Marrying Matthew

by Kelly Long

  He refocused on Bishop Kore and heard the wisdom in the words of the auld man.

  “We may think that because Amy died by a violent act that she remains somehow part of that violence, that we will never be able to remember her without thinking of her violent death. But Derr Herr, too, died a violent death, one of cruelty and heartlessness. Yet it is His new life that we remember—His triumph over the grave. So shall Amy triumph, and we shall remember her with kindness.”

  Matthew bowed his head and solemnly began the walk around the coffin. As he glanced down at Amy’s pale face, he thought of how fleeting both love and life were, and how equally precious.

  * * *

  Later, at the Stolfus haus, Tabitha bent over to serve tea to Grossmuder Mildred, carefully guiding her aged fingers to the handle of the cup.

  “Danki, kind. I’ll take a piece of Anke’s pumpkin cake as well.”

  “I’ll geh and get it.” Tabitha tried to bring as much comfort through gracious hosting as she could to the situation.

  She walked back to the kitchen and nearly ran headlong into Elam Smucker, who had on his postal bag. She’d nearly forgotten that it was Tuesday, the day Elam usually walked to Farwell for the mail.

  “Excuse me, Tabitha dear. I’ve got letters for your fater and one for your, uh, husband.”

  “I’ll take them,” she offered, intent on reaching the cakes in the kitchen. It only registered vaguely to her that this would be the first letter that Matthew had received from Renova since their wedding.

  She absently slid the envelopes into the pocket of her apron and sidestepped Elam when he wouldn’t move. “Tabitha,” he said low as she brushed past. “I know you cannot be happy with that—outsider. Let’s forget this sham of a marriage you have made and run away together somewhere. . . .”

  She glanced at him with a surprised but derisive smile. “Your mother would be in attendance, Elam. Whatever privacy would we have then?” She resisted the urge to step on one of his flat feet and entered the kitchen.

  Matthew was having a drink of water at the table and Anke didn’t seem to be around. Matthew looked up as she entered.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked as she felt him search her face.

  “Elam Smucker. That reminds me, here’s a letter for you from Renova,” she said briefly.

  “Ah . . . well—” He placed the letter on the table. “Let me put any such nonsense as Elam Smucker presents out of your mind.” He stood and rounded the corner of the table to take her in his arms.

  Tabitha smiled up into his handsome face. “Anyone could kumme in here.”

  “Mmm-hmm. And all they would see is a man kissing his wife.” He punctuated his words with kisses that led from behind her right ear to her neck. She shivered in response and reached to loop her arms around his neck. She arched her back, pressing herself full against him and returned his kisses boldly.

  He groaned as their lips met in wet heat, and the sound drove her further. She pulled the back of his chestnut hair, then twined it around her fingers.

  “Ummm . . . Tabitha. I—I think—”

  “So do I,” she breathed.

  He smiled against her mouth. “Tonight.”

  “Jah,” she whispered.

  “Ahem!”

  They broke apart as her fater entered through the back door of the kitchen. “Don’t mind me! I’m glad to see you bussing. It’ll be time for grandkinner soon.”

  Tabitha felt her face flush, but looking up at Matthew, she saw him composed and smiling. Tonight . . . Jah, tonight . . .

  * * *

  Anke wearily backed up from the narrow canning pantry with some extra dish towels in her hands and ran directly into Abner. She knew it was he by the strength and height of his body and by the low rumble of pleasure that reverberated through his chest.

  “Abner,” she whispered. “Let me geh.”

  She turned in his arms and stared up at him to find him looking concerned. “No one can see us here, and besides, I’m worried that all of this preparation and serving is too much for ya.”

  She huffed and slapped the dish towels against his arm. “I am nee so auld, Abner Mast.”

  “I didn’t say that, but ya look tired.”

  “I’m not that either—though mebbe a little.” The admission seemed to make her wearier, and part of her longed to sag against him.

  He must have sensed her feelings because he moved closer and pressed her to him. She breathed in the fresh-mint scent of him and felt herself relax for the first time that day. It was an odd sensation, to lean against another, to take refuge and comfort from the cares of the day. But she would not indulge her senses for long and soon pushed against his broad chest.

  “I’ve got ta take these towels back. There’s dishes ta wash.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll be washin’ them.”

  “You’re narrisch.”

  “Mebbe. Mebbe not. But I’m washin’ those dishes.”

  She brushed past him and sighed. If he was willin’ ta help, why not let him. . . .

  * * *

  Abner rolled up his shirtsleeves and turned to face the kitchen sink. He ignored the clucks of disapproval that Anke was making somewhere behind him and plunged a small stack of plates into the sudsy water.

  He started to whistle and let his mind drift to a place where he might gladly do homey chores for Anke if she were his frau. . . . His hands slowed in the warm water. My frau . . . He tasted the thought like warm, sticky toffee against his tongue. It was sweet and so within his grasp, if only Anke would tell him what bothered her so much. He knew from her response at Blackberry Falls that she had enjoyed kissing him, but he also knew that there was so much more to love—something he’d experienced little of in his own life—perhaps Anke was the same....

