by Naomi Musch
They swung open the barn door and stepped inside. The sharp barn smells of manure, hay, oats, and warm milk overtook Marilla's senses. "We'll have to think of each other during our early morning routines."
The sound of milk pinging against the inside of a pail reached her. Lang was milking. He picked up his pail and passed her on the walkway between the lines of stalls.
"Morning, Lang."
"Morning."
She whispered to Delia as Lang passed out of earshot. "He seem okay to you?"
"Who, Lang? It's early, Rilla. Not everyone is a morning person all the time like you are."
Half an hour later, Delia stood and arched her back. "If you don't mind finishing, I'll get a head start separating the cream from last night's milking."
"All right. Go ahead. This won't take me long."
Delia took her last pail and left the barn. Marilla glanced at Lang across the walkway. She licked her lips. What could be on his mind? He sure wasn't very talkative. Maybe she would try to wake him up. "How's the hay looking?"
He didn't look up. "Should be dry by late morning once the dew lifts. Good thing it didn't rain last night."
"Dad is pretty good at predicting the weather. He says it won't hold though. Probably have rain by the end of the week."
"I'll have to have him teach me how to do that." Lang stood. "I'm going to empty this and carry that other can to the milk house. Are you nearly done?"
"There's still Clarabelle, but I can get her and bring the bucket when I'm finished. You go ahead and get your breakfast. Dad will be chomping at the bit to get into the field."
"Thanks." He offered a smile.
"Nice to see that," she said, before he could turn to go.
"What?"
"That smile." She stripped the cow’s teats clean and stood with her milk pail, pinning him with a gaze. "You haven't been wearing one lately. I thought maybe that dance we had wore you out for good." She lifted a brow and grinned, hoping to pull him into her teasing.
"I don't think you could wear me out that easy." He looked away and back with a shrug. "Just had a lot on my mind lately. And it's been awfully hot and humid."
She accepted his excuse. Humidity made her lethargic too. "Maybe, after the hay is in, we should all go down to the river for a swim."
"It'll be pitch dark by then." He wasn't arguing the point, only remarking, as a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, there it is again!" She chuckled. "Let's hope we aren't so tired by the end of the day we change our minds."
"Sounds good to me."
He walked away, and she heard him whistling a tune as he emptied his pail and hefted the milk can to take to the milk house. She turned back to finish the milking, this time with a smile of her own.
~~~~~
Lang approached the milk house with the can, pausing outside the door with a breath of determination before entering. The building was small, only about eight feet square and built of stone. Along the same wall as the door was a concrete pit they filled with water and ice to cool down the cans of milk fast. Next to it, against another wall was the cream separator and a deep sink. There was little space for much else inside. Empty cans, buckets, and Mrs. Eckert's churn were stacked on a bench along the third wall. A drain in the floor caught melting ice and water runoff. Lang was thankful the milk house held a hand pump that fed the reservoir. He didn't have to haul water. Some farms were fortunate to have similar buildings situated directly over a spring. Those that weren't dairy farms used their springhouse for storing meats, eggs, and vegetables.
Delia stood over the cream separator, turning the handle and watching the bowl spin as the heavier milk was pulled to the outside, and the cream collected in the middle. Both products poured out separate spouts into clean buckets, the smaller one for the cream on a swinging stand attached to the separator, and the skimmed milk into a bucket on the floor. Some of the heavy cream she would add to the later task of churning into butter. The rest they'd sell. The sweet smell of the milk heightened Lang's senses. Only a few feet separated him from Delia, and she didn't look up when he entered.
He stepped close behind her and lowered the heavy can into the water. "Excuse me."
She moved to the side as far as she was able to give him room, while he reached for the pump handle and thrust it steadily for several minutes. The icy flow of water pulled from deep underground swirled around the cans of milk. Behind him, she worked with the separator, and he felt her presence like the sun's heat burning through him.
