An Amish Love, page 6
“Nervous, Mrs. Lambert?” he asked.
“Nee,” she snapped, though her face flushed.
He laughed aloud, the sound causing chills to run in delicious tingles across the back of her neck and down her spine. She pushed the intriguing sensations away and lifted her chin.
“Maybe you’re the one who’s nervous.”
His smile deepened, and he held her captive with the intensity of his dark eyes. “Maybe. This is all new to me, too—having a wife share my bath.”
She stuttered on her reply. “I am not sharing your bath. And why aren’t you bathing at home in the hip bath, like everyone else?”
He splashed at a stray dragonfly. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I’d preserve your maidenly dignity.”
Another thought crossed her mind and caused her to frown in irritation. “You do realize that anyone could come along here and see you?”
“Ach. You mean another girl, right?”
She nodded in spite of herself. “That is exactly what I mean.”
“Well then, I’d best get out, don’t you think?” He moved as if to rise and she turned and fled barefoot, his laughter ringing in her ears.
JOSEPH BROUGHT HER SHOES AND SOCKS TO HER WHILE HER father looked on askance.
Abigail stood next to the stove, heating up the bean and bacon soup Judith had given her so she didn’t have to worry about supper.
“You seem to have forgotten something,” Joseph teased in a low tone.
Abigail ducked her head, then lifted it again, only to wish she hadn’t when she caught the clean, masculine scent of him. His hair was damp, too, and clung to his neck overlong in places.
“You need a haircut.”
“Can I trust you with a pair of scissors?”
“I cut Father’s hair,” she replied in an injured tone.
They both turned to look at Solomon Kauffman’s hair, which was actually layered neatly and fell with some style to complement his long beard.
“What is it?” he asked, frowning at them.
“Just debating the merits of a haircut at home,” Joseph answered.
“Ach, well, Abigail is a fair hand with the shears.”
“Well, gut, then.”
After supper Joseph found himself seated on the back porch.
A large white sheet was draped around his neck and flowed down over his chest and arms. Abigail stood considering him while he chafed under her perusal.
“Just cut it already.”
“Take off your glasses. I need to see the true shape of your face.”
“Honestly, Abby, there’s no style with the Amish—just saw away.”
He knew she was ignoring him and he closed his eyes, holding his glasses under the sheet. When she first touched the back of his neck, he started with a little jump.
“You are nervous, Mr. Lambert,” she teased.
He laughed. “Again, maybe—this is new to me too.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, sending exquisite chills down his back. When was the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness? Her delicate, tentative fingers were playing havoc with his insides, and all she was doing was cutting his hair. He blew out a breath of disgust. Still, there was something to be said for being attracted to one’s own wife, no matter the circumstances of the marriage.
She diligently combed and cut, and he began to relax beneath her touch. She had the persistence of an artist, and he knew no one had ever taken so much time with his hair. He let his hands rest on his knees and almost dropped his glasses when she spoke.
“There!” she said with satisfaction. She held up a small hand mirror. “Father always wants to see the back. What do you think?”
He slipped his glasses back on and peered at the mirror behind his shoulder. His dark hair fell neat and even, and she’d done something to make it curl at his nape.
“It’s great, Abby. Thank you.”
She trailed the mirror around to his front and he poked self-consciously beneath her gaze at his bangs. “Really great.”
She smiled at him, clearly pleased, but there was also an air of suppressed excitement about her that made him just a little nervous.
“What?” he asked.
She clutched the mirror to her chest. “I learned how to can today . . . carrots and sweet corn. For you.”
He smiled up at her. “Where did you go?”
“In town, to Yoder’s Pantry. Do you remember? It’s a restaurant—one of the cooks was really nice and taught me about canning. I helped all morning and afternoon.”
He felt a funny feeling in his stomach as he watched her. A surge of protectiveness and caring for her fragile excitement. For him. She said she’d learned for him. It humbled his heart somehow in the way that a hundred other gifts might not have done. He reached his hand out from beneath the sheet and caught her own smaller one in his palm.
“Thank you, Abby. I think that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me.”
She blushed, and he had to suppress the urge to rise and take her in his arms. It was one thing to tease, but quite another to kiss her with intent. And the way he was feeling at the moment didn’t allow for any casual contact.
“I’d better go in and clean up the dishes. Will you—bring me some corn tomorrow from the field?”
“First thing, I promise.”
“Danki.” She gathered up the scissors and the mirror and whisked the sheet from around his neck with one hand, shaking the dark clippings out onto the ground.
“The birds like the hair to feather their nests for winter.”
He nodded. “I remember.”
“All right, well, gut.”
She went in through the screen door, leaving him sitting in the falling darkness, alone with his thoughts.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
IN THE TWO WEEKS FOLLOWING THE HAIRCUT, AN UNEASY tenseness settled on Abigail whenever Joseph was around. When she’d been touching him, she had felt overwhelmed by the feelings of tenderness and attraction that had caused her heart to race and her hands to be not quite as steady as she would have liked.
