by Kelly Long
“Lydia Smucker passed away in her sleep some time during the nacht.”
“What?” Tabitha exclaimed.
“Jah. The bishop stopped by . . . I was just going to wake your fater.”
“I’ll wake him.” Tabitha snatched an apple from the wooden bowl on the table and left the kitchen.
Her fater’s rooms were on the first floor of the cabin and Tabitha had always enjoyed waking him when she was a maedel. But she realized that she had stopped the daily ritual when her da had begun to plague her about marrying. She perceived, as she stood with a gentle hand on the door, that she had truly been angry with her fater for insisting she marry. And, once again, Abner’s words about the ad and her own motives came back to her.
She knocked a bit louder, and her daed called for her to come inside.
Her fater was dressed and pulling on his socks when she entered. He looked pleased to see her and she went to sit on the bed by his side.
“You’re up early, Tabby. How’s Matt?”
“Fine . . . ” She carefully slid the uneaten apple into her apron pocket. Whatever she had to work out with her husband, she was not about to trouble her fater with the details. “He’s fine, but Anke told me that Lydia Smucker passed away last nacht.”
“Ach, nee . . . Elam will be heartbroken.”
Tabitha nodded, not caring to dwell on the arrogant Elam. She leaned over and kissed her daed’s weather-beaten cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked gruffly.
She smiled. “Because I love you.”
* * *
Matthew sat on the edge of Abner’s kitchen table and worked at securing the pins in his blue shirt. Abner had gone out and Matthew looked up in surprise at the sound of the cabin door opening. Tabitha stood there, framed by the morning’s light and looking achingly beautiful, but he watched her with a wary eye. After last nacht he felt he could expect and deserved a piece of crockery thrown at his head. But she simply stood with her back to the door, watching him.
“So, Caleb is your younger bruder?”
“Jah,” he replied cautiously, pricking himself with a pin.
“You’ll get blood on your shirt. Here, let me.” She came forward and he lowered his hands to grip the underside of the table. “Who else is in your family?”
“My fater, Caleb, and my aulder bruder, Luke. Ach, and my Aenti Joy.”
She slid out the top pin of his shirt and then the next. He felt as if he was holding his breath, waiting to see what sweet torture she had devised for him. Another pin was removed, and he drew a shaky breath. “Are you starting from the beginning?” he asked, trying to force his voice to be casual.
“From the beginning.” she nodded. “Jah, we are.” He nodded in return as she bent forward to lightly kiss his collarbone; he closed his eyes. He felt her splay her fingers across the center of his bare chest, easing his shirt off his shoulders.
“Mmm. . . . Tabitha.” He opened his eyes slowly, wanting to prolong the sensation of anticipation—that feeling somewhere between his senses overloading and straightforward lust for his wife. He gripped the table edge tighter and bent forward to kiss her, but she dipped away, latching on to his right shoulder with bold, nipping kisses.
“You’re going to leave marks,” he observed hoarsely.
“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed. “Marks that only you and I shall know about.”
“Right . . . Can I return the favor?” He was startled by her abrupt straightening. It was if she had snapped out of some spell. She reached into her apron pocket. “Nee. Nee return favors, but I will give you this . . . to bite on.”
He took the apple mindlessly, bemused and aroused.
“As I said, we’ll start over, Matthew King.” Her voice was brisk. “Today.”
He watched her spin and walk to the cabin’s door; then he bit the apple....
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tabitha stared down at the plate of ham and scalloped potatoes that she held in her hand. She knew it was one of Anke’s specialties, but she’d suddenly lost her appetite when Elam approached her at the gathering after his mamm’s funeral.
“Ah, Tabitha. How are you feeling?”
She thought idly that it was an odd question but answered anyway. “I’m fine, but I suppose that I should be asking after you—I’m very sorry about your mamm.”
“Don’t be. She’s no doubt in a happier place, after all.” He gave her a flat-lipped smile and she glanced around to see if she could find Matthew in the crowd. She saw him, head and shoulders above the group he was talking with, and longed for him to rescue her from this conversation with Elam.
