Jeb's Wife

by Patricia Johns

  “I don’t need sympathy.” He caught her gaze and held it. “This is my private business. You understand that? I don’t want anyone to know. If I did, I would have told them years ago.”

  Leah stared at him. Didn’t he care what they said behind his back? Because she did. As his wife, she wanted them to know that he was a good man. She hadn’t married some monster, preying on the hopes and wishes of sweet women. He’d been used, too.

  “Leah?” he prodded.

  “Yah,” she said. “It’s your business.”

  “Thank you.” He drained the glass of water. “There’s a lot of work left to be done. I’ve already lost daylight today.”

  Leah nodded, and he headed for the door again, his limp slightly more pronounced than it had been earlier. He was sore.

  He didn’t turn around again. The door opened and shut, and Leah was left alone in the kitchen.

  Katie had left him . . . and he’d nearly died going after her in that blaze. And yet somehow, the most heart-wrenching part of the whole story was Jeb coming home to that empty kitchen, no food ready, wondering where his wife had gone.

  The young, defiant, vibrant Katie had died, and that was a terrible loss felt to the very core of their community. But Katie had also broken him . . . and maybe, in a way, the whole community had, too, because Katie hadn’t seemed to have much choice in that marriage either. All he’d wanted was to be loved, and in that, Leah could sympathize. It was all she’d wanted, too. Rejection had a way of eating away at a person’s heart. There were too many questions, the chief of which seemed to be, why wasn’t I enough?

  * * *

  That evening Leah sat at the kitchen table, one of her dresses in front of her. It needed to be hemmed up another inch—the fabric was starting to wear. She’d already eaten her own dinner, but she had the meal on the table still, chicken potpie, boiled vegetables, and baked potatoes, all sitting in covered casserole dishes to keep them warm.

  The sun had set, and she had a lantern hanging from the hook above the table. The lump of butter was melting onto the plate in the heat of the day. The kitchen window was propped open, and a faint breeze came through the room, exiting again through the screen door.

  She heard Jeb’s approaching footsteps, and she could make out the hitch in his step, the limp that held him back. He came up the steps, then inside. She put aside her sewing and started taking the lids off the dishes.

  “That smells really good,” Jeb said as he came into the kitchen. He pulled off his hat and rubbed a handkerchief over his forehead. “I thought you might be in bed already.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It’s late.” He shrugged.

  “Jeb, you’re my husband. I make you your dinner and I will sit with you while you eat it.”

  One part of Jeb’s story had been playing through her mind that evening—how he’d come back for dinner with his wife and found an empty house and no food on the table. Her heart ached for the young man he used to be—hoping for love, even for a meal, and never quite getting it.

  “Yah?” He smiled faintly. “That’s nice.”

  He came to the table and sat down, then he started dishing himself up.

  “You deserve a meal, you know,” she said.

  He plopped a baked potato into his plate, then met her gaze. “What’s this about?”

  Leah stood up, reached for the pitcher of lemonade, and poured him a glass.

  “You came home to no meal. I know that wasn’t the thing I should have been fixating on in your story, but ... You shouldn’t have come back to no food.”

  Jeb reached out and caught her hand and she froze, his fingers moving slowly over hers. His hand was callused and hard, but his touch was gentle. She sucked in a wavering breath.

  “It’s in the past,” he said quietly.

  “I only just heard about it,” she said, trying to smile but not quite managing it.

  “I’m not the same man I was back then,” he said.

  “Why not?” she whispered.

  “I don’t expect the same things,” he said, but he hadn’t released her hand. His touch moved up to her wrist, and she tugged her hand free. He let her go. Then he bowed his head, murmured a blessing, and started to eat.

  Jeb didn’t take long to eat, and while he did, she washed up the last of the dishes. When Jeb had finished eating, he handed her his plate and then reached for the cloth.

  “I can do it,” she said.

  “Let me wash the table,” he replied. “That’s the least I can do.”

  She handed over the cloth and dipped his plate in the sudsy water. She looked over at him, watching him stretch with his good arm to reach as he cleaned the tabletop. He came back and handed her the cloth. She washed the dish, put it in the rack, and then pulled the plug on the dishwater.

  “I like having you here,” he said quietly.

  “Yah?” she said.

  “I’m not easy to get used to, and I might be stubborn as an old mule, but I do appreciate what you’re doing for me, Leah.”

  She smiled at that, uncertain of how to respond. It was nice to know that he’d grown to like her contributions around here.

  He nodded toward the stairs. “It’s late.”

  Jeb headed over to the lamp above the table and reached up, turning it off and leaving them in darkness. After a moment her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the kitchen, and she followed Jeb up the stairs. The hallway was darker still, and she could feel Jeb in the warm stillness with her, but she could hardly see him.

  “Jeb—” she started, but as she turned, she collided with him. Strong hands caught her around the waist, and she let out a breathy laugh. “I couldn’t see you properly.”

  There wasn’t much light up there, except for the moonlight from the kitchen that pooled at the bottom of the stairs, but where they stood in the space between the bedrooms, they were in darkness, and she couldn’t make out his face. And somehow in the dark, having him hold her like this wasn’t quite so daunting. And the strength in those hands ...