She tried to evaluate her feelings objectively as she lay on her bed one afternoon, snatching a few minutes of time for herself. Was he handsome? Hot, as Tillie had said? Yes. Was he intelligent, kind to the kitten and to her father as well as to herself? Yes.
But so what? There were plenty of kind, handsome men about. Why should she find herself becoming entangled with the man she’d married out of convenience? She turned over and thumped her pillow, groaning aloud. She hated now what she’d done to him, how she’d trapped him, but he never seemed to give her an opportunity to talk about it. And half the time, she had no idea what he was thinking behind those deep, dark eyes of his.
She laid her head down on her pillow for a moment, then she reached her hand down between the mattress and bedspring, sliding out one of the teen magazines she hadn’t looked at in a while. Today the glossy Englisch girls and boys annoyed her with their perfect smiles and posed looks. Somehow they’d lost their appeal, and she wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened. She sighed and was about to thrust the magazine back into its hiding place when the door opened and Joseph walked in.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He smiled, then caught sight of the magazine.
Abigail flushed and ignored the urge to stuff it under her belly.
“Just relaxing for a minute,” she replied with as much casualness as she could muster. “What are you doing?”
“I need a clean shirt. I have to run into town to get a blade for the harvester for your father. What are you reading?”
He came close and sank down on the edge of the bed. She tried to ignore the pull of his handsomeness and the smell of the outdoors that clung to his skin and sweat-dampened hair.
“Nothing—it’s just silly, really.”
“Let me see.”
“No, I’d rather not.” She moved the magazine to her far hand and turned her head away from him. He reached across her back and snatched it from her, as she’d expected he would. She waited for his recriminations to fall on her head.
She heard the pages turning, and her face burned when she thought about all of the feminine details contained within. Then she felt a light tap on the back of her cap.
“Hmm . . . here you are. I’ve got to get moving or your daed will have a fit. Do you want to come?”
She rolled over and looked up at him, taking the magazine back with suspicion. “That’s it?”
“What?” He paused in easing down his suspenders.
“The magazine? You’re not going to say anything?”
“What do you want me to say?”
She bounced upward to sit, unsure of why she was irritated. “I don’t know—something.”
He laughed as he grabbed his extra shirt. “I will never understand women.”
“What do you mean, women? Shouldn’t you say woman? I am your only wife, right?”
“Look, do you want to go or not?”
“No,” she pouted, feeling foolish.
“Suit yourself.”
He whistled as he buttoned the shirt, and she glared at him. For some reason she wanted to fight, to break his easy calm. Even as she thought it, though, her heart convicted her. He was her husband. She’d made him sweet corn, cut his hair, and thought about him more than she ever had any other man . . . so what was wrong with her?
He had his hand on the doorknob when she cried out, “Wait!”
“What?”
“I’ll go.”
“Great, let’s move.”
Abigail slipped off the bed and grabbed up her change purse, where she kept the household money her father gave her each month. She followed Joseph down the steps, pleased that she could go with him without worrying about supper. She’d been using the valuable recipe cards from Judith to a distinct advantage and had made great strides in the kitchen. She’d also found that she enjoyed both her own endeavors and the smiles of pleasure on Joseph’s face when he tried something new. Today she left ham and green beans and a fresh huckleberry pie warming on the stovetop as she hurried out the door.
Joseph brought Carl around, and she climbed into the buggy without assistance. They set off at a good trot.
“I’ve got to get that blade back to your daed, but I think we can squeeze in a bit of lunch if you’d like.” He slanted her a glance from his dark eyes, and she nodded in agreement.
It would be the first time they’d gone out together anywhere but church, and she thought it was both ironic and sad that they were having their first date weeks into their marriage. But she refused to be glum and set about chattering in the way she was used to doing to entertain a man. When she’d covered everything from the crops to the weather, Joseph laughed out loud and held up a placating hand.
“Whoa . . . please, Abby . . . you don’t have to talk just to entertain me.”
“I wasn’t,” she snapped, feeling embarrassed.
“Okay . . . let’s just say that I like your normal way of talking.”
“Which is what?”
“To the point.”
She huffed aloud. “I should not have come.”
He reached out a large hand and covered her own where they rested in her lap. “I’m sorry. I just want you to feel comfortable around me.”
“I do,” she lied, then thought better of it. “At least—sometimes I do.”
He laughed, squeezing her hands, then letting go. “That’s better. I can see that we’re going to have to do more courting and playing until you feel more comfortable.”
“Well,” she admitted, “I do like to go out for lunch.”
“And where should we go?”
“Yoder’s Pantry,” she answered promptly.
“All right. Yoder’s it is.” He clucked to Carl to pick up the pace.
Abigail tried to avoid glancing in his direction and looked at the passing farms instead. The land was alive with the harvest; crops coming in, butchering time, work from sunup till sundown. But soon it would be over, and the time for the county fair would come around. She wondered if Joseph would take her and realized that it was the first time she’d have a canned vegetable to enter. The thought made her smile to herself, and the day suddenly became more than promising.