“I might ask how your marriage is going—no doubt you’ve heard that some have suspected your—uh—mann to be the murderer of Amy Dienner.”
Tabitha stared at him in amazement. “Are you narrisch, Elam, to speak so of my husband, and at your mamm’s funeral? Don’t talk to me again.” She pushed past him, ignoring the stares she received for her abruptness, and made her way to Matthew’s side, abandoning her plate. “Let’s geh,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe to reach his ear.
He smiled and nodded, then bid Oncle Nutter a gut day. Tabitha was grateful for his hand at the small of her back as they made their way to the front door of Elam’s cabin. She drew a deep, refreshing breath once they’d stepped outside.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing—only Elam Smucker.”
“He’s quite a snot, I think.”
She laughed, her humor restored. “Jah, he is at that.”
“If he bothers you again, I could have a word with him.”
She shook her head. “Nee, let’s forget him and geh to the falls. It’s hot enough to wade a bit.”
“I’d like to do more than wade.”
She looked up to see him looking serious and decided that he meant something more than kissing. “What else would that be?”
“I’d like to talk about the future. I think we should have our own cabin and that you should help me to build it.”
“But women cannot—”
“I know,” he soothed. “But, if I’m not wrong, you can work with wood and I believe you could teach me much.”
She stopped stock-still and stared up at him, her heart pounding with sudden happiness. “You—would let me teach you?”
He bent his head to kiss her tenderly. “Jah . . . I’d let you teach me with pleasure.”
She felt tears sting her eyes. “How did you know—about me, I mean?”
“I think I sensed on many occasions—and Gott gave me insight—that you seem to come alive when you’re with wood.”
She laughed in sudden abandon. “And maybe when I’m with you too!”
* * *
Abner eased a finger around his shirt collar and thought how stuffy Elam Smucker’s cabin was. He’d seen Tabitha and the buwe leave a while earlier and wondered if he might get Anke to do the same.
He was tired—both mentally and physically. He felt like the push-pull relationship he had with Anke was sapping his strength. Sometime or another, he’d blurt out the truth to her, as he’d nearly done the other nacht. I want ta marry her . . . marry. . . . He had to drag his thoughts back to the moment when he’d seen Anke moving among the guests with a tray of something in her arms.
Anger surged through him. . . . She is always serving . . . but who serves her? The question provoked him, and he made his excuses to people as he moved through the crowd to get to Anke. But Bishop Kore suddenly impeded his progress and Abner stifled a groan.
“Abner—bad day today, right? But Anke just gave me this!” The bishop waved a small plate with apiece of chocolate cake on it in front of him. “Know what it’s missing?”
“Jah . . . peanut butter icing?” Abner wanted to be free, but he could not be rude to the bishop despite his irritation.
“Ach . . . jah . . . you’ve got it.... But do you? I mean truly? Do you have the cake, Abner?”
“I plan on it—if I can reach
Anke, sir. . . .”
“Ach, Abner . . . ya have a gut sense of humor, though ye’d hide that from the world, I think.... Don’t fear, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Gut . . . Danki, Bishop.” Abner saw Anke move away to the kitchen and stifled the urge to pull the bishop’s long beard. He sneezed instead, covering his mouth and pulling out a red hankie from his back pocket. “Ye’ll have ta excuse me, sir. . . .”
“Ach, jah . . . go on, go on, but remember that the cake without the icing isn’t worth having.”
“Jah . . . I . . . understand.”
“Nee, ya don’t, but geh, just the same.”
Abner sighed, wiping his nose, and headed for the kitchen area.
* * *
Matthew loved the happiness his suggestion of woodworking had brought to his frau. She held his hand tightly and smiled up at him as they walked through the forest to Blackberry Falls. He had every intention of trying to kiss her behind the falls, but as they came out of the woods, they both stopped as a majestic buck slowly lifted its head from drinking the fresh water to turn and stare at them.
“He’s beautiful,” Tabitha whispered.