  “What do you need?” he murmured.

  “What?” she breathed.

  “You said my name.”

  “I don’t remember,” she whispered, then laughed softly.

  What was it about the velvety darkness that made everything feel so different? His hand moved up her side, then she felt his fingers on her cheek.

  “Thank you for waiting up . . .” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I didn’t expect it.”

  “Maybe you should start to,” she whispered. “A meal isn’t too much to ask, Jeb. Neither is your wife’s company at the table.”

  “I don’t like to ask for too much,” he murmured.

  And maybe she didn’t either. It was easier than being turned down, being rejected.

  “You’ll always get a meal from me,” she whispered. “You can count on it.”

  Leah felt him lean toward her, the tickle of his breath against her lips, and then his warm lips covered hers, and this time when he kissed her, he pulled her against him. The gesture was tender, gentle, but she would have had to push back hard to counter him. He was a strong man—yet she sensed that if she pulled back, he’d release her. Her hands went easily to his sides, and she could feel the difference through his shirt—the soft, supple skin of one side versus the bumpy scars of the other.

  His lips moved slowly over hers, as if exploring her in the darkness just as she was doing with her fingers over his torso. His hands moved up her back, then down again, stopping at the small of her back where Jeb let out a low moan, and he pulled back, his breath ragged.

  “I have to stop . . .” he breathed.

  “Oh . . .” She wasn’t sure what to say to that, and she dropped her hands.

  “I’m a man after all,” he said, and she could hear the wry smile in his voice. “And I already told you how you make me feel. It’s been a long time since I’ve held a woman, and if I don’t stop now, I’ll ask for things we’ll both likely regret.”r />
  Things like what? Somehow, in the darkness, it didn’t seem quite so scandalous to wonder that ...

  “Okay.”

  He stepped away, and she felt the coolness of the evening air rush between them. It was likely better that he did stop, because something inside her was softening under his touch . . . and back in the brazen daylight, she might very well wish she hadn’t explored him like this in the darkness.

  A little curiosity about a man could lead to a whole lot more demands ... expectations ... and that was her reasoning, wasn’t it?

  Except it was hard to remember, and she stepped back toward her own room, her eyes now better adjusted to the darkness so she could make out the doorknob.

  “Good night, Leah,” Jeb said quietly.

  Leah opened the door into her bedroom, which shone brighter because of the open curtains and the starlight. “Good night, Jeb.”

  She’d been afraid of this marriage, but maybe it wasn’t quite so terrifying after all.

  Leah shut her door and leaned against it, shutting her eyes. She could still remember the feeling of his lips, his hands, the brush of his beard against her face . . . He seemed so confident in the way he touched her, and she had found herself responding in the darkness. No man had ever touched her like that before, and he seemed to know what he wanted and how to go about getting it.

  Would it be so terrible to give in?

  She’d know in the morning, when sunlight could burn away these secret feelings of longing that seemed to be growing inside her. Because she did wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped himself. What came next? She wasn’t sure. She knew the logistics of the act, but ... not the dance. Even now, in the darkness, where all she could hear was the thumping of her own wayward heart, she knew that she couldn’t just give this a try. Because once she went to his bed, if she didn’t want to do it again, there would be hard feelings. This tender friendship that was blossoming between them would be dead.

  If she went to his bed with him, it would be a watershed moment, and all the protection she’d negotiated for herself would be over.

  No . . . it was better to go to bed alone.

  For now.

  * * *

  Jeb rose earlier than usual the next day and poured his frustration into his work. He wasn’t sorry for that kiss, even though he was afraid of facing her now. She was his wife and he’d found her in his arms. So he’d kissed her. It was that simple.

  But it was also what she’d said about him being worthy of a meal. He could count on her for a meal ... that’s what she’d said, and it was such a sweet thought that she’d wait up for him to make sure he ate. It was more thoughtfulness than he’d experienced in all his adult years.

  When he’d kissed Leah, she could have pulled back or stopped him. She hadn’t.

  He wasn’t wrong here! That was the sentiment he’d been repeating to himself ever since he got up that morning and marched out into the sunrise. She was his wife, and he’d kissed her.

  So why did it feel wrong? But maybe “wrong” wasn’t quite what he felt. It was intimidating. He was scared, if he had to truly face it. Every time he let down his guard and kissed that woman, his heart tugged toward her just a little bit more. It didn’t help that he’d been noticing her for the last few years. She was beautiful, but not in the more blatant ways of some women. Her beauty was a low simmer, something he could tumble into and halfway drown in if he weren’t careful. And he was tired of drowning for women who didn’t want him.

  Leah was kinder than Katie had been, she was a better woman than Katie, but she’d been equally pressured into marrying him, even if those pressures came from different sources. And here he was letting himself feel things he wasn’t going to get reciprocated to him.

  If he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall in love with his wife, and then it would be the same old misery all over again. It was better to feel firm friendship for her, to appreciate her, to learn to trust her with the details of their shared life . . . but love? That got messy. Especially where his heart was concerned, because when he fell in love, he fell hard.

