by Kelly Long
Abner mounted the wide, wooden steps and then gave a thundering knock on the heavy wood of the front door. He heard oncoming steps from the other side and whipped off his black hat, hastily running his hand through his thick, graying-blond hair.
Anke opened the door and he smiled down at her. She was obviously busy and gave him a slightly vexed glare as she jerked her apron into tidiness.
“Ye’re back, then, with the buwe?” she half whispered.
“Jah. Is she ready?” He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch one of the brown curls that had slipped the rigorous confines of Anke’s work kerchief.
“She’s already off to meet ya. She said she wanted ta walk a bit before she went to the clearing.”
Abner swallowed hard and nodded. It would be so easy to bend down and press his mouth to the red of her lips. But . . . his duty waited. “Danki.” He slipped his hat back on and returned to the steps, walking away without looking back.
* * *
Anke watched Abner’s broad back as he descended the steps. The man was a giant—plain and simple. She always felt small and delicate around him, even though she knew that her belly and bosom were far too big. But she also knew that she should not be thinking of Abner, not when she could remember all too clearly the horrid touch of her oncle when she was ten years auld. . . . She sighed to herself as she gently closed the heavy door and laid aside all personal thoughts to go to prepare a bridal supper for Tabitha and her mail-order groom.
Tabitha had devised a menu that Anke felt was less than befitting of an Amisch wedding supper. And there would not even be an eck or place of honor for the couple to sit. Moreover, there were no guests invited. Tabitha had reassured Anke that there could be a small celebration sometime after her fater returned from the deep woods and had accepted the groom of her choosing.
Anke moved about the spacious kitchen, praying that things might geh well between Tabitha and her chosen groom. It seemed to Anke that Tabitha was hardly auld enough to marry. She clearly recalled Tabitha as a young child, eager to make apple sauce or learn to scrape potatoes. Anke had done her best to be a substitute mamm to the little maedel, but she knew in her heart that Tabitha could be as headstrong as her fater.
Chapter Two
Matthew glanced at Abner, who regarded him with the same tense expression he’d worn for the duration of the past three days. “Do you always look like that?” Matthew asked, returning the knife he’d used to shave to the aulder man.
“Like what?”
“Ach, I don’t know.... Mad, sad, ambivalent . . .”
Abner shook his hulking frame and grimaced. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, buwe. I’ve told ya who and what I am. Now move. We need to get to the big clearing and then on to Bishop Kore’s before—”
The aulder man broke off in midsentence, and Matthew glanced at him with open curiosity. “Before what?”
“Never mind. Ya came here to marry, and, if she’ll have you, marry ya shall.”
Matthew shook his wet head. “Yes, I shall.” He extended an arm. “Lead on, grim specter.”
Abner glared at him but turned, and Matthew followed, wondering what he’d truly gotten himself into....
* * *
The rushing creek muffled the sounds of the forest and soothed Tabitha’s unusually tense mood. It was not that she was anxious about meeting Matthew King; nee, her fater had paraded at least a dozen men before her eyes, hoping that she would marry someone of his choosing. Nee, it was the stranger in the creek who’d unsettled her; there was something about him that tugged at her.
But she thrust away such thoughts and began to pace the pine-needled floor of the clearing in her black shoes, giving a quick tug to the pristine apron at the front of her pale yellow dress. She’d wanted to look her best, planned on it; now she wondered if Matthew King would stand in awe of her beauty—the way many men did. For Tabitha, it wasn’t vanity; it was practicality. She wanted to know if the stiffness of his written response would melt beneath her gaze. Would he be smitten? She felt it would give her a measure of control in the relationship, and control was always gut.
She flicked absently at a kapp string as she moved. She knew that for the Mountain Amisch, marriage was a lasting thing and, in truth, she had no desire to be bound to some lout. She swallowed hard when she reflected on her own boldness in creating the ad and then drafting a carefully worded acceptance. But if he seems ugly in his heart, or a beast of a fellow, I shall simply have Abner drive him off. I’ve committed to nothing. . . . She ignored the niggle of doubt she felt, then stopped her pacing as Abner stepped from the laurel bushes with a tall man behind him.
