A Marriage of the Heart (27 page)

“
Ach
, Abigail, he’s so handsome and still so
Englisch
. I don’t think Matthew’s ever kissed me like that in front of anyone. Joseph Lambert must really love you.”

The fuzziness drifted away, and Abigail almost denied the
other girl’s words before she realized how bad that would seem. Fortunately, though, her flushed cheeks must have satisfied Katie, because her friend left with a smile on her face.

Abigail took the cover off the bread pudding and poked a childlike forefinger into the top crusty layer. Delicious. Now if only she could come up with something to complement its goodness. She sighed and went to the back door and out into the sparse kitchen garden.

J
OSEPH WALKED PAST THE SMALL HERD OF GRAZING DAIRY
cows to where his father-in-law was mending a stone fence. Even from a distance the man looked mammoth as he lifted and balanced the heavy stones. Joseph wished he had work gloves, but there was nothing to be done about that now. He picked up a rock and wordlessly handed it to Mr. Kauffman. The older man accepted it and hefted it into place while Joseph got the next one ready.

“How is Abigail?” Mr. Kauffman grunted.

“Well, sir.” Joseph wasn’t sure what else to say. He supposed the old man was referring to the wedding night, and he could not offer any more details without lying.

“Looks like her mother, she does.”

“I’m sorry that you lost your wife. I remember that time . . . I must have been ten or so.”

Mr. Kauffman stared at him a moment, then spoke slowly. “
Ya
, I lost her, in more ways than one . . . But she would have done right by Abigail—the child needed a woman’s touch.”

The two men lifted and placed the rocks in a steady rhythm as Joseph pondered the words of his father-in-law.

“Can I ask why you never remarried?”

“Nee.”

Joseph grinned and nodded. “Sorry.”

“No apologies needed.”

“You’ve got a nice operation here. You must work sunup to sundown.”

“
Danki
. I . . . appreciate your help. I’ve not had anyone about the place but Abigail and the hired help since Rachel . . . well, since Rachel’s been gone.”

The way he said his wife’s name was odd, almost as if he feared it somehow, but Joseph decided not to press any more questions.

“You’re more than welcome.”

They continued to repair the wall in relative companionable silence until Joseph’s stomach grumbled, and he noticed that the sun was high overhead.

“You are hungry?” Mr. Kauffman asked.

“Ya.”

His father-in-law sighed. “We’ll go for lunch, then. Hopefully Abigail will have it prepared.” But there was something in his tone that suggested the possibility was doubtful.

Joseph shrugged off the thought and walked in silence beside the older man back to the house.

CHAPTER FOUR

A
N AMAZING ABUNDANCE OF WELL-WISHERS DROPPED BY
with both curiosity and casseroles, and Abigail had her choice of the very best of the community’s cookery to set up for lunch. She surveyed the table with satisfaction, admiring the clutch of wildflowers that resided in the center next to the steaming chicken and dumplings and the broccoli-and-cauliflower cheese bake. Potato salad, plum preserves, and peach jelly sat on heavy plates next to a fresh loaf of bread. A mayonnaise cake with white icing piled high completed the ensemble.

The scrape of heavy footsteps on the back porch broke her reverie, and she swept the kitchen with a hasty eye to double-check that all unfamiliar dishes were out of the way. For once she wanted her father to think that she was succeeding at something domestic. That she didn’t want to appear a fool in front of Joseph was not something she’d readily admit, but it wouldn’t hurt to give him one less thing to be annoyed over.

Perhaps during the next few days she could take a lesson or two in cooking from some older woman. Maybe Mrs. Knepp might help or even Tillie Smoker, a friend who worked at Yoder’s Pantry in town. Abigail’s father had never permitted such a thing as cooking instruction before, although she had no idea why. But now she needed to satisfy her husband, and she was sure a few secret lessons might go a long way toward making his stomach happy.

The men entered, and she tried to appear nonchalant as her
father stopped and stared at the table. Joseph sniffed the air with appreciation, then moved to brush his mouth across her cheek before turning away to the pump. She stiffened under his touch but remembered her father. She swallowed when she glanced at Joseph’s broad back; he smelled like sunshine and sweat, all mixed in a way that caused her pulse to race. She was glad when her father had washed and they all turned to the table.

She sat down at the foot of the table, her father at the head, and Joseph took a space to her right. The table had always been too large for just two people, but they kept it for when it was their turn to host worship service.

