by Kelly Long
There was a moment of silence in the kitchen; then everyone started talking at once. Anke wanted to bury her face in her apron and cry for joy. But instead, she simply squeezed his arm and nodded with a soft smile on her face. Her discomfiture had passed and she wanted to rejoice with him.
John slapped him on the back. “You auld dog! Twins?”
“I would have loved to see your face when you were . . . about the business of delivering.” Matthew laughed, and Anke saw Abner glare at the buwe.
Tabitha gave him a bowl of ice cream and blackberry sauce and stopped to kiss him on the forehead. “You’re a gut man, Abner.”
Anke’s heart swelled with pride to hear the kind teasing and praise that was heaped on her friend.... But he kissed me and I heard the singin ’. . . . Not just a friend . . . so much more—but that he can never be.
* * *
After supper that nacht, while the three men were still talking in the kitchen, Tabitha felt restless and wandered to the small room where all her favorite books were shelved. She idly ran a finger across the spines of the books—some battered and others band box new. She’d loved reading all her life and smiled when she thought of her mail-order groom ad, which had required the prospective applicant to love books.
In truth, she had no idea whether Matthew loved to read, but she knew that she was developing feelings for him that she had never expected. She pulled out Wuthering Heights and was thumbing through it when she looked up and saw Matthew standing in the carved wooden doorway.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked in soft tones.
She shook her head and he closed the door behind him and walked toward her. She hugged the book to her chest and watched him move. He had a casual, lithe grace for all his height, and she liked feeling his green eyes on her. He stopped in front of her and bent to place a casual kiss on her parted lips. It left her feeling restless, and she wondered if it was an accident that his lean fingers brushed her breast as he reached to take the book from her. She let it go easily, wondering with excitement what he was about.
He smiled down at her. “Heathcliff ? So you prefer a dark and brooding man?”
Nee, her mind whispered, I prefer a man like you. She was startled by the sudden thought and half turned away from him.
He seemed to appreciate her posture, though, because she heard the book hit the shelf and then she felt his hands slide up her back to her shoulders. She couldn’t control the shiver of expectation that raced down her spine like heated water.
“Mmm,” he whispered. “You smell like roses and linen. . . .”
“It’s my soap,” she choked out.
She felt his breath against the nape of her neck, and then he nipped gently at her left earlobe. She caught her breath and swallowed hard. “Ma—Matthew . . .”
“Jah, say my name, sweet, sei se gut.” His lips brushed the side of her throat and she arched her neck in response, instinctively leaning back against him. She could feel the oaken strength of his chest and the length of his legs pressing her skirts. Thoughts of warm honey spun out in sunshine seemed to fill the back of her mind, and she wanted to share the sweetness with him.
She turned in his arms, facing him, and pressed her hands to his chest, rubbing up and down, and then stretched on tiptoe to kiss him. She imagined that a fire seemed to spark between them, heating the sweetness to flame . . . and then he pulled away.
He put her farther from him and bent to rest his hands on his knees, gasping as if he’d run a mile in high summer wheat. She stared at him, aroused and confused and beginning to feel the fine edges of anger.
“What is your favorite color?” he groaned as he rose once more to his full height.
“What?” she snapped.
“I don’t—even know your favorite color. How can I—we . . .”
“That’s it!” She pushed past him, intent on leaving the room. “It’s blue,” she hissed. “But you’re going to have to wait a long time to ask me such a personal question again!” She slammed the door behind her and stormed up to her room.
* * *
Matthew leaned back against the bookshelf. He hurt—both mentally and physically. But he knew now that until he had told her the truth about the mail-order groom ad, he didn’t have the right to fulfill their marriage vows. Then, at least, she’ll have a choice, he thought. She can annul the marriage if she chooses....