  So, while he wasn’t sorry for that kiss, if he were smarter, he’d regret it. Because he had bigger problems right now, like a cousin who was trying to ruin him with gossip. Lynita had been right that he couldn’t just let that go, but handing over half the farm? He couldn’t do that either. He’d thought he could just let his cousin hate him, but he couldn’t sit still and let his cousin ruin their standing in the Amish community. This mattered too much to Leah for him to allow that to happen.

  Jeb finished the morning chores in record time and had most of the work done before Simon even arrived, later than usual. The young man looked bleary, but at least he was here.

  “I have to go on an errand,” Jeb said. “I’ll need you to do the horse barn while I’m gone.”

  “Yah,” Simon said with a nod. “Sure.”

  “I think your sister is making a pie,” Jeb added.

  “Oh, yah?” Simon brightened.

  Jeb sighed. Simon wouldn’t be working hard, but at least he was helping out. Jeb left Simon to his chores, and he hitched up the buggy.

  Jeb didn’t just have a sense of responsibility toward Leah’s happiness anymore either. He wanted her to be happy because she deserved it. And because she thought he deserved a little kindness in return. She’d married him to help her brother, not herself. The least he could do was try to smooth things over with his cousin, if he could. Maybe a conversation between men could iron this out. He owed it to his wife and his sister to try, and all he could do was pray that God would soften his cousin’s heart.

  Menno’s carpentry shop was located in the town of Abundance. Menno and his brother-in-law ran the place together. They made solid Amish furniture for the Englishers who’d drive miles and miles to purchase their wares. They did well, and Menno, Jeb had to admit, was a skilled craftsman. He was particularly known for his cabinets.

  When Jeb arrived at the shop he wondered if this was a good idea. He needed to smooth things over with his cousin, but from what he’d heard, Menno had nothing good to say about him behind his back. Would this even help, or would it give him more fuel?

  He pulled open the front door and came inside to find an Englisher couple ahead of him, and Menno standing with his arms crossed. His cousin glanced up at him as he came in, and his expression froze as he recognized him, then turned back to the couple.

  “The delivery isn’t included in that price. There is another company that will carry it from our shop to your home. These are their rates—if you want installation, you can speak to them about that.”

  “Would you arrange that for us?” the woman asked. “And if you could take off some of the price, because we thought—”

  “No,” Menno said. “The full bedroom suite will take a lot of my time to complete, and I can’t lower the price any further. You are already getting a very competitive rate.”

  “If we went elsewhere . . .” the man hinted.

  “You won’t get solid wood and Amish craftsmanship,” Menno replied, meeting their gaze evenly.

  The man sighed. “Right. Right. Okay, well, we’ll think it over and get back to you. You have a phone, right?”

  “It’s all on my card,” Menno said, pulling a business card out of his pocket. “But keep in mind, the work will take twelve weeks. There are no rush jobs.”

  As the couple left the shop, Jeb watched them go, murmuring together over the price, apparently. But they’d be back. Jeb had seen the look in the wife’s eye. She wanted that furniture.

  Menno eyed him silently, his arms still crossed over his broad chest, waiting for Jeb to speak first.

  “Good morning,” Jeb said.

  “What are you doing here?” Menno asked. “I doubt you’re ordering furniture.”

  He could be—he was newly married, after all. But Jeb didn’t see the point in playing games today. Jeb looked around at the empty shop. There were a few cabinets lining
the walls, a headboard, some wood samples, and there was the smell of shaved wood that permeated the air from the workshop in the back.

  “I was hoping we could talk privately,” Jeb replied.

  Menno pursed his lips, then headed for a door. He said something to whoever was in the back, then propped the door open with a wedge.

  “I’ll give you fifteen minutes,” Menno said. “We can talk outside.”

  Menno led the way out a side door. It led to an alley between buildings, and it smelled mildly of garbage. Jeb glanced around once they emerged into the alley, and he wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s private,” Menno said curtly. “And it’s the best I can do right now. What do you want?”

  “I’ve heard that you’re complaining,” Jeb said.

  “Yah. I am,” Menno replied. “You’re taking the land that should be coming to me.”

  “Your daet left it to me,” Jeb replied. “It’s in the will, plain as day.”

  “My daet—” Menno’s voice broke, and he stopped, swallowing hard. “My daet might not have cared terribly about my ambitions, but I know that in his heart, I was still his only son.”

  “This isn’t a competition,” Jeb said.

  “No? It sure looked that way to me,” Menno said.

  “Menno—” Jeb sighed. “You’ve been telling people that I defrauded you. That’s criminal. You’re accusing me of something very serious.”

  Menno didn’t answer, and he looked away, his jaw clenched. But it wasn’t the old stubborn anger he saw in his cousin’s bearded face, it was grief. The other man’s eyes misted, and he blinked back his emotion.

  “My daet loved me,” Menno said gruffly.

  “Yah,” Jeb agreed. “And you loved him. But you never could get along.”

  “Because of you!” Menno shot back. “If you weren’t in the middle of everything, I might have been able to build a relationship with him! But he had the perfect replacement sleeping the bedroom next to mine. The son he always wanted.” Menno’s voice dripped disdain. “And you’re living in the house I grew up in. What does that say to you?”