Whatever she’d expected, it was not the handsome man she’d met that morning at the creek. She frowned as she took in his drying hair, now a rich, russet color rather than the dark, soapy strands she remembered. His eyes were an intense green and she felt consumed by his gaze. She was disconcerted and not at all used to the feeling. Then she remembered her resolve to marry on her own terms, and when he held out a large hand, she took it with a direct look. His fingers were warm and enclosed hers for a brisk, businesslike moment, and then he drew away.
She swallowed and spoke clearly. “Herr King. I’m Tabitha Stolfus.” Your wife-to-be . . . Wife. Wife. Wife . . . She didn’t say it, but she felt as if the word hung in the air between them.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you . . . properly, I should say.” He smiled down at her. “Sei se gut, call me Matthew.”
His voice was deep and resonant. Strangely, she couldn’t help but compare him to other men—nee, buwes—in Blackberry Falls. He stood with a commanding presence and was a gut head taller than herself.
“At least you are bathed and dressed properly for the ceremony.” It was a firm declaration, with only the faintest hint of sarcasm, as her gaze took in his white shirt, dark suspenders, and black pants. His damp shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, and she felt herself frown.
But to her surprise, despite her attitude, she sensed a relaxation in him, almost as if his damp shoulders shook with laughter, and she couldn’t resist speaking.
“You find something funny, Herr . . . Matthew?”
“Nee . . . I’m glad my attire suits you.”
Tabitha immediately felt herself flush at his soft teasing but then straightened her spine. “Jah, it does. And now we must hurry. Bishop Kore will be waiting.”
But once more she felt confused by him when he considered her with a quizzical smile. She had to resist the strange urge to reach up a hand to see if her kapp was on straight.
“Your prayer covering is on perfectly, Tabitha. But, I wonder—are we to marry with such haste? Surely you want to see if I fit your needs.”
Tabitha stared at him, rallying the driving force inside her—to marry on her own terms. “You seem adequate,” she said in deliberate, honeyed tones.
“Danki.” He smiled. “But perhaps we could have a few minutes alone to discuss . . . adequacy?” She watched his gaze flick to the silent Abner, and she gave a reluctant nod of assent.
The aulder man came forward and stabbed a finger at Matthew’s chest. “If ya so much as lay one finger—”
“I understand.”
Tabitha watched her soon-to-be husband step away from the accusatory finger and nod his head respectfully. Then Abner grunted and walked away into the forest, and Tabitha readied herself to meet alone with her mail-order groom for the second time that morning.
* * *
If Tabitha Stolfus had meant to awe Matthew with her beauty once more, she could not have done a better job. Up close, her Amisch dress was the rich color of creamed butter and concealed though still hinted at her fine form and pert bosom. Her slender neck seemed incapable of supporting the mass of honey-blond hair that was mostly hidden beneath her kapp. But he hadn’t missed the errant tendrils that had escaped to frame her oval face. Wide, sapphire-blue eyes looked up at him with a coolness he supposed was meant to be intimidating to a man, but the
ir depths only made him wonder how blue they’d become when she’d been warmed by kissing.
He blinked, then shook himself mentally. He was here because of her fater’s woodworking—nee other reason. As I told my bruder . . . she’s incidental and only that. Still, it was difficult to dismiss her beauty, and he watched her perfectly formed lips closely as she prepared to speak.
” According to tradition, a mail-order groom . . . is prepared to marry upon arrival and the meeting of his bride.” She lowered her voice. “Now, tell me, do you find me adequate, Herr King?”
Her question sent a rush of warmth down his spine, but he answered with a coolness he didn’t feel. “Surely, but there is always more to beauty than the exterior, Tabitha. Like a pine veneer that hides a wealth of burled elm, true beauty lies within.”
“That’s not what most men think,” she muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “You speak knowledgeably of woodwork.”
