Jeb's Wife

by Patricia Johns

  “I liked to farm,” Jeb said simply. “And I worked almost for free ever since I was a teen. He told me that he’d pay me back for my labor when he died. And I was willing to do the work.”

  “Why?” Menno demanded. “Why work for free? Because you were angling for the whole thing!”

  “No, because I loved him, too!” Jeb barked back. “Peter was like a daet to me. And I never had that in my life. Where was I going to go? Who did I belong to, if I didn’t belong with him?”

  “You’ve got a mamm somewhere,” Menno said, a bitter glint coming to his eyes. “You traded her in for my daet. You traded your real mamm for a family you liked better.”

  Anger boiled up inside him, and Jeb clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He’d traded her in? He’d done nothing of the sort. He’d been working to build a decent life for himself, the very thing she urged him to do in the letters she sent.

  Work hard, son. Keep moving forward. I can’t give you a proper life, but your uncle can. It can be lost all too easily. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be rash. Hold your temper and your passion. A moment’s relief is not worth a lifetime of pain. Take that from a woman who knows.

  “You know nothing about her,” Jeb said, warning crystalizing on the edge of his words.

  “Yah. Because you walked away.” Menno spread his hands.

  Menno was trying to goad him. He’d always been particularly good at that in their growing-up years. How many times had Menno poked at him, and when he retaliated, gone off and shown his bloody nose to his father? Jeb shut his eyes for a moment, willing the anger to subside, his mother’s advice still in mind.

  “What do you want from me?” Jeb asked.

  “I want my inheritance,” Menno snapped.

  “Are you willing to farm with me?” Jeb asked.

  Menno clenched his teeth. “It’s mine, Jeb. You know it. Do the right thing. You took my daet away from me years ago, and now you take the family farm. Is that who you’ve become?”

  It was an old argument—one Jeb couldn’t win, because Menno would never see things differently. Jeb was the usurper. And maybe his cousin was right—if Jeb hadn’t been on the scene, would Peter have had a warmer relationship with him?

  Inside the store, both men heard the dingle of the bell above the door.

  “Give me a sign of good faith,” Menno said, his tone softening. “My daet had a working account. He had at least thirty thousand in there. Give me that money to start. We can discuss the rest later.”

  It hadn’t been thirty. It had been fifty. And the money was gone now that Simon’s debts had been repaid.

  “What do you need it for?” Jeb asked.

  “Does it even matter?” Menno demanded. “You took it all, Jeb! And you’ll make me beg for even that?”

  “It matters to me,” Jeb said curtly.

  “Fine. We want to expand, open a new shop,” Menno said. “We’d each run one location—it would give me some elbow room. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

  “So that’s what you want your inheritance for—you’d sell it,” Jeb said slowly. “And you’d continue to build this business here.”

  “What do you care?” Menno shook his head. “It should be mine to do what I want with. I’m my father’s only son. I deserve to grow my own business!”

  So, he was right. If Jeb handed over half that land, Menno would sell it for the cash. A workable farm would be chopped up until it was too small to support a family, and all those years of working for his uncle would have been for nothing.

  “Will you give me that?” Menno asked. He paused. “Please.”

  Jeb wasn’t holding out for his cousin to beg. He no longer had the money, but that was his own private family business. Leah wouldn’t want people to know about that.

  “I can’t do that,” Jeb said woodenly.

  Menno stared at him, disbelief flooding his face. “Are you serious? You’d hold back even that?”

  “I’m sorry, Menno. I would if I could . . .”

  His cousin shook his head in disbelief, then turned toward the door to the shop. He didn’t look back, and Jeb felt the sting of his cousin’s reproach.

  “Menno—” he started.

  The door slammed shut.

  It would be easier if Menno were simply an angry man bent on revenge. But he wasn’t. Menno was a grieving son who thought he should have at least part of his father’s legacy.

  But Menno’s inheritance would mean chopping an already small property into a parcel so small it was all but worthless to farm. And with the amount of farmable land being eaten up these last few decades, Jeb wouldn’t be able to just sell his half and start fresh elsewhere. It wasn’t so simple anymore.

