Jeb's Wife

by Patricia Johns

  “What did my sister say exactly?” he asked.

  Leah rinsed some utensils and put them in the rack. “She suggested I get to know you better. She said that marriage isn’t only about the physical, and that if we knew each other better it would make for a happier marriage.”

  “Are you happy right now?” he asked cautiously.

  Leah looked up at him. “Yah. But friends and community—they matter to me. You and I can sort out our own marriage our own way, so long as we keep it private and I can have the respect of the people I care about.”

  It sounded so fair, so honest. He nodded. “Yah. Okay, then.”

  “I’d like to try this again, actually,” she said. “Once Simon’s debt is paid, it will be just the two of us again.”

  “Try what?” he asked.

  “Having another couple over,” she said. “My friend Rosmanda. You know her husband, don’t you?”

  Guests. As if his sister tramping into their home wasn’t enough. This was her solution, to drag more people into this home?

  “And you aren’t afraid of them seeing as much as Lynita did?” he asked incredulously.

  “I have a plan for that,” she replied. “I want to keep some dresses hanging in your bedroom. And some kapps—maybe on top of your dresser. It would make it look more like I slept there. And if someone saw my room, we could just say it’s a guest room.”

  “A guest room,” he said, mulling over her idea in his mind. Having her dresses in his room, a kapp or two . . . Would they smell sweet and floral like her? It might not be quite so comfortable for him staring at her things in his bedroom. He was supposed to be controlling his desire for her, not stoking it.

  “I think it would work,” she said. “So, we let them see what they expect to see, and then our business stays private.”

  He smiled wanly. “I can appreciate your ability to keep some secrets.”

  She shrugged. “It benefits me, too. So, what do you think? Can I invite my friends for a dinner?”

  No. That was what he wanted to say. Absolutely not. Keep people out. If she wanted privacy, then he knew exactly how to get it. He’d had privacy the last fifteen years.

  “I’m not good with people,” he said.

  “I know.”

  Leah met his gaze hopefully, and there it was—the sweetness in her gaze, the hope in her expression. How could he turn her down?

  “All right,” he said. “But don’t expect me to be good at this. I like my privacy, and I had gotten used to my sister coming by, but—”

  He wasn’t sure what he was trying to warn her of exactly. Disappointment?

  “It’ll be fine,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “I’m not charming,” he said at last.

  “I don’t think they’ll mind at all,” Leah said, and this time when she smiled, it warmed her eyes and lit up her face. His heart stammered in his chest.

  She was gorgeous . . . Did she know that? How much was he already doing for her—taking Simon under his wing, helping the young idiot get his debt paid off, handing over fifty thousand dollars ... and now he was bringing her friends into their house.

  “Okay, well . . .” He picked up some cutlery. “I guess it’s okay, then.”

  Every fiber in his being longed to say no, but after that smile, he couldn’t do it. He’d made her happy, and it warmed a place in his heart that hadn’t been touched in many, many years.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day Leah left the house right after breakfast to go up to the cottage and weed the garden there. If they were going to be self-sufficient that winter, she’d need to can as many fruits and vegetables as possible, and she was feeling optimistic again.

  She’d seen Jeb and Simon off as they headed to town, and even Simon seemed happier, and they could put all of this behind them. And then if Menno tried to get some money out of them, at least this most dangerous debt would already be paid. Simon would be safe again. They could shut out the Englishers and focus on a good Amish life.

  God, let this go smoothly . . . she prayed in her heart. It was so close to being over. Simon was so close to being free.

  Teaching in Rimstone, she’d never imagined what Simon was up to. It almost seemed like blissful ignorance now. When she was finishing up the school year with the kinner, she’d been thinking about the garden mostly. She’d assumed her brother was doing just fine, just as his letters assured her. Her worry had been that she didn’t trust Simon to plant the way she’d instructed him to do it.