It was more a question than an observation, but he’d rehearsed this scenario in his mind. He shrugged. “I learned basic furniture making from my fater.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
Did I enjoy it? Now that’s a question I wasn’t expecting.. . . On the one hand, he loved every minute he’d worked with wood, but his fater had stripped away most of the joy in the process. His daed had also limited the family business to making the most basic of furniture, with little-to-no-room for true creative craftsmanship. He supposed his daed was bitter after his mamm’s death; he’d certainly been brutal.
Matthew needed to answer her but was saved from having to reply when a tall, gangly man joined them in the clearing. The fellow fixed his beady eyes on Tabitha, and Matthew felt an unfamiliar flare of irritation as he stepped in front of his soon-to-be frau.
“Go on with you,” he ordered harshly, even as he heard a sigh of frustration from behind him. Clearly, Tabitha had tangled with this beak-nosed Amischer in the past.
“Do you think I’d leave this delicate flower alone with some stranger?” The man’s squeak of a voice grated on Matthew’s nerves. “I happen to have once held the privilege of being betrothed to Tabitha, and I am not so far removed as to think that she is beyond my protection.”
Matthew blinked as Tabitha stepped in front of him. “Elam, we were never betrothed; only my fater thought so. Now, why don’t you just go on your way?”
“And leave you defenseless?”
Matthew thought he could see actual steam coming off Tabitha’s head and hid a sudden smile. Clearly, the fellow didn’t know what Matthew intuitively understood about the strength of the woman he’d met only that morning. She’s about to blow her stack. . . .
“I am not defenseless. Now, please.... I’ve got private business with this man.”
With his prominent Adam’s apple, Elam appeared to gobble, but then Abner came back into the fray. And with one gloomy glare from Tabitha’s guardian, Elam wavered away into the woods, leaving Matthew a clear field to tease Tabitha as she turned back to face him.
“A disgruntled man—a broken betrothal?” He reached out a hand to lightly skim a finger down her rosy cheek. “What am I to think?”
She slapped away his hand, and he laughed.
“You wouldn’t be laughing if you knew what a tittering gossip Elam Smucker is!”
“What’s there to gossip about?” Matthew asked lightly. “We’re only getting married.”
He smothered another laugh when she glared up at him and would have said more if Abner hadn’t grunted his disapproval.
“Enough of this playin’. Bishop Kore is waiting and we don’t have much time.”
The aulder man’s words sobered Matthew’s mood as he wondered again about the hurry.
* * *
Tabitha turned around on the steps where she stood outside Bishop Kore’s cabin; she couldn’t deny that Matthew King was more than handsome. He moved with a lithe, pantherlike grace when he walked, and his hair had dried to an even brighter russet color that she couldn’t help but find pleasing. As he drew closer, she could see his green eyes and covertly took in his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs.
Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, though, because he mounted the carved wooden steps behind Abner and stopped to gaze down at her.
“Would you like to examine my teeth?” he asked politely.
“What?”
“My teeth?” He gave her a wolfish grin, baring strong, white teeth. “Wasn’t that in the ad? I thought because you were evaluating the rest of me . . .”
She frowned darkly, a sharp retort coming to her lips, but then, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d riled her, so she held her tongue.
The opening of the bishop’s door reminded her that her wedding was nigh, and she arranged her features into the semblance of a smile. Bishop Kore was an odd, forgetful man until it was time for him to speak during church service; then his voice thundered with certainty. But now he stood with the door open, a congenial if somewhat confused expression on his auld face.
“Ach, Tabitha and the gut Abner. But who else do we have here?”
Tabitha wanted to grit her teeth at the bishop’s forgetfulness, but she smiled sweetly instead. “This is Matthew King. We’re here to be married. Do you recall that I spoke with you in private some days past?”
“Marriage? Jah, a sober state to enter into. Nothing like fruit salad . . . Well, kumme in. Kumme right in.”