Chapter Twenty
Tabitha shifted on the hard, backless bench in church the next day. She hadn’t spoken a word to Matthew since last evening and she was amazed to discover that she felt a bit childish in ignoring him. She sighed to herself as she waited for the meeting to begin. It seemed strange to be seated with the married women. Without turning completely around, she couldn’t see Matthew. She realized as she reflected that she was used to going her own way and was indeed quick to anger. It was something to work on and pray about, she decided. Especially in light of his kissing, her traitorous mind whispered....
* * *
Matthew was only too glad that his wife’s slender back was turned away from him. Amy Dienner seemed intent on extending him a personal invitation to the church meeting in her fater’s barn. Somehow, the girl had managed to slip through the ranks of married men to where he stood near Big Jim.
“Matthew,” she cooed softly. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t . . . finish the other nacht.”
He cleared his throat. Did the girl have no shame? He wanted to roll his eyes, but he also realized that she was playing a dangerous game. He had no desire to put any thoughts of his being an adulterer as well as an outsider into the minds of the men who were chatting close by. But Big Jim seemed to understand the girl’s game.
“Amy, geh along with ya,” Big Jim rumbled. “If ya can’t tell, we ain’t the young unmarrieds here. . . .”
The girl flounced away, and Matthew breathed an inward sigh of relief. He glanced at Jim. “Danki.”
Jim grinned. “There was a time Amy cast her eyes my way. That girl needs to settle down and marry.”
Matthew nodded, then turned back to the service, which was just beginning. He was looking forward to seeing Bishop Kore deliver the sermon and wondered if the auld leader really seemed normal during his preaching. But first came the singing of the traditional opening hymns from the Ausbund, the book of Amisch hymns that lacked musical notes. Instead, a male member of the community started off for a few seconds to give the opening note, and then the community followed, with each note lasting as much as four or five seconds.
Soon it was time for the long sermon. Bishop Kore placed his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the community. Matthew had the urge to laugh for some reason, imagining that the auld man might do anything from a headstand to giving a demonstration of a rhino call.
But Bishop Kore began simply, even elegantly, and Matthew found his attention caught.
“In order to have a successful marriage, Gott must be an ever-present Third in the union. Getting married takes a day. Being married takes a lifetime. A lifetime of discovery, resilience, and persevering faith. For we know that ‘Perseverance produces character and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because Gott has poured out His love into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us. . . .’ And it is His love that makes marriage—that process of ever growing in love, ever enduring in love, ever searching the heart in love, so that we can find new strength to care for one another—possibly, even unto death.
“And let me say also that it is never too late to seek Gott and invite Him to become part of your marriage, of your very life. He is waiting for you and loves you very much. Now, I know, as sure as I’m standing here, that there are some gathered who might feel as though Gott has deserted them; that He has hurt them, and why would the Gott Who is love do such things? I only know that we see the wrong side of the quilt here on earth. We see the under-stitching that a child sees when she runs beneath the quilt frame to find a dropped needle. We see not
the top pattern that the Master Quilter sees, those designs and edges, and corners, and tight spots that bring a quilt top to life. So are our lives—we see as small children, but Gott knows the eternal design.”
Matthew listened in the silence that resounded when the bishop had finished. Never again would he consider Bishop Kore to be beyond odd, because here, when the church was gathered as a body, the auld man had the strength and power of Gott-given thoughts....
* * *
Tabitha was quiet both in her mind and in her spirit. Bishop Kore’s message and simple illustration of being under the quilt had spoken deeply to her. And also, she’d discovered that the idea of marrying Matthew as a lifetime pursuit was something she longed to do. She realized that what he had been saying about getting to know each other was truly a valid and worthy point. As she got to her feet at the end of the service, she searched the gathering for her husband.
She felt a surge of happiness that was hard to explain when he came toward her and she smiled up at him.
“Is that a real smile, mei sweet?” he bent to whisper in her ear. “Or is it for the crowd?”
“Real,” she said simply, pleased when he smiled in return. She held his arm as they headed out into the sunshine where the community had gathered for the usual picnic that was held after service. They had to pass Asa Zook as he stood in the doorway of the open barn. Tabitha felt strange when he gave her what amounted to an open leer and then decided she had been mistaken when the man turned away.