  * * *

  Later that nacht, Matthew eased down his suspenders and slid off his shirt. Although it was still high summer, the night air coming through the screened windows was chilly, and he crouched at the fireplace in Tabitha’s room to build a small fire. He wanted the warm intimacy the flames brought to the shadows of the room because he fully intended to make love to his wife that nacht.

  He looked up when the bedroom door opened and Tabitha entered, looking flushed and beautiful. “The fire is nice,” she commented.

  “You are nice,” he returned.

  She started to cross the room but then stopped and bent over to pick up something from the floor....

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  She picked up the piece of paper from the floor and turned it over, automatically scanning the first lines.

  Dear Big Bruder,

  How are things going? How is the incidental wife and the internship? Have you inherited Stolfus Lumber and Woodworking yet? I’ve got to say that things are a bit boring around here since you’ve been gone, but it must be working out since you haven’t come running home to your beloved tools.

  Write soon,

  Caleb

  Tabitha felt her knees give way and she sank to the floor. She read the brief letter in full, then lifted her head to stare at Matthew.

  He had risen to his feet, and there was a stricken look on his face. “Tabitha—don’t—”

  “Don’t what?” she whispered. “You answered my ad— you decided to come here, knowing full well what Stolfus Lumber was. . . .”

  “I did know, that’s true, but I didn’t want to inherit anything. I never thought about it—never. I wanted an internship, and your offer seemed like a good way to get one.”

  “And an incidental wife,” she choked. “Did you want that as well?”

  “I didn’t know you then, but I’ve kumme to love and care for you.”

  “Liar!” She got to her feet and flung the word at him, longing to hurt him with the reality of what he’d done.

  “I am that,” he admitted, but it did little to bring her satisfaction. “But I haven’t lied about how I feel for you. I should have told you the truth from the beginning, yet it never seemed
to be the right time—”

  “Jah,” she said bitterly. “The truth is inconvenient that way.”

  “Tabitha, I’ve kumme to love everyone here at Blackberry Falls. I know now that what I did was wrong. I know you’re hurt. I want to make things right. Let’s please talk—”

  “I want you gone,” she said, her voice quavering. “Out of this haus; away from Blackberry Falls. Geh back to your home and wait for another ad that you can use to bring pain to people who open their lives to you.”

  “I want to—”

  “I don’t care what you want,” she replied in savage tones. “My fater called you his sohn. I called you mei husband and many others called you friend. You’ve lied to everyone, and I mean what I say. Leave. Tonight.”

  She swallowed hard and turned her back on him, waiting until she heard him gather his shirt and open and then close the door behind him. . . .

  * * *

  Matthew slid on his shirt over his cast and walked down the steps of the Stolfus haus. His heart felt like lead in his chest and tears pricked the backs of his eyes. Everything Tabitha had accused him of was true.... I should not have answered that ad . . . but what would my life be if I’d never met Tabitha or kumme to Blackberry Falls . . . ?

  He was making his way to the front door when he heard Abner call his name. Matthew turned slowly and stayed in the shadows, away from where Abner sat framed by the firelight.

  “Where are ya off ta, buwe?”

  “I’m leaving, Abner.” There. The truth, once said, seemed so easy. Why did I think it was hard?

  “Leaving? What are ya talkin’ about?”

  “I’m a liar, Abner, and a thief. I answered Tabitha’s ad, knowing full well about Stolfus Lumber and Woodworking. I wanted an apprenticeship.... I thought of having to marry as just a minor side problem, and I stole love and affection from Tabitha, John—everybody.”

  Matthew waited, expecting anything from cold dismissal to outright rage, but he was not prepared for soft words.

  “A liar, you say? Then I’d have to say that there are other lies that have been carried on and guarded well in this haus—some for years.” Abner’s tone was meditative.

  “What—what do you mean?”

  “Have you happened to see among Tabitha’s possessions a carved wooden ladle?”

  Matthew’s mind flashed back to the moments before Amy Dienner had entered Tabitha’s bedroom, when he’d found the beautiful ladle in the bottom drawer. “Jah. I wondered who made it for Tabitha.”

  “Jah, ya might wonder that.”

  “Abner . . . you sound cryptic and mei frau just threw me out for being a liar—I don’t have much time left to try to decipher what you’re saying.”

  “It was Tabitha’s mother’s wish that the ladle be given ta the boppli as a gift.”

  “Okay . . . so Tabitha told me her mamm passed away after nursing Bishop Kore’s wife.”

  “That’s what Miriam wanted Tabitha ta believe.”

  Matthew stepped closer to the firelight. “Wait. What?”

  “Miriam Stolfus was as fine a wood carver as anyone I’ve ever seen—even, perhaps, to the point of surpassing what her husband could produce.”

  “A wood carver—a woman wood carver. All right, can you tell me the rest?”

  “Nee,” Abner said flatly.

  “Great.”

  “The rest is for ya ta work out yerself, buwe. Ta work out with Tabitha.”

  “Abner, she won’t have anything to do with me. She’ll annul the marriage.”

  “Fight for her, buwe. ‘Fight the gut fight . . .’ She will believe in you if she recognizes truth in you.”

  Matthew shook his head. “I’m not sure I see it in myself.”