Tabitha ignored the strange mention of fruit salad—the bishop’s peculiarities were of little concern to her at the moment. She swallowed and followed the auld man into his modest cabin, very conscious of Matthew King at her back.
“May we hurry, Herr Bishop?” she asked, frustrated when the man was distracted by Matthew’s apparent interest in the carving of one of the key support beams in the cabin.
She watched as he touched the oak beam with strong hands, then smiled at the bishop. “A cabin such as this is built like a rock, sir. No storm could shake it, I think.”
Bishop Kore gave a wheezing laugh. “Built on a rock, my buwe. As sure as sunfish. You’re interested in woodworking? Well, Derr Herr must surely have made your match with Tabitha. Her fater is—”
“Not here!” Tabitha snapped, then amended her tone. “Of course not, Herr Bishop. He’s deep in the high timber. Don’t you recall? Not here. Not for another day, I hope.... I mean . . . surely he’ll be returning soon. If we could just proceed . . . right now!”
Chapter Three
Silence snapped in the room as three pairs of male eyes swung in Tabitha’s direction at her abrupt order, which was so unlike an Amisch woman’s usual behavior. She met them with a demure look, trying to control the blush she knew stained her cheeks. She forged on with determination. “Don’t you agree that we should hurry, Herr . . . uh . . . Matthew?”
The man had the temerity to raise a dark brow at her as a faint smile played about his mouth. Indeed, he crossed the floor and put an arm around her waist, pulling her subtly into the damp warmth of his side. She longed to struggle, but then remembered that time was passing and turned innocent blue eyes up to meet his gaze.
“Jah, mei sweet,” he agreed in warm tones. “Why, I can hardly count the hours until tonight when we shall both drink . . . from the goblet of love.”
“Ahem!” Abner choked, while Tabitha frowned and shook her head at him. Then she looked at the astonished bishop; the man simply had to hurry.... There was always the chance that her fater might return early from his expedition. She would breathe a lot easier when the wedding was over.
* * *
Matthew felt the tension in her body as he held her to his side. He wished she’d relax. Yet it was a pleasurable thing, the rather intimate touch of a woman, something he hadn’t experienced in a long while.
“Are you ordering me about, mei maedel?” Bishop Kore had adopted the subdued roar he must use during church services
, and Matthew hugged her closer. He doubted that she was usually so abrupt and he admired her impulsive words—words that had effectively brought the bishop back to the moment for whatever reason she might have.
“I do not recall you ever being of such a disposition when we spoke earlier, Tabitha!” the auld man thundered.
“I assume full responsibility for the hurry, gut Bishop,” Matthew put in smoothly. “I am twenty-seven, alone in the area, and, I admit, besotted by such Gott-given beauty as Tabitha’s. Just look at her skin—like fresh cream, is it not? And her eyes, as blue as jewels in the sunshine . . . Why her shape alone is—”
Bishop Kore cleared his throat and then began the ceremony in haste, almost as though the auld man wanted to put behind them any sin the two might have already committed.
Matthew listened with only half an ear to the High German the bishop spoke as he began the marriage ceremony. And somehow, what usually took three hours and involved hundreds of guests and at least six baked hams was over in a matter of minutes. He’d given his assent, as had Tabitha, and he was now officially a mail-order groom and husband. He glanced down at Tabitha’s face, expecting to see some evidence of a smile, but instead, he encountered a look of almost grim satisfaction. He wondered at her expression and then decided he wasn’t much better on the getting-what-you-want scale.
Here I’ve married the maedel out of a desire to learn from her fater, who is clearly the person she wants independence from, yet somehow I’ve got to pretend that she, herself, is the main reason for my agreeing to the arrangement.
“It’s done, then,” Abner said, breaking into Matthew’s thoughts.
“Jah,” Bishop Kore agreed, clearly relieved. “As done as a fish on an evening fry.”
“We’re two done fish,” Tabitha quipped as she wriggled away from Matthew’s arm. “Now, we must be going, I’m afraid. Danki, Bishop Kore. Abner, can you please give the bishop that envelope?”