How many times had they done this together? How many times had he wanted to tell her how he felt but held back? What right did he have, a drifter, the hired hand, to fall in love with the farmer's daughter? She was above him. And yet... And yet it had happened. Besides, hadn't he worked like a fool to please Mr. Eckert? Hadn't he done everything to try and prove himself to the man since the day Delia's father hired him on? He had worked harder than many a son. He'd taken pains with Mrs. Eckert too. Lang had always shown appreciation for her fine meals and for the warm place to live with clean linens on his bed when he needed them. She didn't complain about washing his clothes along with the family laundry. Sometimes Delia washed them.
He shouldn't have waited. He should have made his feelings known sooner, before it had come to this business of her getting engaged.
"Mind if I ask you something?" He was breathless from exertion on the pump. It served well to hide the breathlessness he felt just being near her.
"What's that?"
He took a quick glimpse her way, but she was busy with the cream. Her hands worked effortlessly, used to their task. He swallowed. "Do you ever have any doubts?"
"Doubts? About what?"
"About marrying him." There. He stopped pumping and turned around. She stilled. She was within his reach, but he didn't dare touch her. Not yet. "Aren't you ever afraid you might be making a mistake, Delia? That you might be selling yourself short by not..."—he looked into her eyes, held her gaze—"by not measuring him up against anyone else?"
She was flushed. He couldn't tell if it was because of his question, and his nearness, which he hoped she felt as strongly as he did, or because she was warm. Her lashes fluttered. "Of course not."
"Really? Not even a little?"
"How do you know I haven't measured him up against anyone? I don't have to try them on for size to know when another man won't suit. Truth is Theo is all I want. I told you that."
"Aren't you even curious?"
She broke his gaze and turned away. She poured off the bucket of cream into the churn. "No. I'm not in the least bit worried or curious either."
She set the bucket with the others for washing and turned to pick up the pail of whey, ready to take it out for the pigs. Lang couldn't stand it anymore. As she bent to reach for the frothy pail, he touched her arm, hardly more than a feather's stroke. There it was. He saw the gooseflesh spring up beneath his fingertips. "Delia." He didn't recognize his own voice. Every ache he'd held for her rose up inside him.
She flinched and straightened to face him. She rubbed a hand over the place on her arm where he'd touched her, but her eyes shot straight into his, and her words jumped out. "You shouldn't worry about me, Lang. I'm so in love with Theo I can hardly wait a month to be with him. That's all I can tell you." She gathered the empty cans with jerky movements and set them in the tub sink where she would come back to scrub them. Then she picked up the pail of whey for the pigs.
He let his hand fall to his side. The door came open, and Rilla stood in the sunlight. "Here's the rest of the milk."
"Can you take care of it?" Delia asked. "I'm finished with the cream, and I'm taking this out to the pigs now. I'll come back to scrub the equipment."
"I'll help," Rilla answered, glancing with her constant, effervescent smile at Lang as she squeezed inside past her sister. Delia nodded and left.
"I'll get out of your way too." He sidled past her out the door.
Chapter Five
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br /> August 1915
The dress slid over Delia like cream. Marilla clasped her hands to her face. "It's beautiful! Oh, Delia!"
Their mother tugged here and straightened there and buttoned up the long row of tiny pearl buttons on the back before stepping away to view her creation. "I couldn't have gotten the fit any better."
Marilla finally breathed. "With the veil, you'll look like such an angel. Theo will believe he's died and gone to heaven."
Mother grinned. "I think he believes that regardless."
"I know I do." Delia turned about to study herself in the long, angled mirror in the corner of their parents' bedroom. "Oh, thank you, Mama."
Their mother leaned close and kissed Delia's cheek. "My little girl... You've waited a long time for this moment. Some wouldn't have been so patient. But it's been a mark of character on Theo's part to hold off, too, until he could give you everything he thinks you deserve. You'll have to live in the new house unfinished for a little while, but it won't be uncomfortable. I'm sure Theo won't keep you waiting long for wallpaper and rugs."
