A Marriage of the Heart (23 page)

Anna’s frown deepened as the hours lengthened. She listened through her stethoscope as Asa’s chest grew tighter. She knew that the flu this season was especially virulent and that it also showed no predilection for age, affecting both young and old. And she’d been the one to have him outside running around for half the night in the freezing cold when he was probably already getting sick.

Asa pushed fitfully against the mound of covers, but she piled them back on, only to find herself caught against his chest. “Safe,” he slurred, his eyes open and burning with fever and something else. He ran his hands up and down her arms, causing her to shiver through the fabric of her serviceable, borrowed blouse.

“
Jah
, I’m safe. Are you dreaming, Asa?”

“
Mmm-hmm
. About you.”

Anna blushed even though she knew he’d probably remember nothing of this.

“Are you dreaming, Doc?” Somehow he’d found her hands and rubbed his hot, callused thumbs over her knuckles in slow, rhythmic circles.

She gazed down at him with renewed wonder. No one had ever touched her hands like this. She felt nurtured and breathless and . . . loved. Her eyes filled with tears. She could never have imagined that
Derr Herr
had such a plan as this waiting for her when she’d arrived yesterday, nor how long and wonderful the night would be. She realized the memory of this man would sustain her through all her earthly life, when suddenly the pressing thought that she might never see him again—like this—intruded.

He lifted his hands to her face and rubbed at the tears, which made slow tracks down the ripe smoothness of her cheeks, and he stared up at her.

“You’re crying—are you crying?” he asked, confused.

“No.” She shook her head.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Come here, please.”

He tossed restlessly, and she gave in to his pull, laying her
head on the quilt that covered his chest. She heard the deep workings of his lungs and bit her lip. She concentrated on praying that he would easily recover from the illness, wanting also to distract herself from being so close to him. “Come here,” he said again.

“I’m here.”

He lifted her with strong arms despite his fever, until her face hovered inches from his own, and she felt she might drown in the intensity of his dark eyes. His thick lashes lowered as he arched his neck.

“Please—Anna. Please.”

She knew instinctively what he wanted and swallowed as she lowered her head to meet his lips, unsure of even what to do. But he knew. He moved his lips tenderly, gently, urging her to kiss him back with a faint lifting of his chin. She forgot to breathe when she finally moved her mouth against his own, and he made a low sound of approval deep in his throat.

A sudden loud knocking at the door bolted her upright as Mrs. Stolis entered without preamble. She raised one eyebrow as Anna made a frantic attempt to adjust her
kapp
and adopt a casual stance by the bed.

“That’s a
gut
way to get the flu,” the older woman observed dryly.

“I—uh—was—”

“It won’t go outside this room. Besides, Asa Mast needs a good kissing. He’s needed it for a while.”

“Really?” Anna struggled to find her voice. She glanced down and was relieved to see that Asa had fallen back asleep.

“
Jah
, but that’s not my story to tell. It’s his.”

“Oh.”

“So, he’s sick, is he? Well, he can just stay here until he recovers. I know that you have to go back tonight. One of the boys can drive you into town; the roads should be passable soon. We’ve heard the snow plows for the last hour.”

Anna felt her world dissolving as the reality of her leaving struck with force. It wasn’t the two hours’ distance that bothered her, nor was it any concern about courting with someone from a different community—her
Aenti
Ruth had left home when she’d married. No, it was something more—an inherent understanding of the man lying in the bed. She felt in her heart that if she ever saw him again, he’d be a polite, distant Amish man, far removed from the wonder and the intimacy of the births and the storm and his fevered kiss. Something else held him, she sensed, and that something would be enough to keep him hidden and reserved and lost from her forever.

Mrs. Stolis cleared her throat. “I wanted to give you something—for helping me and Mary.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It’s necessary to me. Stop your moping and look here.”

Anna broke from her thoughts and realized the older woman held a heavy, folded quilt over her thin, outstretched arm.

“Help me spread it out.”

“
Ach
, I can’t.” Anna shook her head.

“Hurry on; it weighs a ton.”

They each took one set of the folded ends, and Anna walked backward until the quilt was revealed in all of its glory. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Do you know the pattern?” Mrs. Stolis asked.

Anna swallowed as she gazed at the rich red and green colors against a background of white. The flowers were clustered across the quilt, their wealth of stitchery evident in the outlines of the petals and the double-hued leaves.

“
Jah
, Christmas Roses.”

“So it is, and my wedding quilt it was.” Mrs. Stolis sniffed once. “It belongs to you now, because you reminded me of what it was like when Henry was alive—of who I was then. And now”—she glanced meaningfully toward the bed—“perhaps it will give you some insight into who you might really be.”

Anna chose to ignore the confusing reference. “I can’t take it. I mean, I’m so honored, but this belongs to your family—to Mary and Luke and the baby, or to your daughters.”

“It’s mine and mine to give, so now accept it with good grace as you should from your elder.” The older woman walked forward and pushed the quilt into her arms.

Anna gave her a misty smile. “
Danki
. I’ll treasure it.”

Mrs. Stolis gave a brisk nod. “
Gut
, now I’ll leave you to your—nursing care. Come down when you’re ready to leave.”

Anna hugged the quilt and felt joy fill her, as if she were being embraced by all of the women who’d labored over the beautiful quilt in preparation for a bride. Finally, she laid it in a chair and went upstairs to check on Mary and the baby. She found them dozing in peaceful repose, Christian looking cherubic in the crook of Mary’s arm. Anna checked her respirations and did other small chores, then tiptoed from the room.

