The Deepest Sigh

by Naomi Musch

  She changed the topic after that, and she and Delia visited for a while longer. When Theo came into the house on his crutches, she hugged him and said goodbye. She had come to a decision. Tomorrow she was going into town. She needed to talk to Jacob.

  ~~~~~

  Lang arrived home for lunch the next day to find Marilla wasn't there. Was this some new thing she did, taking up visiting in the afternoons? He hoped she would return with the car soon. In another week, they would be cutting hay. Afternoons on the farm would be busier than ever. He planned to take today to go into town and pick up some things at the store. He had an idea for the house, a surprise for Rilla, but he would need to talk to Jacob about a special order.

  He thought again about Jacob as he scoured the kitchen for leftovers from last night's supper. Just what had been the extent of Jacob Hessman's involvement with his wife in the past year? Rilla herself had told him how Jacob had 'been there for her'. What did that entail? The way Dora went to Jacob for attention spoke volumes, and Lang didn't like what they said. He thought about it again as he cut off a hunk of bread and spread jam across it. Why should he care? He had gone away to war hoping it would happen, hadn't he?

  But he didn't hope it anymore.

  The bread turned to cotton in his mouth. Had Rilla gone to Delia's? Had she gone to town for some reason? To see Jacob perhaps?

  He washed down the bread and jam with a glass of milk and found some roast beef. He cut a slice and ate it as it was before giving up on more of a meal and heading outside to work on the house. He lifted the third wall frame into place, his thoughts turning to Theo and Delia. Theo was doing well. He had told Lang he was managing to get around on his crutches, but he looked forward to getting a peg. He had heard that most of the fellows in his situation weren't too happy with their prosthetic legs and preferred the pegs. He said he would try both in time. For now, he was reliant on crutches and Delia's arms. He gave a brow wiggle when he said that.

  Strangely, Theo's remark didn't burn. Lang had laughed. It had been at that very moment Theo made his joke, and Lang realized Delia had disappeared into the house, and she hadn't seemed a shining angel anymore, only Delia—still pretty, sure, but just Delia—he knew. He wasn't in love with her.

  Shame took hold of him by the throat. Maybe he had never been in love with her. Maybe he had only fastened onto the idea of her, the physical draw of her, and he had been overcome with lust for her. Lang wished he had never written that letter.

  Because I should have written it to Rilla.

  So where was she anyway?

  He supported the wall studs with a t-post he'd nailed together and then bolted it to the floor. The day was getting on. It would be time to return to the farm for evening chores soon. He quit working on the house and went into the barn to bed down the horse and give fresh water to both the horse and cow. The sound of the Ford's engine cutting in the drive drew him back outside. Rilla carried a sleeping baby into the house. He started across the yard. She came back outdoors and returned to the car. He met her there as she lifted Dora into her arms. The little girl, too, was sound asleep.

  "Let me." He extracted the child from Rilla's arms and carried her into the house, tucking her into her crib. When he turned around, Rilla was standing in front of the Hoosier cupboard tying on her apron.

  "Where have you been?"

  She reached for a bowl without looking at him. "I went to town."

  "For?"

  "Just some things."

  "How are you paying for these 'things'?"

  She glanced at him before pulling potatoes from the bin. "I put them on our bill."

  They had not been hurting for money. Their bills were few, and Lang had gotten paid from the army. "I see. Well, I'll go in and pay it off tomorrow, if you don't have plans for the car."

  She darted him a glance at his pointed remark. "I have no plans."

  He watched her as she moved about, making preparations for their supper as though she hadn't a thought in the world, but he knew differently. He opened the door. "That's what I'll do then."

  He took the car to the farm in the morning, just to be sure. He told her goodbye when he left, and with some hesitation, she said goodbye too. There were moments when he wondered if those would be their last words together.

  He got to the barn ahead of Rilla's father. The man came in feeling talkative.

  "I'm telling you, son, it sure is good to have you home. It was a hard year without your help. But this year...well, this year is going to be different."

  "Thanks. Feels good to me to be back too." Home from war? Being glad to be back was an understatement, but there were aspects that didn't feel good and might never feel good again. He wondered if Rilla's parents had noticed anything going on between her and Jacob. "I sure do appreciate how everyone took care of Rilla while I was gone."

  "You could say we took care of each other."

  The sound of milk splatting into pails interspersed their comments. Lang lifted his voice above the sound. "How did you manage anyway? With Rilla and the babies and Delia's circumstances?"