  “Then search for it . . . In the meantime, ya can bunk over at my cabin.”

  “Danki, Abner. I’ll try as you say.”

  * * *

  Abner sat at the Stolfus hearth for a bit longer and prayed for Tabitha and the buwe. Then he felt led in his heart to geh up the stairs and knock softly on Tabitha’s door. It was a long time before she answered, and when the maedel did open the door, Abner was met with a stormy face and wildly tousled honey-blond hair.

  “What is it, Abner?” she bit out, and he steeled himself against her obvious pain. One part of him felt like wringing the buwe’s neck himself, while another considered the advice he’d given by firelight. He sighed aloud as reason won out.

  “I know you’ve been hurt, kind.”

  “Do you?” she asked in bitter tones. “Has the liar won you over as well? I would have thought you made of stronger stuff.”

  “Jah, perhaps, but were ya entirely honest in that ad of yours?”

  She glared up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Ya wanted an Amisch mail-order groom as an idea mebbe, but did ya want a living, breathing man who makes mistakes but loves ya just the same?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. He lied to me, to you, to everybody.”

  “There is nothing that cannot be confessed before Derr Herr, that cannot be forgiven. Do ya then pretend ta have a higher set of principles than Gott?” He waited, half surprised at his own boldness, watching a sea of emotion storm across her beautiful face.

  “I’m tired,” she whispered finally. “I—I’ll think on what you’ve said.”

  Abner eased back from the door as she closed it and nodded to himself in the shadows of the hall. Gott was on the move this nacht . . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Anke was up extra early the next morning to make a raisin bread pudding for breakfast. She had just added the vanilla when she heard a brisk knock at the door that made her jump. She glanced at the windup clock on the counter. Five a.m. She cautiously went to open the door, with the thought running through her head that Amy Dienner’s killer had yet to be found. But it was Bishop Kore, looking ruffled and serious.

  “Anke, is John up yet?”

  “Nee. What be the trouble?”

  “Well, I hate ta tell ya, but Lydia Smucker passed away in her sleep last nacht.”

  “Elam’s mamm? But Lydia always seemed as fit as can be.”

  “I know, but Elam said he went to wake her for their normal tea and she was gone.”

  “I’ll geh and wake John. I can’t believe we’re ta have a second funeral in as many days.”

  “Close as salmon on a riverbed, but Anke, I want you to know that no one expects you to host the community afterward. You’ve done enough in the last days. Elam himself says that he will do the hosting after the service.”

  “Then I’ll help with the cooking, same as most folks will.”

  “All right. Fair enough. Danki, Anke.”

  She wished him a better morning and was about to ease the door closed when Abner’s big frame appeared in the dawn shadows.

  “I heard,” he said briefly.

  She nodded and let him in, unprepared for the kiss he gave her on her cheek. She felt young and innocent for a moment and reveled in the emotion.

  * * *

  Matthew lay staring at the wooden beams of Abner’s ceiling as dawn crept in through the window as blushing light. Fight . . . Abner had said. Fight for Tabitha. Something stirred at the back of his mind as he watched the light play over the wood above him. It was one thing that he and Tabitha did not have—their own cabin. I should have thought of it so much sooner. . . . We can build together—both our lives and our home. If she’ll agree . . .

  * * *

  Tabitha awoke after a fitful nacht’s sleep. Her mind and heart had burned within her and she could not forget the stricken look on Matthew’s face when he’d tried to apologize; nor could she erase the challenge of Abner’s words.

  “But I’ve been hurt so badly, Gott . . . ” she prayed softly aloud. “He played me for a fool—a joke between him and his bruder.” She bowed her head and realized that it was truly her pride that had been hurt. And she realized that her pride had never stung so before. She knew tha
t being prideful was never good, especially when it led to a lack of forgiveness. But she also knew that she wanted no resentment on her part toward Matthew. She finally yielded her spirit, allowing Gott to have His way in the relationship, and an idea came to her....

  * * *

  Abner sighed as he walked back to his cabin in the dawn of the day. His gentle kiss on Anke’s cheek had seemed to free her for a moment from all her sadness, and she had turned her mouth to meet his. Hot blood had surged through his body and he’d stood, enthralled by her soft lips. His senses were filled with her—part the smell of vanilla, part morning’s sweet dew, and all wonderful woman. Everything seemed possible to him in the moments she was in his arms. He felt young and free and as connected with a person as he’d ever been before in his life.

  “Anke, sei se gut, will you be—” He broke off when he heard Tabitha calling Anke’s name and muttered beneath his breath. What was I going to say? Will you be . . . Will you be . . . and he admitted, at some soul level, that he had very nearly asked Anke to be his wife.

  * * *

  Tabitha pushed the kitchen door open and found Anke standing in the middle of the room with a hand pressed to her lips.

  “Anke, what’s wrong? Did you see a mouse? Are you trying not to scream?” Tabitha stared at the older woman in bemusement.

  “Nee,” Anke finally responded, lowering her hand. “I—I was thinking. That’s all.”

  Tabitha came forward and gave Anke a quick hug. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself. Are you sure that nothing’s wrong?”