She went back down to the second floor to check Asa’s breathing once more. She secretly wished that he’d wake
again, but he slept on. So she sank down into the rocking chair, which held the quilt, and turned sideways toward a window looking out on the snow-laden fields below. Despite the fire in the now warm room, ice crystals splayed in dramatic detail across the windowpane as she felt the first pull of sleep wash over her. She realized that she needed a nap or she’d be crying all the way up the mountains to her home. So, gathering the heavy folds of the cedar-scented quilt about her, she laid her head back and drifted to sleep.

Her training awakened her at Asa’s slightest move, and she rubbed her eyes as she realized he was murmuring with fever. She left the quilt in the chair and went to the bed to lay a hand on his brow when his words made her freeze.

“Jennifer,” he pleaded. “Jennifer—think . . . our baby . . . please . . .”

Anna drew back as if she’d been struck. She stared down at him as he continued to cry out, and she felt sick to her stomach. She’d lain in his arms less than two hours ago, and now he was crying out for another woman . . . and their baby. A tear escaped and made its way down her cheek as she realized she knew nothing about this man. Nothing but one night. She’d been a fool to be dreaming, she told herself as she stuffed items back into her bag. She could think of nothing but fleeing the room, the house, and going home as soon as possible. She didn’t turn to look at him when she grasped the knob of the door because he’d said the name again. Jennifer.

She swiped at her face and fled down the stairs, stopping only for a moment on the bottom step to pinch her cheeks and take a deep breath. There was no reason for any of the Stolises
to know of her crying. She did not want anything to be said to Asa Mast when he awoke fully that might make him think he’d gained any interest in her heart. She would leave nothing behind that would allow him to feel he’d had a good joke on a simple, round midwife, and she crushed the tiny voice inside that told her he was not that kind of man.

She lifted her head and stepped into the kitchen area, finding Mrs. Stolis at the stove.

“I want to thank you for everything and to remind you to have Mary and the baby follow up with
Aenti
Ruth tomorrow, but I think, if it’s convenient, that I’d better head back to town.”

Mrs. Stolis gave her a speculative look. “Hmm . . . if that’s what you really want. I thought you might stay for the meal.”

“No, ma’am . . .
Danki
.”

“And how is Asa Mast?”

Anna drew a steadying breath. “Stable. I’m sure he’ll recover well.”

“I’ve no doubt he will. Did you have a chance to say your good-byes to the man?”

“He . . . was sound asleep.”

“Uh-huh. Abel’s feeling well enough to drive you in. Abel? Take the midwife back into town to
Frau
Ruth’s. She’s in a hurry to go.”

Anna flushed as the young Amish man put on his coat and hat. “I’ll bring the buggy around quick.”

Mrs. Stolis surprised Anna by embracing her, and the rest of the family called their thanks and good wishes as she soon found herself being trotted across plowed roads in the blinding glare of sunshine on snow.

Chapter Six

Abel Stolis wasted no time helping Anna down, and she thanked him as he left her, standing alone, on
Aenti
Ruth’s porch. She pushed aside the image of Asa’s handsome face as he stood in the same spot last night while she felt for the house key in her bag.

Even Bottle’s feline greeting did nothing to make her feel less alone as she dropped her bag and wearily went to make up the fire. As she knelt, staring into the low flames, she told herself that
Derr Herr
had a purpose in this, even if it was only to give her memories that, in time, she might be able to reflect on without hurting. She sighed aloud, then curled up on the hearthrug with Bottle beside her and fell into a deep sleep.

She awoke, disoriented, to find that daylight had fled, the windows were darkened, and someone was pounding on the front door. She rose stiffly and glanced at her brooch watch while she hurried to open the door. Six o’clock. She’d slept the day away, and now she prayed that it was
Aenti
Ruth and not another delivery. She swept the door open as she rubbed her eyes, then stopped dead when she saw Asa leaning against the doorjamb in his hat and coat with a brown bag in his arm. He exhaled and coughed when he saw her.

“I was terrified you’d left already; it would have been a long drive to Pine Creek tonight.”

“
Jah
?” she queried, her heart pounding. Then unbidden worry for him took over. “You’re going to catch pneumonia; come in out of the cold—please.” She wrapped her arms around herself and went to poke the fire, trying to ignore his slow steps as he dropped into a chair.

“What do you want?”

He sighed and took his hat off, setting the brown bag on the floor. “You. I want you, Anna Stolis.”

She pushed aside the surge of tearful pleasure his words produced and stayed stiff and still away from him.

“And I suppose you want Jennifer too?”

He lifted his fever-flushed face to hers, and she saw absolute pain in his eyes, as if she’d struck him a blow. But he took a deep breath and shook his head.

“No, but I did once—when I was eighteen.”

Anna felt as if the floor had fallen out from under her, but she still couldn’t move, mesmerized by the raw emotion in his face.

“Jennifer was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen,
Englisch
or Amish.”

Anna’s heart sank and she hugged her generous curves more tightly against his words.

“It was my
rumschpringe
, and I saw her at a fall festival in town. It was like . . . like I saw the moon for the first time or a star—so beautiful, but so distant. She was Amish, two years older than me and from a different community, but I didn’t care. More than that, she was attracted to me because I was raised conservatively. And she was pulled by the unusual, the things she hadn’t experienced.”

He looked into the flames of the fire, and Anna saw the taut misery in the lines of his face as he went on.

“I bought a car so I could be with her whenever and wherever I wanted, and I ignored all the warnings from my friends, the little revelations that her exterior beauty might not match who she was inside. I was just so caught up.” He looked squarely at Anna. “She became pregnant. It was, for me, a gift—a blessing. I wanted to marry her, and she agreed. But even though I’d drifted so far from how I’d been raised, I wanted to go and confess before the community. I wanted the baby to have security. But Jennifer wanted to leave the Amish. She wanted the
Englisch
world; she always had, and I knew that—” His voice broke. “Weeks went by; things didn’t get better.”