  "Delia stayed at the house last winter, as you know. Rilla couldn't, of course. She was comfortable in her own home with the children. Well...until Emmett..."

  Lang sensed the droop in his father-in-law's shoulders without seeing it. "I haven't gone there yet. To Emmet's grave."

  The sounds of milking from his father-in-law's direction ceased. "Rilla hasn't taken you there?"

  "No. I don't know if she's up to it."

  "It would be a healing thing for both of you to go there together."

  "I've been afraid to ask her."

  "My daughter holds too much inside. She always has. You should talk to her. Plan a time to go there."

  "I'd kind of like to go myself first." Lang stood with his pail. Rilla's father was standing alongside a cow, looking at him.

  "He's in the cemetery next door to the church."

  Lang nodded like he knew, but he had no idea where to find his boy. Maybe today... He bowed his head and moved on to the next cow.

  Mr. Eckert's voice came again, muffled against the flank of another cow. "Langdon, it seems as good a time as any to tell you what I've spent a good part of the winter thinking about."

  "What's that, sir?"

  "This farm." He chuckled. "I about wore myself out last year. I'm getting old."

  Lang smiled and let the emotion come through in his voice. "Oh, I think you have a few good years left in you."

  "That might be, but the day is going to come when I don't have it in me to run this farm anymore. Then it'll be time to either sell off the herd or hand it down."

  Lang's milking faltered. "I, uh...don't follow."

  "Theodore is a good man. He's my first son-in-law, which to me is like a son since the missus and I only had the girls. But Theo, well, he can't do everything he used to be able to do, like it or not. Besides, maybe someday they'll let him have his job back on the railroad or find him something else to do."

  Lang doubted it. He had heard about other veterans with disabilities being unable to find work.

  Rilla's father went on. "And you're like a son too. We consider you such." He chuckled. "Though I never would have guessed it would be so when you showed up at our door. Never expected you'd be the one to marry our little Rilla."

  I didn't imagine it either.

  "But we couldn't be prouder. Do you see what I'm getting at?" Mr. Eckert didn't wait for an answer. "We'd like to leave you and Rilla in charge of the farm. We'll live here until we can't go on, but in effect, the place would be yours. We'd give Theo and Delia a little more property. That other forty acres of woods behind their place would do. Theo could have it logged off if he wanted. Make some money on it. He's a resourceful man."

  Lang nearly tipped off his three-legged stool. "You're offering me—Rilla and me—your farm?"

  "Well, sure. Somebody needs to take it over eventually."

  "But..."

  They both s
tood again.

  "I don't feel like I deserve such an honor." That was the truth. If anyone didn't deserve such a gift, it was Lang. He had already been given the man's daughter to wed, and that had been Mr. Eckert's first mistake. Might he only compound it by putting Rilla's inheritance in Lang's hand? He swallowed a lump that tasted an awful lot like humility.

  "I don't see it that way. I see it as a way to make my daughter's future secure."

  "You know I'm building us a house," Lang said.

  "Oh, sure. That's just fine. Rilla's mother and I plan to be around a good while yet. You build your house and enjoy it. Do whatever you want with this one when we're gone."

  Lang blinked and nodded. "Well, it truly is an honor, sir. I'll try to deserve it."

  "You just keep loving and caring for my daughter and those children like you do, and that'll be good enough."

  Loving Rilla? A lot had changed in the two weeks since his return, or maybe things had changed a long time ago, and he hadn't recognized the change for what it was. He did love his wife.

  He thought about it more. He had never even considered putting this unexpected surrender into words, but he did. He wrapped his mind around the truth.

  I love her. I love Rilla.

  The question was: did even a small part of her still love him?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  July 1919

  Marilla hugged herself. She felt like a trespasser as she stepped between the studs onto the platform of the new house and turned around, taking in the structure. A warm breeze lifted the hairs that had unloosed from her coiled braid, and she brushed them back from her forehead, as she looked upward at the opening between wall joists to the sky. The weather was perfect for hanging her laundry today. Having finished, she set her empty bushel basket on the ground, drawn by the structure growing tall against the woods like a sculpture taking recognizable shape. She had dreamed of this house, yet she felt detached from it. Her thoughts swam between wondering why Lang even bothered, to the crushing sensation in her heart over her discussion with Jacob two days ago.