"It's a nice, tight house, Mama. His dad and brothers are helping him install the new wood stove at the end of the month. We'll be comfortable."
Her mother smiled and stroked her golden hair. "How do you want me to fix it?"
Marilla plucked up a lock of her sister's hair and held it in a loop. "Pile it high with soft swirls like the Gibson Girl." Marilla's hair was much too fine to fix in such extravagant styles, but Delia's was perfect. Her hair was thicker, bouncier, and more apt to stay in place if fixed so.
"I think a modest pompadour would suit the veil," Mother said.
"I'll look like a mouse beside you." Marilla wasn't complaining, merely stating the fact. It was Delia's day to be glorious.
"I haven't seen you in your dress, Rilla. Why don't you put it on and stand next to your sister?"
Marilla hurried to her room upstairs on the east side of the house and laid the soft yellow dress she had spent the past three weeks fitting and stitching and decorating with ruffles, lace, and a sash across her bed. She pulled off her work dress and tugged the new dress over her everyday undergarments, smoothing out the elegant organdy overlay. She hastened back to her parents' room where her mother buttoned the dress and tied her sash. Now she felt pretty and feminine. The dress would fit even better when she wore it over her new foundation garments she'd purchased with a good share of her saved egg money. Thankfully, the garments were well packaged when they arrived at Hessman's Store, and she was spared the awkwardness of Jacob Hessman knowing what was inside.
"You both look splendid," Mother said. "Do you have any spare ribbon among the notions from your dress-making, Rilla?"
"A few."
"If we add some waves and put your hair in a loose coiffure, it would look lovely with a ribbon wrapped round it."
"Could you?"
Mother smiled. "Certainly. Your sister is only getting married once."
The wedding day arrived just two days later. Marilla had never felt so lovely, in light of her sister's beauty as they stood in front of the church, and Delia and Theodore said their vows. Marilla turned her head slowly, so slowly she hoped no one noticed, to scan the crowd of friends and Theodore's family who attended. She turned her face back toward the couple as Theo slid a wedding band onto Delia's finger. She let out a soft sigh.
Langdon was there. He sat in the back watching the exchange without expression. Marilla nibbled the inside of her lip. She and Delia had gone to the church early in the day along with their mother and some church ladies who were preparing the wedding lunch. Her father and Lang had tended to all the morning chores without them. It had been lucky they'd gotten the chores done before needing to get cleaned up and to the church themselves. Of course, there was no reason Lang had to attend. He could have finished without their father. They would have seen him later in the day, after the newlyweds departed for their weekend honeymoon in Eau Claire, but he'd been with their family for almost three and a half years.
The first months of housing a stranger in their midst, howbeit a very welcome one as far as Marilla was concerned, had given way to feeling as though Lang was family. To Marilla, he was even more. Someday soon, if he didn't notice her beyond treating her like a little sister, she would tell him so. She'd be eighteen in two weeks. Some of her friends had married at sixteen. She sure didn't want to wait as long as Delia had. To think someone as pretty as her sister could be considered an old maid was unimaginable. People would find it easy to believe of Marilla by comparison.
Theo kissed his bride. In all her reverie, Marilla hadn't even heard the pastor pronounce them husband and wife.
"I am happy to present Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Strom!"
The congregation clapped. Delia blushed, but with a smile as bright as the sun. Marilla's own smile stretched wide, and she sighed with joy. They exited the church, the bride and groom first followed by Marilla with her arm through one of Theo's older, married brother's. He released her at the bottom of the church steps, and she stepped to the side of the walkway to greet the guests as they poured out behind her parents and Theo's. The crowd began to spread out, and some of the guests made their way to the tables set up on the church lawn for the wedding lunch. Lang appeared in the doorway. His easy steps down to them drew Marilla's gaze. He stopped in front of the newly married couple and gave Theo a jovial smile.