  And he was sorry. If Jeb could see a solution here, he’d be happy to share with his cousin. But he’d already drained that account, and the rest of the inheritance was the land itself.

  Jeb stood for a moment in the hot, smelly alley, and then he headed back toward the sidewalk and the buggy parking lot, his left leg feeling tighter and more painful than usual. He wanted to smooth things over with his cousin, but he’d already rescued one gambling fool. He had nothing left with which to do the right thing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning Leah stood back from the pan as the fat spattered. The bacon sizzled on her iron skillet, the edges just starting to crinkle. She’d made corn bread this morning, and it already sat in the center of the table, steam curling up into the air. There was honey to drizzle on top, a pot of oatmeal sitting with the lid clamped on, and she was currently frying the bacon to complete breakfast.

  Outside the kitchen window the birds twittered as the new day began. Dew clung to the grass, shining like pearls in the rosy light of dawn. This was what happiness was supposed to feel like—a married woman in her own kitchen.

  The day before had been a strange one. She and Jeb didn’t talk about that kiss this time around. Maybe it was harder to talk about when they both knew they’d gone against their earlier promises to stop that. She noticed that Jeb was warming toward her, though. He seemed more willing to please her in small ways. Ironically, Rosmanda’s mother-in-law would probably pat her on the back for that—kiss the man and make him more pliable. That sort of thing.

  But Leah didn’t like that thought. She wasn’t interested in manipulating a man into doing things she wanted him to do. An honest agreement with an honest man was better ... and yet she felt a little more eager to please him, too, after that kiss. And that made her feel nervous. Their marriage was changing, and the very thing they said they wouldn’t do was edging closer.

  But perhaps doing what they never thought wasn’t all bad, because Jeb had made some serious declarations about limiting their contact with the community, and she could only hope that if he could change his mind about their physical relationship, maybe he could change his mind about their relationship to the Amish community, too. Maybe he would soften, see the beauty in friendship and community. Because they had guests coming tonight... She hadn’t had a chance to invite Rosmanda and Levi, but it seemed that God was working in mysterious ways again.

  The side door opened, and Jeb came in.

  “Smells good,” he called, and there was a muffled thump from the mudroom as his boots came off.

  Leah flipped the bacon with a fork, one strip at a time, listening to the sound of water running as he washed up in the mudroom sink.

  “The bacon is almost perfect,” she said, and he appeared in the doorway with a towel in hand. He headed straight for his place at the table.

  “I meant to tell you yesterday,” Leah said. “Rosmanda and Levi are coming over for dinner tonight.”

  “When did that happen?” He reached for the spatula and levered up a slice of corn bread. He put it onto her plate, and then served himself a slice, too.

  “Well . . .” She pulled the bacon out of the pan, letting it drip before putting it onto the plate. “Actually when Simon went to town yesterday, he saw Rosmanda th
ere. She . . . invited themselves over.”

  “Simon went to town?” Jeb frowned. “When?”

  “Around noon?” She frowned. “I thought you knew.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t shirking his work—” she started.

  “I’m not convinced of that,” Jeb said. “But whatever. So . . . people do this? They just invite themselves over? I thought that was just my sister.”

  “Rosmanda’s my best friend,” Leah said. “You agreed we’d have them over—remember? Besides, if she’s inviting herself, they’re bringing most of the food, so there is no worry about them being a burden.” Leah came to the table and put the bacon down in front of Jeb. “And . . . I miss her.”

  Jeb looked up at her, then shrugged. “Yah. I can understand that. You miss ... people.”

  “I do,” she agreed.

  “I don’t.” He sighed, then nodded to her chair. “Let’s eat.”

  Leah sat down, eyeing Jeb uncertainly. Would he change his mind now? Jeb said a brief blessing over the meal, then reached for the honey.

  “If you really don’t want them to come, I could—” she began.

  “It’s fine,” he said, softening his tone. “I did agree to this.”