JOSEPH CAUGHT THE SMELL OF FRESH MINT THAT DRIFTED to him from her hair and tried to concentrate on his driving. In truth, he knew that her father wouldn’t like it if he’d known Joseph was planning to spend lunch in town. But time with one’s wife somehow outweighed a blade for the harvester, and he decided it was worth the possible irritation on the part of his father-in-law.
“So, you’re looking well today. That wine-colored blouse is becoming.” He sounded like a stilted old man, he thought ruefully. Why was he being so formal? She’d kept him at an effective distance of late, and he made a sudden decision to change that over lunch.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “You look well too.”
“Fresh from the field?”
“Well . . .” She turned appraising blue eyes upon him. “Ya.”
It was something, he considered.
They arrived in town in good time, and Joseph hitched Carl to the post outside Yoder’s. He came around and made a point to help Abby down, letting her slide against the warmth of his body for a brief moment. He was pleased to see a blush on her cheeks and caught her hand with goodwill as they entered the restaurant. Joseph noticed that there seemed to be some secret between his wife and the waitress who greeted them, as they both smiled and looked at him appraisingly.
“Joseph,” Abby said. “This is Tillie, a gut friend of mine. She helped get me my canning lessons.”
Joseph smiled. “Then I hope that you will be a good friend of mine too. I really appreciate your helping Abby. Her sweet corn was great.”
Tillie nodded with a happy smile and led them to a table near the window looking out onto the street.
“What would you like to drink?” she asked.
Joseph darted a look at Abby and thought how funny it was that he was having an actual first date with his wife. In his old life, the situation would have called for champagne, but he was more than happy to ask for hot tea. Abby did the same.
“So, this is a nice place,” Joseph remarked.
“Ya.” Abby giggled. “Father had many a meal here before you came along.”
Joseph gave her his best smile. “Your cooking has really improved.”
“Thanks to you.”
“It’s been my pleasure,” he said, reaching across the table to catch her slender fingers in his hand. “It’s funny,” he said. “I forgot that the Amish don’t wear wedding bands or jewelry. I’d have liked to have given you an engagement ring.”
“For our very short engagement?”
“Why don’t we try to let that go?” he suggested. “You know, you’ve never considered that I might have been interested in marriage . . . and in you.”
“Really?” She blinked wide blue eyes.
“Really. Now let’s just concentrate on tea. Here it is.”
“What will you have?” Tillie asked. “The specials today are potato soup, stuffed peppers, and Ruth’s own sour cherry pie.”
“That all sounds good to me,” Joseph said, closing the menu, which he had yet to even glance at. He ignored Abby’s startled look. “I’m hungry,” he confessed.
“I’ll just have the soup and the pie.”
“Great. I’ll get that right out to you two newlyweds.”
Joseph saw Abby shoot a surprised look at her friend and smiled to himself. He lifted her fingertips to his lips and felt her try to pull away.
“Joseph! We’re in a public place, and my father is not around. You don’t have to pretend.”
He smiled at her. “I think we’re past pretending, Abby, don’t you?” He let her go, and she tucked her hands into the safety of her lap.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He took a long sip of his tea and watched her until she looked away out the window. Their food soon arrived, and he took pleasure in everything, but especially in watching Abby wriggle under his obvious attentions. It occurred to him that he’d never had such fun going out for lunch before.
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
IT WAS MID-OCTOBER AND A BRIGHT, BEAUTIFUL MORNING. But Abigail had seen the sun far too early for her liking, having been up half the night with a laboring sow. She had always felt more competent in working with the farm animals than she’d ever felt in the house, and the past night had been no exception.
The kitten, now a spry, streaking little thing that she’d named George, had kept her company while she’d let Joseph sleep. Now she came out of the barn, having finished tending to the mother and piglets. She wiped her filthy hands on her apron and blinked in the sunlight—then stopped dead, staring at the apparition of a low-slung blue convertible and a tousled red-haired Englisch girl with a devastating white smile. She was talking to Joseph, who leaned against the car door with familiarity, looking down into her face.
Abigail straightened her spine and walked toward her husband.
“Oh, here’s Abby now. Abby, this is Molly, a—friend from the past.”
Molly scooted her charming figure forward on the front seat and leaned to extend a hand to Abigail. “Hi,” she said with a bright smile.
“Hello,” Abigail returned, catching Joseph’s eye. “Joseph has mentioned you . . . your hair . . . It’s lovely.”
Molly giggled and looked at Joseph. “Thanks. It was always his favorite, but I guess he went and chose a blonde anyway. I can’t believe you’re married.”
Abigail was working herself up to a boil, and Joseph must have sensed it, because he straightened from the car and looped an arm around her waist.
“Married as can be,” he said with cheerful vigor.
“Well, I just was out this way and asked around for you. I’m staying at a bed-and-breakfast in town. I thought I’d stop for a few minutes,” Molly offered, clearly wanting an invitation to stay and visit.