  All the same, she missed the kinner at the little Amish school in Rimstone. They’d filled her days for an entire school year, watched them grow and helped them learn. There was one little boy, Benjamin, who had kept her on her toes. He’d struggled with the schoolwork, and he’d been a constant distraction to his classmates. He was the youngest child in his family, and there was quite a gap between him and his next older sister, much like the gap between herself and Simon. He reminded her of Simon at that age—the impish little smile, the glittering eyes. He was bound for trouble, but he was oh, so charming as he broke every single rule, and it was hard to be angry with him. But being the youngest by so many years meant that Benjie’s mamm could focus on him. Unlike Simon, he did have parents ... and hopefully his parents could get him in line better than she’d managed with her little brother. Because being endearing wasn’t going to help Benjie. And the adults in his life softening to that dimpled smile wasn’t going to keep him out of trouble. If she’d known this last school year what she knew now about her own brother, she might have been harder on the boy.

  When Leah was finished with the garden she let herself into the side door to replace the gardening tools. She’d weeded, hoed, and watered the rows of vegetables. There were cabbage, peas, green beans, cauliflower—those were all doing well despite a bit of neglect. The broccoli didn’t seem to be flourishing, though. That row looked stunted, even a little shriveled.

  Leah washed her hands in the mudroom sink and peeked into the kitchen. There were dirty dishes in the sink, a loaf of bread left out on the counter to get stale. She grimaced. She paused for a moment, wondering if she could walk away and pretend she hadn’t seen the mess. But she had ...

  She came inside and grabbed a plastic bag for the bread, then swiped up a cloth to wash down the counters and the table. There were crumbs everywhere.

  Leah muttered to herself irritably as she wiped down the table with brisk strokes. Then she started the water for the dishes and grabbed the broom from the cupboard. Had he ever touched this broom since her wedding?

  Another hour passed as she cleaned up her brother’s home, and then she headed back out again, locking the door behind her, and started down the gravel road toward the house she shared with Jeb. It was still hard to call it her own, but she was starting to feel more comfortable there.

  The sun was high, and as Leah approached the house, she saw the buggy coming up the drive. Jeb had the reins and Simon sat next to him—all in one piece. The bruises from his earlier beating had faded, and there seemed to be no new damage that Leah could see, and she felt a surge of relief. She picked up her pace as she headed toward the buggy barn where they’d stop.

  “Is it done, then?” she called as the horses plodded up. Jeb reined them in.

  “Yah,” Jeb said. “It’s done.”

  “You’ve paid them?” she pressed.

  “They’re paid, Leah,” Simon said. “It’s done.”

  But Leah didn’t feel entirely at ease just yet. “Did they give you anything—something that you can prove you paid them?”

  “They don’t give receipts,” Simon said with a low laugh.

  “It’s done, Leah,” Jeb said, and he met her gaze evenly. “I took care of this one.”

  His tone was confident, and his gaze didn’t waver. It was nice to have a husband she could trust with things like this.

  “Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “We’ve got a lot of work to catch up on,�
� Jeb said, turning to Simon. “I’ll unhitch and muck out the stables. You head up to the barn. There’s that calf that needs feeding, and the stalls need mucking out there, too.”

  “Yah, sure,” Simon said. “And thanks again.”

  Jeb gave Simon a nod.

  Both men got down, and as Jeb got started unhitching the horses, Simon came over to where Leah stood.

  “I’ve never seen that much money in one place,” Simon said, shaking his head.

  “And hopefully you never will again,” she said.

  “Yah. I know. It’s just—” Simon smiled wanly. “It was a lot of money.”

  “Money that belonged to Jeb,” she said. “You know what I did for you.”

  “I’m not making light of it, Leah,” Simon said. “Okay? I’m just—Life goes on, right?”

  And for Simon, it was probably as simple as that. The trouble had been taken care of, and his life would carry on as it always had. Except her life had been irrevocably changed.