  Leah did miss Rosmanda and her little girls. And Levi was a nice man. He wasn’t quite so staunch and serious as other Amish men, and that might be ideal for Jeb. This was a chance to show people that they were a normal, happy couple. And gossip being what it was, they needed this.

  “Rosmanda makes a delicious blackberry pie,” Leah said. “Her pies are better than mine. It’s the crust—she’s got this way with it—”

  “I don’t want another woman’s pie.” Jeb’s expression remained grim, but when he glanced up at her, she couldn’t help but smile.

  “That’s nice of you to say, Jeb.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “It’ll be fun, Jeb. You’ll see.”

  * * *

  That evening, Rosmanda, Levi, and the girls arrived at five, with plenty of time to spare for cooking. Levi carried an overflowing basket—bread, two pies, a bag of new potatoes, three bushy heads of lettuce, and a freshly plucked chicken. Leah had known her friend wouldn’t come empty-handed. Rosmanda didn’t carry anything, and her belly looked even larger than it had the last time Leah saw her.

  “This looks wonderful, Rosie,” Leah said, and she bent down to give each of the twins a squeeze, then straightened to hug Rosmanda.

  “I didn’t think you’d mind a bit of company,” Rosmanda said, and accepted a side hug as she smoothed a hand over her domed stomach. “Is Jeb still doing chores?”

  “Yah. He’ll be in soon, though,” Leah said. “You sit. I’ll take care of this.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Rosmanda laughed.

  “Then peel potatoes,” Leah said. “Sit down!”

  Rosmanda didn’t protest again, and she sank into a kitchen chair. Leah handed her a peeler, a pot, and a bucket for the peelings. Then the side door opened, and everyone silenced. Jeb’s boots echoed on the floor, and Leah sucked in a breath.

  “He’s back,” she said with forced cheer, and she crossed the kitchen and looked in to the mudroom. Jeb deposited his boots on the mat, gave her an indecipherable look, and then turned to wash his hands. Leah came into the room.

  “They’re here,” she whispered.

  “Yah, I noticed,” he said. He lathered his hands with soap, then rinsed them.

  “Jeb . . .” She wasn’t sure what she was asking. She wanted some normal, if that wasn’t too much. She wanted people to see them and feel happy for them instead of uneasy. She wanted to have fun tonight—to enjoy some time with Rosmanda.

  “I’ll be nice,” Jeb murmured, and he smiled. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” Was she worrying for nothing? The girls had brought their dolls with them, and they had set them up on their father’s lap. Levi smiled down at the girls indulgently, then looked up as Jeb came into the kitchen.

  “Jeb,” Levi said, gathering the dolls in one hand and standing to shake hands. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Jeb said, and he looked down at Leah hesitantly. The twins stood with mouths gaping open, staring at Jeb.

  “We’re very happy,” Leah said, putting a hand on Jeb’s arm. It didn’t feel natural—not here with people around. Jeb seemed different around others—pent up, uncomfortable. The man in the dark, the man when they sat alone in this kitchen—he was different. But other people couldn’t see that. She looked down at the girls again.

  “Go to your mamm,” Levi ordered, and when the girls didn’t move, he tapped them on their shoulders, turned them toward their mother, and gave them both a nudge. “Go on.”

  “It’s a little surprising,” Leah said feebly.

  “It’s okay,” Jeb said quietly, and when she looked over at Jeb, she found his gaze following the little girls sadly. How did it feel to frighten children?

  “I don’t think we’ve ever had a chance to talk,” Levi said, clearing his throat. “And our farm isn’t far from here. We should help each other out at harvest.”

  “Yah. Yah . . .” There was something in Jeb’s voice that didn’t sound in full agreement, though. Leah let her hand drop from his arm.

  Rosmanda bent down as far as she could in her condition and was whispering quietly to the girls. They looked over their shoulders once toward Jeb, then back to their mother. Leah moved toward the kitchen, and she overhead the last of Rosmanda’s little lecture.