  Every particle in her being had urged her to go to him and settle these questions and unanswered longings. Did she love Jacob? She thought so. She knew she needed him. A life without love after all she had given Lang... It was too much to bear. Couldn't Jacob fill that terrible hole?

  He was waiting on customers when she arrived at the store. She took Dora and Bertie to look at a shelf of toys, peering at Teddy bears, Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs, and a Raggedy Ann doll while she waited for them to leave. When the bell jingled over the door, she turned to see Jacob was already approaching.

  "Do you like the doll, Dora? You can take her home."

  Dora nodded and hugged the doll close.

  "You shouldn't," Marilla whispered, but her heart smiled at his tender offering, and she did not intend to make Dora return the gift.

  "For you, my little man." Jacob handed Bertie a wooden rattle, and the baby put it to his mouth to chew. Jacob chuckled and ran his hand over Bertie's hair. "His hair has gotten a bit darker." He gave Marilla a quick glance. "He looks quite like his father."

  She huffed. "Yes, I suppose he does. I had rather hoped his hair would lighten like—like Emmett's." This wasn't what she wished to talk about. "Jacob, may we talk?" She glanced toward the front window. The street outside was quiet.

  "Come into the apartment. I'll get us some refreshment. It's almost lunch time."

  She nodded and followed him with the children. Coming into his private apartment felt homier this time. It was hard to believe two years had passed since the day Jacob had provided comfort for her within these walls and then driven her to the hospital in Spooner.

  The day I first realized Lang cared for Delia more than me. She shook her head to rid herself of the memory. This wasn't why she'd come here today.

  Jacob pulled back a chair at his polished table and offered her a glass of lemonade, while he made quick work of fixing them a summer sausage sandwich with slices of cheese. Then he sat down to join her. Marilla was moved by his thoughtfulness when he offered diced up pieces of sausage and cheese to Dora as well, and set her plate on a stool she could reach.

  "Thank you, Jacob. You're so thoughtful of my children."

  He smiled, warmth in his gaze that went beyond utterance. He looked to his plate. "You want to talk." He stated the words flatly, but there was foreknowledge in them over what they would discuss.

  "Jacob..." It was harder to express her emotions than she anticipated. She glanced at Dora again, as she touched her plate but not the sandwich. "You must know how I feel."

  His head came up, his eyes finding hers. "Yes."

  "Then—"

  "You know I feel the same, Marilla. I have...cared deeply for you since you were a girl."

  Heat rose through her, a welcome warmth.

  "Yet..."

  Her brow twitched.

  He gave a slow shake of his head. "We are not that kind of people, Marilla."

  She let her breath out and hung her head. "Funny. I told Lang the same thing—about you, I mean."

  "You are not such a woman, either." He studied her. "If you were, I would not be so drawn to you."

  "But, you don't understand, Jacob." Her voice grew urgent. "He…he loves my sister. My sister!"

  Jacob leaned back as though he'd been slapped. His face turned ashen. He shook his head in disbelief. "Delia?"

  She nodded.

  "And...does Delia return his feelings?"

  "No." She shook her head and then answered with certainty. "No, she doesn't."

  Jacob scrubbed a hand over his face. She wanted him to reach for her. She wanted to reach for him, but some power inside her held her back.

  He shook his head. "We cannot go on like this. It is wrong. We both know it is wrong."

  "And if he leaves me?"

  His gaze came back to her. "He hasn't left you. You cannot leave him, as much as I wish..."

  "What do you wish, Jacob? Tell me."

  He looked at Bertie, who played on Marilla's lap, waving the now soggy, wooden rattle and cooing. His voice rumbled. "I wish Bertie was my son, that I was the one who would teach him to be a man. That Dora..." He rose, sending the chair squeaking backward, and walked to his kitchen window that looked into the small, open yard behind the store. "I wish I was your husband. God forgive me, I do." He turned to face her again, his hands clenched. "But I am not, and unless Langdon truly does desert you, I can never be any of those things, nor entertain their thoughts again."

  She stood and spun about to gather her children and leave.

  "Marilla!"

  She shook her head, unable to speak as tears rushed up her throat and out her eyes. He touched her lightly and withdrew, but it was enough to turn her to him. "I love you, Jacob."

  "No. You want to love me, but you will not. You will let such thoughts go."

  She shook her head, trying not to sob, but feeling so wretched, she gasped. "Then I need you."

  He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. She waited until he nodded. "Yes. You need me. But perhaps, with time, you will once again need Langdon, and he will once again—"

  "He never did!" she shouted. Taking Dora's hand, she stormed out the door.

  That time Jacob hadn't touched her or followed.

  Now she stood in the empty framework of the house Lang was building, wondering if she would ever belong here…or anywhere.