  “I cleaned your kitchen,” she said curtly. “I can’t believe you leave it like that. Clean up after yourself or you’ll end up getting sick.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that,” Simon countered, but when he saw her expression, he shot her one of his boyish grins. “You’re the best sister, and I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I’ll be neat as a pin.”

  They both knew he wouldn’t be, but that smile worked the charm it always did, and she found herself smiling back.

  “New starts, Simon,” she said. “Right?”

  “Of course.” He flicked up his hat at a jaunty angle and headed down the road toward the cow barn, his boots crunching merrily against the gravel.

  When she turned back Jeb had already unhitched the horses, and the buggy sat under the rain shed. He appeared outside again, and he picked up the handles of a wheelbarrow.

  Leah had work of her own to do—their garden to weed, their own house to clean—but standing there looking at the man who had just successfully aided her brother in his time of need, she remembered Lynita’s advice to get to know her husband a little bit better. And maybe there was wisdom in those words, because for better or for worse, she’d bound herself to this man.

  “You okay?” Jeb asked, and she realized she’d been standing there staring at him.

  “Do you need help?” she asked.

  “What?” Jeb shook his head. “It’s men’s work.”

  “But you were gone all morning,” she said. “You said you were behind.”

  Leah headed toward the stable doors, and Jeb looked at her skeptically. She could feel his eyes moving over her, and she brushed past him into the dim stables. The horses were all outside, and the smell of hay and manure made her nose tingle.

  Jeb followed her in with that wheelbarrow, and she looked back at him again.

  “Your sister suggested I get to know you better,” she said. “Remember?”

  “Ah.” He smiled faintly. “So that’s what this is.”

  “I’m trying,” she said. “Can I help?”

  Jeb handed her the shovel. “If you insist.”

  She thought she saw a teasing glitter in his eye, but she took the shovel anyway and headed to the first stall.

  “Do you think Simon is safe now?” she asked as she began to shovel the soiled hay into a pile.

  “If he changes his ways, yah,” Jeb replied. “You’d know better than I would if he intends to do that.”

  “I’m sure he will,” she said, but it was mostly loyalty that made her say it.

  “Then he’ll be fine.” There was something in his voice, and she looked over at him again to find his gaze locked on her. He didn’t look so certain either.

  “Will you keep him working with you now?” she asked.

  “I need the extra hand. As long as he keeps working hard,” Jeb replied. “It’s better to have family here than some nosy kid who will go home and tell tales.”

  Leah turned to the stall and continued shoveling. She heard Jeb bring the wheelbarrow up behind her, and she began shoveling the heavy hay into the barrow. Leah grimaced as she hoisted a shovelful.

  “Let me do it,” he said, his voice low.

  “I’m fine.” She slid the shovel under another pile and lifted again. “I’m going to be canning fruits and vegetables this fall. I need to know your favorites.”

  “I like apples,” he said.

  “Okay. Applesauce? Canned apple slices?”

  “Slices,” he said. “And I like pickles.”

  “Me too.” She banged the shovel against the metal wheelbarrow, shaking free some dirt. “I make a good dill pickle.”

  “Yah?” Jeb hoisted a bale of fresh hay from a pile in an empty stall. His muscles strained as he carried it, and she noticed that his scarred arm seemed to support less weight. She watched him for a moment, and he dropped the bale within reach.

  “What?” he asked, and he crossed the distance between them, stopping close enough that she had to tip up her head to look him in the face. “You’re staring.”

  His tone was slightly flirtatious, and she dropped her gaze. “Sorry.”

  “You want to know how bad my burns are, don’t you?” he said quietly.

  “It’s the sort of thing a wife should know, isn’t it?” And maybe she should have asked before, but she’d started to wonder with that kiss—was her husband as maimed in that regard as she thought?

  Jeb looked down at her, his dark gaze moving over her slowly, then he sighed. “It’s my whole left side. The burns were bad.” He tugged at his shirt, exposing more of his neck. “It goes down my side, my hip, down my leg—” He lifted his shirt to expose his torso.

  “You said it doesn’t hurt?” she asked uncertainly.