The deer seemed to decide that he’d presented enough of a show and bounded off through the water and into the forest on the other side.
“I love it when something secret and special is revealed to us. . . . I haven’t seen a buck that big in a long time,” she said.
“And I haven’t seen anyone as beautiful as you—ever.” He watched the flush kumme to her cheeks and reached down to gently cup her fragile jaw in his callused hand. “I want to be marrying you, Tabitha. Marrying for a very long time—like the bishop talked about, remember?”
“Jah.” He watched her draw a deep breath. “I want that too. I think we have to geh about it slowly—feel our way to knowing and understanding each other. And—I think that making love isn’t the only important thing we have to focus on—like you said.”
He watched her lift her chin, though he sensed that she was embarrassed by her own words and admired her strength of purpose.
“I agree,” he said, wondering when he’d said those words. He thought rather ruefully that his earlier delay in completing their vows was probably what she was talking about. He decided at that moment that some cold water was just what he needed. Grabbing her hand, he led her to the streambank.
He had one of her small, well-formed feet in his hands when someone stepped out from behind the falls. He was surprised to see Aenti Fern make her way across the slippery rocks with a small basket over her arm.
“Water’s nice. I was washing my smalls—underwear, if ya must know. Now I’ve got ta git on home.”
“Have a nice evening,” Tabitha called.
When the auld healer was out of earshot, Matthew lay down on the mossy bank and pulled his wife near him. He watched her blue, blue eyes focus on one of his hands and felt the by-now-familiar pain of wanting but not being satisfied. He pressed his lower body against the hard earth and watched Tabitha explore the contours of his hand with her own slender fingers. Her touch was intoxicating, but then she looked up at him with a smile.
“I wonder if the faeries sing when Aenti Fern washes her underwear?” she asked.
He bent and kissed her nose with a grin. “I’d rather imagine that buck wearing a corset, frankly!”
* * *
Anke wearily worked the outdoor pump of the Smuck-ers’ well, fetching more water for another pitcher of lemonade. She nearly jumped in surprise when big hands pushed her gently aside and she glanced up into the glare of the sun to stare at Abner’s face. His lips were set in a firm line and she thought he seemed angry.
“Anke, tell me, sei se gut, when was the last time somebody brought you a glass of something ta drink?”
“What? What do ya say? I have no time fer riddles, Abner Mast. Go on in and let me be.”
Abner stopped the pump and took her by her shoulders in a gentle grip. “Anke, as sure as the sun shines tomorrow as Gott wills, I am going ta kiss ya here and now if ya don’t leave that pitcher fer someone else ta fill.”
“Someone younger, mebbe?” she asked, her pride hurt.
“Someone who has not been up since before daybreak,” he countered, sliding the glass pitcher carefully from her hand.
She would have said something if he hadn’t coughed then, carefully turning away from her.
“Abner, be ya sick?” She stretched up a hand to his forehead as he moved back to face her.
“I’m nee sick.”
Anke put her hands on her hips. “Then why are ya burning with fever?”
He frowned down at her. “I am not and I don’t need to be nursed neither.”
“Ach, it’s one thing fer ya ta tell me what ta do, but the shoe doesn’t fit on the other foot, does it?”
“I’ve had plenty of fevers alone. Before . . .” His voice trailed off, and Anke felt unbidden tears sting the backs of her eyes.
“Before what, Abner? Before ya got these crazy ideas about me?”
“They’re not narrisch. . . . I really care . . .”
She watched as he broke off and coughed again, waving the water pitcher.
“That’s it, Abner. Home. Ta bed. With me.” She felt her face flame at the boldness of her words but saw with relief that he put down the pitcher and started toward the path that led to his cabin....
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Now there’ll be nee stroking of the fevered brow and spoonin’ me soup,” Abner said as he opened the door to his cabin.
“Are ya used ta the maedels doin’ that fer ya, Abner?” Anke asked drily.
“Nee, but I read some such stuff in a book once and it seemed like an awful thing ta hold a man down.”