  “. . . it hurts people’s feelings. And we don’t want to do that, do we?” Rosmanda pointed to a spot on the floor closer to the counter. “Go play there.”

  Hannah and Susanna did as their mother asked, but their little eyes kept moving across the room toward the men.

  Rosmanda followed Leah into the kitchen. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Maybe I should have warned them before. I was hoping that being so young, they wouldn’t question a difference like that, and ... Anyway, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Leah said. “There was no harm meant. It’s fine.”

  She hoped it was at least. Jeb had kept himself away from curious eyes and prying questions for years now, and she’d seen the look on his face.

  “Are you sure?” Rosmanda asked.

  “It’s fine,” Leah repeated. “Scars can be alarming for little ones. When they get to know him, they’ll feel a lot more comfortable.”

  If they got to know him. Jeb looked so stiff over there talking with Levi. He was being awkward enough with adults, let alone inquisitive kinner.

  “There is a strawberry ice cream gathering next Saturday at the Smucker farm,” Rosmanda said, changing the subject. “And you know Sarah Smucker’s fresh-churned ice cream.”

  “It’s awfully good,” Leah agreed, but her gaze swept back to where Jeb stood. He was rubbing his scarred arm absently.

  “You should come,” Rosmanda said. “Drag your husband out to make nice with the community. He might even have fun.”

  “I don’t know about that. . . .” Leah forced a breathy laugh. “He has his ways.”

  “And you’ll have your ways as a married couple,” Rosmanda countered. “You’ll do things differently together. He’ll have to change, Leah. That’s part of marriage.”

  “I’m not sure he knows that.” Leah sighed, and reached for a roasting pan. “Thank you for inviting yourself over, by the way.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Rosmanda smiled warmly. “It’ll take the whole community to soften that man up, but we’ll get there. Don’t you worry. I’m not about to abandon you to some lonesome existence all by yourself out here.”

  “I’m glad of that . . .” Leah reached out and grasped her friend’s hand. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Is he kind?” Rosmanda asked, lowering her voice.

  “Yah.” Leah pulled her hand back and started arranging the chicken in the roasting pan for the oven. “Why would you ask?”

&nb
sp; “At the games night, things seemed rather tense, that’s all. And people started to talk—”

  “He’s a kind man,” Leah replied. “He’s just ... He doesn’t trust the community, and he’s not like this.” She nodded toward the men. “The stiffness, and ... unfriendliness. Not when it’s just us at least. He has a tender side to him.”

  “Obviously,” Rosmanda said with a low laugh. “You fell for him, didn’t you?”

  “Yah, of course.” Just for a moment she’d forgotten that she needed to keep up their image. “It’s not easy for him. He’s been done wrong by a good many people.”

  “Oh?” Rosmanda raised her eyebrows.

  “And it’s private,” Leah conceded. “All I mean to say is that if you give him time, he’ll be more natural.”

  Rosmanda nodded. “Of course. It’s private. As long as he’s good to you, Leah.”

  “He’s very good.” And Leah wasn’t covering things over or trying to make a good impression when she said it. Jeb was kind. He didn’t push himself onto her. He appreciated her cooking ... There was a more tender version of this man underneath that gruff, impossible exterior, and she’d witnessed it.

  The women both looked toward the men again. Levi glanced around uncomfortably, then seemed to think of something else to say, but the men’s voices were too low for them to hear.

  “Let me get you the spices,” Rosmanda said. “Where do you keep them?”

  “The top cupboard behind us,” Leah said.

  Jeb looked over just then, and his dark gaze met hers. Her breath caught. It wasn’t tenderness in his gaze that she saw, it was misery. He hated this—she could almost feel it in her own body, it emanated off him so strongly. He looked like a wounded animal, begging to be released from his pain.

  “Why don’t we start with a little bit of pie?” Leah asked, raising her voice. “The meal will still be an hour, so I don’t think a little slice of pie should completely ruin appetites, do you?”

  Pie—it was a diversion at least. It was something she could offer. What was wrong with him? Why was sitting here with a perfectly nice couple who wanted to spend an evening with them such punishment?