In any case, Matthew had not seemed to notice, so she let the moment slip from her mind. She realized that now she was married, she was to geh and work with the married women, while Matthew went to talk with Big Jim and the other married men. The youth were playing softball and the young kinner gamboled after bubbles in the vast expanse of green grass.
Tabitha went to Frau Dienner to ask what she might do to help. Frau Dienner was a large, kind woman who was absolutely nothing like her dochder, Amy.
“Ach, Tabitha, we don’t have enough pasta salad for seconds. I don’t know what I wuz thinkin’.” She gave an exasperated flap to her apron. “Would ya run into the cabin and make up a bowl? All the ingredients are on the table in the kitchen and ya can boil the noodles while ya cut up everythin’.”
Tabitha smiled her response and made her way into the cool of the large cabin. It was exceedingly quiet inside and she was glad of the retreat. She put the corkscrew pasta on to boil, then sat down at the long table with a sharp paring knife. She cut up the sharp cheese first, making small, square chunks. Then she started on the cucumbers and tomatoes. She was peeling the onion when she heard the front door open in the next room. She was going to make her presence known when the suppressed sound of feminine giggling came to her. She listened for a moment, not wanting to intrude on anyone, and got up to go to the side of the small archway that led to the living room area. But then she heard Amy Dienner’s unmistakable, high-pitched voice.
“Mamm will never know. Kumme up ta my room fer a bit of a tumble.”
“Jah,” a man’s voice agreed, and then all was silent save for the creaks of the stairs.
Tabitha realized the pot was boiling over, and she hurried to the cookstove to take it off the heat. She cast the noodles into the colander she’d prepared in the sink, then slowly tiptoed back to the table, torn between finishing her assigned task and sneaking outside and away from any trouble Amy was brewing for herself. Tabitha was no prude, but she was shocked that Amy would take such a risk—and in her own haus! And who was the man who would agree to such a thing?
Thankfully, though, Tabitha was able to hastily assemble the Italian-spiced dressing and shove everything for the pasta salad into the large wooden bowl. I’ll stir it up outside, she decided, and then left the kitchen in haste.
* * *
Abner felt as though he could barely lift his head without encountering the good-natured smiles of those gathered at the picnic after service. News had spread, as it always did in Blackberry Falls, that he had delivered the twins of Mary Lapp. Lester Lapp, the proud fater, had kumme to the picnic only to heap more praise on Abner’s head.
Lester had caught Abner as he was headed for the sliced ham. “Abner! Abner—what can I say? We’re so grateful. Mary and I decided to name the buwe after you and the girl after Mary’s mamm!”
Abner endured the hug of the other man and felt his face flush as he clutched his empty plate to his chest. “Danki, Lester,” he mumbled.
Folks gathered around them, and congratulations were abundant. But Abner wished the moment would pass as he sidled through the group to the food tables, automatically looking for Anke.
He saw her, down on her knees in the grass, with a willow bubble wand, blowing bubbles from a lid of soapy water for the delighted kinner who fluttered about.
She would make a fine mamm. . . . He almost dropped his empty plate at his mind’s treacherous reflection. What would it be to deliver my own sohn or boppli maedel ? This thought had him wondering if he was narrisch in the head, but it also propelled him to hastily scoop up a pickled egg. With the beet juice staining the white of his plate, he moved to Anke’s side through a curtain of bubbles. He sat down a few feet from her, and she waved the willow wand within inches of his face.
“Ye’re gonna spill that egg on ya,” she observed.
“Mebbe,” he admitted.
The screams of joy from the kinner seemed to fade as he caught the fresh scent of Anke’s body in the light summer breeze. He felt young for a moment and his mind blurred as he remembered being seventeen and all the pulsing life that ran through his veins—the knowledge that everything lay before him, and no matter how rugged the circumstances, anything seemed possible....