“Ya needn’t worry . . . I’m not the stuff books are made of.... Just undo yer shirt and git into bed.”
He noticed that she sounded flustered and turned his back to lower his suspenders and unpin his blue shirt. He stepped out of his boots and then slid into the big bed, feeling vaguely surprised that he was glad to lie down. He stared across the room at Anke, who was now facing him.
“Close yer eyes and geh ta sleep. I’ll just sit here a spell,” she ordered, moving to a bentwood rocker.
He shook his head slowly. “Rather look at you.”
“Well, don’t,” she said; then she half smiled. “Ya close yer eyes and I’ll tell ya a story.”
“That sounds gut. Never had anyone do that fer me.”
“Well, ya should have,” she pronounced with a quiet assurance that seemed to reach back and stir his lonely boyhood heart.
“I’ll start the way my mamm told it ta me,” she began, and he closed his eyes on the soft cadence of her voice. “Once, when the world was a lot smaller, and time moved a lot slower, a little maedel kumme ta these very woods ta live with her Amisch family. Her folks had died from fever, leaving eight-year-old Priscilla alone but fer her three aentis, who’d never approved of their youngest sister running away ta marry an Amisch man. Under their guidance, Priscilla grew ta be a fine young woman.
“She loved the ways of the woods and had nee fear of the creatures that lived there. She spent many an hour talkin’ ta the chipmunks and raccoons and possums, and wandered far afield in her daily rambles. One day, toward the gloaming, when she knew she should be gettin’ back ta her haus, she came upon a big, wounded bear. She showed nee fear but quietly walked up ta the bear’s shaggy side and looked at the massive paw that was torn by a large thorn. Then she used both her hands and pulled the painful thorn free. And she took part of her skirt ta wrap up his wound. Then, as it began ta snow, she invited the bear home with her, ta spend the nacht by the fire. And the bear followed her home. But her three aentis were filled with fear at the sight of the big bear and locked themselves in a cold back bedroom. Still, Priscilla thought they wuz silly and lay down next ta the bear by the hearth’s blaze.”
“Is he gonna eat her?” Abner heard himself slur with a smile.
“Nee, it’s a faerie tale.”
Something in her tone roused him enough to ask, “Do ya believe in faerie tales, sweet Anke?”
He heard her draw a deep breath, and she took so long to answer, he thought perhaps she’d fallen asleep. “Anke?”
“I think that’s enough storytellin’ fer yer fever, and I’m not sweet.”
He chuckled, then choked back a cough. “Sweet as spun sugar, ya be.”
“Uh-huh. I’m gonna fetch ya some tea fer that fever and ask Aenti Fern ta stop by.”
“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, unwilling to lose the unique pleasure of her company alone in his cabin, even if he did feel worse than a swamp rat.
“I’ll be back.”
“Promise?”
“Jah, Abner. I promise ya.”
“I want ta hear how the maedel makes out with the bear.”
He fancied he felt a brush of her lips across his hot forehead and he drank in her warmth, falling deeply asleep.
* * *
Matthew bent over the desk, which was illuminated by the lanterns in the bedroom, as he listened to Tabitha’s ideas for their cabin and drew rough sketches. He was amazed at her understanding of building and architecture, which included practical ideas like a laundry chute that ran from the second floor down to the first-floor washroom.
“It’s a great idea,” he said, looking up at her as she leaned over his shoulder. Her pumpkin-colored dress did much to show off the beauty of her eyes and he put down the pencil and turned around on the stool where he sat. He took both of her hands in his and smiled up at her. “You’re a rare creature, Tabitha King. Rare in face, mind, and heart. And as Gott wills, we will build this cabin and a life together.”
“When can we start? I know my fater will provide all the materials, and all the community will help, like a barn raising.... That is, if we want them to.”
“I would, Tabitha, honestly, but when will you be able to use your skills as a woodworker?”
She bent and placed a saucy kiss full on his mouth. “I’ll work at nacht; no one will see. I’d like to do the spindles, and lattice, and windowsills. Ach, all the finishing work, and I can easily do that by lantern light.”
