrogant enough to think I know how tomorrow will turn out. Please help me return to relying on you and not myself. I know you want to help me. And help me to be better about talking to you. Help us to remain humble, resist sin, and come closer to you. Help us to do as you would have us do in all areas of our life.”
His heart pounded at the thought of looking at her. Would she believe any of his prayer? Would she still look like a rabbit ready to skitter off into the woods or more like she believ
ed him a wolf disguised with flowery words? He deserved the last reaction, but the thought of seeing it made his palms sweat.
He looked up, but her head was still bowed. “Do you want to add anything, Julia?”
She shook her head vehemently.
“Amen, then.”
“Amen,” she whispered. She caught his eye for a second before standing and grabbing her apron. “I’d best attend the garden before the sun gets too hot.”
He stood. “I’ll help you.”
“Oh, no need.” She waved him off and disappeared out the door.
He smashed his hat on his head. He was uncomfortable too. She didn’t want him around, and he couldn’t blame her. Maybe he shouldn’t try to be her shadow on the first day. He walked past the new house toward the fields. He’d return for lunch and work on the house afterward. With luck, they’d be able to move in at the end of the month. Would that make her happy or even more jumpy?
Chapter 13
Julia watched Everett walk toward the pasture, making sure he was indeed going somewhere other than anywhere near her. The Everett she’d seen at the Stantons’ days ago had stood in front of her this morning. Maybe a bit jittery, but the same affable Everett who’d played with John, smiled at Ambrose, and teased Dex. Where had he come from so suddenly? And why did this change make her hands tremble?
He’d apologized in prayer—not to her, but to God—for how he’d treated her. She’d never prayed anything but the Lord’s Prayer. His prayer was so different, like a conversation. People should not talk to almighty God like they were friends. It simply wasn’t done.
Did that apology mean he’d stop shunning her? Maybe. He did offer garden help and instruction afterward. For the first month, he’d worked from dawn to dusk. And after he finished with crops, he worked on the new house or split wood. When he rolled onto his pallet after supper, he snored the second his body lay flat. How had he fed himself and kept his clothes washed during the growing season in years past? No wonder he’d searched for a spouse—he needed a helper.
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