He blinked as a bubble hit his nose and popped. He came crashing back to the moment with an emotional jolt, then swallowed hard. “Did ya play with bubbles when ya were a maedel ?” he asked Anke.
“Nee,” she replied flatly.
“Me neither.”
“Then ya might as well start now.” She got to her feet and waved the bubble wand at him. He took it, and the pickled egg rolled into his lap. When he looked up she was gone.
* * *
Matthew was surprised when Big Jim handed him a small, corked brown jug.
“White lightnin’, Matt. Always makes the macaroni salad sparkle.”
Matthew smiled and took a swig; the liquid burned like fire in his throat. He handed the jug back to Jim and shook his head. “That’s quite a lot of sparkle.”
Jim nodded. “Wish I could play softball with the kinner. I don’t see Christi about, but there goes the bishop.”
Matthew turned in time to see Bishop Kore turning cartwheels among the young kinner and almost laughed out loud. “How much sparkle has he had?”
“I’d say none,” Jim replied. “Usually it’s headstands.”
Matthew was saved from replying when he saw Tabitha coming from the Dienner cabin, looking flushed and harried.
“Excuse me, Jim. I see mei frau.” He stepped away from the cluster of men and walked across the grass in time to see Tabitha plunk down a bowl of pasta salad on one of the picnic tables.
“Mad at the salad?” he asked, coming up to stand beside her. Then he looked into her stormy blue eyes. “What’s wrong?”
He watched her take a deep breath and then appear to steady herself. She smiled up at him. “Nothing . . . nothing at all.”
Matthew shook his head. He wished he knew her better so he could be sure when he read her that he was right. As it was, he had to settle for a plateful of pasta salad and an uneasy feeling that things were not always as they seemed in Blackberry Falls.
Chapter Twenty-One
Anke glanced at Tabitha—the girl seemed preoccupied as they walked the quarter mile to the Fisher General Store, or Cubby’s, as it was called.
“What be wrong with you, kind?”
Tabitha shook her kapped head. “I might ask you the same thing, Anke. You always seem to
be thinking hard lately.”
Anke sighed inwardly. She had hoped that she’d not given away how much she thought about Abner. It was all foolishness in the first place.... “I think about what I always think about,” she said finally, unable to lie outright to Tabitha.
The two continued in silence as the bees hummed among the mountain flowers and the sound of the falls lingered in the distance. Anke felt like swinging the basket she held over her arm but decided it seemed too girlish an action. She was glad when Cubby’s came into view—a long log cabin with a built-up front porch and wooden steps. Red geraniums burst from two hanging baskets on either side of the steps.
The wide porch was empty, but then, suddenly, the wood-framed screen door burst open and Grace Fisher came out, holding her cheek with one hand. She drew a sudden, sobbing breath when she saw them, then hurried down the steps and ran into the forest.
Anke saw Tabitha make a move as if to follow the other woman and caught her arm. “Nee, kind. Don’t interfere. Sam Fisher must be drinkin’ again.”
“What?” Tabitha turned wide eyes to her aulder friend. “What are you saying? That Grace Fisher is being . . . hit by her husband? Why haven’t I ever known this?”
“Mebbe because ya just now started ta look. Ye’d be surprised at what goes on in this world, kind, when everythin’ looks fine on top. . . .”
“But now that I know . . . well, we have to do something. Why doesn’t she leave?”
“To where, and how?” Anke shook her head bleakly. “It’s not so easy a thing. And she has the kinner ta think of . . .”
“My fater will—”
“Do nuthin’. He’s known this goes on fer years. Nee. He’ll leave it alone. Now, kumme, we need our things from the store, and we don’t want ta be gossipin’ on Grace’s doorstep.” She led Tabitha to the screen door and propelled the girl inside.
* * *
Tabitha angrily grabbed up a five-pound bag of flour from the shelf, disregarding the faint dusting of white that flew in her face. She added sweet pickles and minimarsh-mallows to her basket, then followed Anke to the counter to pay.
