Courting Caleb, page 20
“Thanks,” Matthew said drily as he finished undressing, then plunged into the icy-cold water of the creek’s swimming hole. From the creek bank, Abner threw him a rough bar of soap.
“I’d best geh and find the maedel. You hurry on.”
“Jah. Got it.” Matthew lathered his arms and watched Abner slip away into the forest. It was gut to simply draw a deep breath and relax into the cold waters. He stared up at the canopy of green tree branches and began to lather his face. Then he plied the knife against his jaw; the edge could have proven hazardous had he not known well how to manage a blade. He was washing his hair when an abrupt sound caused him to look up at the bank.
“This is private land. What are you doing here?” Matthew lowered his hands and blinked at the vision of loveliness his inquisitor presented. Honey-gold hair escaped her prayer kapp and curled in enticing tendrils against her fair cheeks. Her feminine shape was emphasized by the pristine apron she wore over a butter-yellow dress, and her stance, although she was petite, was one of strength. He knew instinctively, as surely as if she’d shouted her name to him, that this was Tabitha Stolfus—his frau-to-be.
He cleared his throat. “I’m bathing, but I don’t want to offend your maidenly . . . sensibilities with such an admission.” He ran his hands through his soapy hair and pulled until he knew he must surely look like a pointy-headed narrisch man.
He watched her pink lips turn down into a slight frown. “My sensibilities are hardly offended, sir, and I doubt you’d cause me much trouble anyway.”
“Well—” He splashed at the water in front of him and feigned rising to his feet. “In that case . . .”
He expected her to at least turn away, but she stood her ground until he ducked under the water and hastily rinsed his hair.
* * *
Sensibilities . . . Tabitha resisted the urge to take out the letter hidden in her bodice and study it once more, but then she was distracted by the sudden thrumming of her pulse. The stranger was like some big cat, lazily playing in the icy water while she tried to understand why something about him seemed oddly familiar.
She watched as he reemerged from beneath the soap bubbles on the surface of the water and shook his dark head. His shoulders were broad and his chest finely muscled. And she couldn’t resist a hasty glance downward to where dark hair arrowed from his belly into the swirl of the water.
She straightened her shoulders, then snapped her attention back to the situation at hand. “I suggest you make yourself scarce when you’ve finished your . . . bathing.”
“Danki for the advice. I’ll think on it.”
She nodded, then turned away to continue her walk. But her peace of mind had been shaken by the ruffian in the creek....
* * *
Abner sighed to himself as he lengthened his strides along the wooded path. His back ached a bit from the recent journey and he felt every one of his forty-seven years. Not auld . . . not yet . . . He let the truth of his words quicken his steps as his heart gained momentum. He had every intention of seeking out Tabitha, but first he wanted the chance to lay eyes on Anke. He let his mind drift to thoughts of her pleasantly rounded shape, and the way her face flushed with heat when she was working at the laundry outside or canning corn at the cookstove. He longed to be able to help her with her work but knew she was proud and wouldn’t appreciate a man interfering—especially the right hand of Herr Stolfus. In truth, he was John Stolfus’s half bruder, but few knew this auld, well-kept secret. He’d been born on the wrong side of the quilt, of an unwanted pregnancy, with no fater to help him grow. Still, in the deep backwoods of the Alleghenies, he’d survived to manhood, used to running wild until John had kumme for him and offered him a place, a job, a home.
Now he hurried his steps, knowing he was late meeting Tabitha in the big clearing. But because he understood the kind, he wasn’t too concerned; he knew she was still probably fussing with her dress. He rounded a corner of the trail, then looked up, amazed as always at the workmanship displayed in the Stolfus haus. Truly more than a mere cabin, it rose to three stories, with windows framed by hauled stone from the creek. Abner knew that John Stolfus believed the Amisch adage that there is no beauty without purpose, and the purpose of his home was to be a place dedicated to Gott, to offer a location for the Amisch of Blackberry Falls to gather together in comfort and in times of trouble. And besides, that narrisch Bishop Kore had approved the haus even though it was much bigger than the small cabins of the other Amisch.
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 applesauce 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 their 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.