  “The actual scar doesn’t hurt,” he said. “But the tendons shrunk, and they can be painful. My hip gets sore. I keep working on my joints, though, trying to keep them as limber as I can.”

  She nodded, then licked her lips. “You know that I cannot have kinner, but . . .” She wasn’t sure how to ask this delicately. “Can you?”

  A small smile tickled the corners of his lips, and he raised an eyebrow. She felt her face heat, but she refused to drop her gaze.

  “Are you asking if the injury extends ... that far?” he asked, his voice low.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. It sounded crude to even ask these questions, but she’d married him with one assumption, and she needed to have it confirmed or denied. “Perhaps I’m asking how much you’ve given up in marrying me.”

  “And you’d make that up to me with your fine dill pickles?” he asked teasingly.

  “I’d—” Was he making fun of her now? She wasn’t sure, but he seemed to see something in her face that sobered him.

  “First of all, I know you can’t have kinner of your own,” he said softly. “And I don’t care.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Isn’t it a little late for me to decide I wasn’t?” he asked pointedly.

  Leah sucked in a breath, and Jeb reached out and took the shovel from her hands. The movement was gentle, and he started to scoop the last of the soiled hay—the work much easier for him. He clanked the shovel on the side of the barrow, then handed the shovel back and hoisted the load.

  “But in answer to your question,” Jeb said, glancing over at her, “yah, I can have kinner, sure enough. The making of them isn’t a problem for me . . . if that was what you were asking.”

  So, he could ... The realization was like a jolt. She’d thought he couldn’t . . . the rumors had suggested . . . But then, maybe she’d been foolish to put so much stock in other people’s whispers. Or maybe she’d just hoped that he couldn’t have kinner either—that the blame would be on both of them. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. How much had he given up in marrying her?

  “You thought I couldn’t . . . perform the husbandly act?” he asked, turning toward her incredulously.

  “I—” She felt her breath seep out of her. “I reali
zed I’d never asked.”

  “And now you have.”

  Leah tried to hide her embarrassment by looking away, and Jeb wheeled the load of hay toward the side door. He paused when he pushed it open and looked back.

  “I said I didn’t care about having kinner, Leah,” he said firmly. “If there is one thing about me, you can trust what I say. I don’t play games. And I knew you couldn’t have babies when I married you. I knew what that meant for our future. I’m not going to resent you for that.”

  Then he disappeared out into the sunlight, leaving her alone with the dust motes dancing in the air.

  He wouldn’t resent her. Her throat thickened with emotion. That was possibly the kindest thing a man had ever said to her in a very long time.

  But he was capable of having children of his own ... that stark fact was still foremost in her mind. She had vastly underestimated him, it seemed. So, if he wasn’t pushing to share a bed with her ... what did that mean?

  * * *

  Did Leah actually think he was a eunuch? Jeb dumped the manure onto the pile that would be carted out to the fields every so often and gave it a clanging shake.

  A eunuch? He couldn’t help but be irritated at that thought. Did he look like a eunuch to her? Sure, he had a limp, but he was every inch a man in every other way. Was that why she’d agreed to a marriage of convenience—she thought he couldn’t make any claims on her physically?

  That was a sobering thought. Perhaps she hadn’t been giving him enough credit for his self-control around her, because she was a beautiful woman in his home, a soft presence in the room across the hall, leaving her delicate fragrance in the bathroom after she showered ... and when she stood there in her nightgown, while it was modest enough, covering her from collarbone to ankle, he couldn’t help but think about what was under it. He was only human, after all, and while he was a moral man, she was his wife.

  And maybe it showed his own vanity, but he wanted her to recognize the man in him. He wasn’t some scarred weakling in need of female care. He was a man—and his choice to keep himself from crossing those lines was just that, a choice.

  He hoisted the empty wheelbarrow and headed back into the stable. Leah was shoveling out another stall, the shovel scraping against the cement floor as she pulled the hay into a pile.