  ~~~~~

  "Tomorrow's the Fourth festival, or have you forgotten?" Lang poured a pail of milk into Marilla's churn and stepped back.

  Her hands paused in their work of kneading bread on the flour-covered tabletop. She lifted her glance half way before returning to her task. "I hadn't planned on going. It's too much work with the children."

  She must be giving him another excuse to avoid his company. "You didn't go last year either?"

  "Yes, I went."

  "Not too much work?"

  She paused again and scor
ed him with a look. "That's how I found out it was too much work."

  He lifted his chin, acknowledging that he believed her with a curt nod. "I see. But you do have me here now to help out with the children. I thought it might be fun for you. You've earned it."

  "I'm fine here at home. You go ahead if you want to."

  He smirked with a small snort, and she must have heard, because she kneaded harder. "You keep holding onto that grudge if you want," he said. "I'm going into town today. I need to run by the store to order something for the house."

  She wiped her hands on a damp rag, ridding her fingers of clinging bread dough.

  Here it comes. She'll want to go along and see Jacob.

  "Get me some lye soap, will you? I forgot to put it on my list the other day."

  He looked at the rigid way her body moved, remembering for a moment how supple it had once been when he held her. Now every part of her was walled off to him in her movements, her tone of voice, the lack-luster way she acknowledged him. He nodded. "All right. Anything else?"

  She laid a clean towel over the bread dough to rise and marched over to the churn. "That's it. You can take the eggs with you if you want."

  He went to the icebox and pulled out a small crate of three or four dozen eggs. Tucking it under his arm, he moved past her out the door. "See you in a bit." He heard no response.

  Lang chuffed out a breath as he set the eggs in the car and then went around the front to crank the engine. Climbing inside he thought about his question of a few days ago. Did she still love him? Well, he believed he'd found the answer. Not a bit. Whatever softness and longing she had ever harbored for him was long gone. He had pushed it right out of her. Lang slammed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. "I'm an idiot." He wanted to talk to somebody about it, and strangely, the only person he could think of doing that with was Theodore. He laughed at himself. "How ridiculous can I be?" Yet it was kind of amazing that his first thoughts weren't of Delia, and he was glad. He didn't want them to be.