"Congratulations, Theo. I'm sure there'll be a lot of jealous fellows in the county tonight." He shook Theo's hand and gave him a pat on the back.
Theo hadn't ceased to beam. "That's fine with me. Just fine. I first asked Delia to marry me when we were eight. It's been a longer engagement than you know." He laughed, and Delia grinned too.
Then Langdon took Delia's hand. "May I congratulate you, Mrs. Strom?" With the briefest pause, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
"Thank you, Lang. I suppose you and Rilla will miss me at milking time," she joked.
"You bet we will."
Marilla spoke up. "Well, if I get married, you'll really be sorry, Lang. Then you won't have either of us to carry the load."
He turned to her. "Did Jacob propose, and you forgot to tell us?"
She harrumphed. "That I would be so lucky." Maybe it wouldn't hurt for him to think she liked Jacob. Maybe he would see her differently. “Unfortunately, I don't have a fellow, but I'm old enough to find one if someone should suit me."
He grinned, but it wasn't a full smile like usual. What was bothering him lately anyway? "Well, you be sure and let me know if you do." He turned back to the couple. "I guess we'll see you when you come back home in a few days. It is going to seem strange, and yet I suppose not much will change. You'll still be just a skip up the road."
"Be sure and stop in to see us, Lang," Theo said. "We'd love to entertain company at the new house."
"You too, Rilla," said Delia.
Lang gave a nod and sauntered away. Marilla's mother called to them to come over so the guests could eat. Rilla followed Delia and Theo, but her gaze went to Lang who had gone off to the side of the church and was smoking a cigarette.
I'm going to find out what's bothering him. And when I do, I'm going to make him forget all about it.
~~~~~
Lang puffed on the cigarette. It didn't satisfy like he imagined it would. He dropped it and pressed it into the grass with his polished shoe. From the distance, it was easy to observe the party taking place under the shade trees of the churchyard. It resembled a play on a stage. He was the unknown player yet to make an entrance but doomed to a fate worse than death. Delia kissed Theo again in front of them all, not caring what anyone thought. Oh, how he wanted to be the one to taste those carefree, cherry lips, to hold her tight and...
He spat and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand to push out the thoughts plaguing him. He should join the party, but he didn't want to. He wanted to stand here looking at her and wallow in his agony. He'd lost his chances, any and every one of them
he ever might have had. The other day in the milk house, he should have done more. He should have taken her in his arms then and kissed her. He could have wiped out any question in her mind about what he was getting at in asking her if she was really going to be satisfied with Theo. She might have slapped him. She might have shoved him in the chest, but where could she go in there? He could have stood firm. Convinced her. Lit a fire in her and made her want him.
"Lang?"
He jerked. He hadn't even seen Rilla's approach. She stood a few feet away watching him watch Delia. Maybe she didn't know...
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing?"
"Just having a smoke. Didn't want it to bother anybody."
"I thought you quit."
"I started again."
"Oh." Her eyes fell. He wouldn't have noticed, but the disappointment in her voice made him look at her.
"I'll probably let it go," he amended. Her head straightened. She was such a kid. He almost smiled.
"I'd like that." She turned her face away to look at the gathering. Laughter sounded from the group.
Delia's veiled hair was like a crown of glory in the sunlight. Lang admired her a moment longer and then looked back at Rilla. Her face was still turned to the crowd. Some wisps of hair had come loose from her chignon and feathered her cheek in the gentle breeze. The sleeves of her dress moved against her arms, and the hem of her skirt flirted with her legs. In a sudden flash, he saw it. She would never be the beauty Delia was, but she had grown. She'd changed in subtle ways.
"Aren't you hungry?" She looked back at him.
He shrugged. "I guess. I'll go over and eat in a minute."
"I'm starved. I haven't eaten a thing since breakfast."
"Nervousness does that."
"You think I was nervous?"
"Nervous excitement, I mean."
"I have been excited for them. Well, for Delia mostly. She's such a pretty bride."
He couldn't argue.