Mr. Kauffman bowed his head for a silent grace and Abigail followed, peeking to see that Joseph did as well. She snapped her gaze down when she caught the dark gleam of his eyes, mocking her for looking.

Her father cleared his throat, and they all looked up together.

“Please, Father,” Abigail urged. “Help yourself.”

Mr. Kauffman took a tentative scoop of some chicken and dumplings, then breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction when he held the plate close to his large nose.

“I see that I am truly blessed—a beautiful wife and an excellent cook,” Joseph announced, savoring a bite of the fresh bread and preserves.

Abigail held her breath, wondering if her father would contradict, but he was too busy enjoying the food.

“Danki.”
She smiled at Joseph, then noticed his palm as he reached for the potato salad. “What happened to your hand?”

“Moving rocks. I forgot that I don’t have work gloves yet. I’ll have to pick some up in town.”

Abigail was surprised at her fleeting feeling of protectiveness. She stared down at her plate in confusion.

“Plenty of gloves in the barn. Help yourself.” Mr. Kauffman spoke between bites. “Should have thought of it earlier.”

“Thanks.” Joseph smiled, helping himself to a large slice of cake. “Mmm-mmm. Abigail Lambert, what a treasure you are.”

He grinned at her, and for once she could sense no mockery in his gaze.
Just wait
, she thought ruefully.

He stretched out his work-worn hand across the table to her, palm up, and she placed her hand in his, not wanting to irritate the blisters. But he squeezed her hand with goodwill, and Abigail glanced down the table to where her father watched as he sipped at his coffee.

She knew the hand-holding was a show and not for her, and something about that sparked irritation in her blue eyes. Joseph must have seen the warning signs, because he withdrew his hand before she might do any damage. She rose to take her plate to the sink.

“I think I’ll go get those gloves. Abby, will you show me where in the barn?’’

“The barn is the barn. They’re hanging up by one of the stalls,” she said, a tightness around her mouth.

“Abigail, go along as your husband asks. I’ve a mind to read
The Budget
and digest a bit before we go back out.”

“
Ya
, Father,” she replied out of habit, but inside she was contemplating everything from pushing Joseph into the feed trough to dousing him with the sow’s water. She stepped out onto the porch and took a deep breath.

“You sure do get riled,” he whispered behind her, catching her around the waist and placing a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Let me go,” she hissed, starting to struggle.

“I bet Papa’s watching,” he reminded her and she stilled, her breath coming out in a huff.

“That’s better, my dutiful wife. Tell me, how have you lived so long with a man who does not speak more than two words in a whole morning’s work?” He slid a stray wisp of gold from her hair covering, and the gentleness brought tears in her throat.

“It’s been lonely,” she admitted, amazed that someone else might understand how it was to live with her father.

Joseph squeezed her arms in response. “I bet. I see why you want to run, but it’s not worth it. Believe me.”

He let her go, and she blindly went down the steps toward the barn. She’d never met a man who so had her churning in her emotions from one moment to the next. She eased open the barn door and blinked in the dim interior.

Joseph shut the door behind them, and she whirled around.

“Will you relax?” he asked. “Look, we might rub along better together if we get some things straight.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I’m not going to force you to exert any wifely duties, all right?”

“Never?” she asked in surprise.

He sighed aloud. “Never is a long time. Let’s just leave it at . . . you decide when you’re ready.”

“That will be never.”

“Are you sure?” He took a step toward her, holding her captive with a certain intensity in his dark eyes that made her think absurdly of warm maple syrup and lazing in the sunshine in the heat of a summer’s day.

“No . . . I mean,
ya
. . .” She frowned as she tried to recollect her point.

He laughed. “When was the last time you played, Abigail Lambert?”

“Played . . . Wh–what do you mean?”

He reached down to stroke her cheek and cup it in his large hand. “Played. I don’t mean with boys’ hearts or people’s futures, but just played—for fun.”

She tried hard to think of an answer. Play always seemed like a stolen thing to her. Something that she’d had to do away from her father’s sight and the endless chores. She was good at getting out of a job, but she always felt guilty about it. To play was an odd notion.

“No idea, right?”

She shook her head.

“Well, in order to improve our—marital relations—we’re going to play.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gave her a swift swat on her bottom. “Tag! You’re it. Now catch me.” He darted away while she gasped in outrage.

“How dare you!”

“Catch me, and you can have your own price back.” He posed behind a bale of hay. “Come on, Abby. You’re not that out of shape, are you?”

“What?” She whirled on him as he danced within hand’s reach.

She made an angry grab toward him and almost fell over when she missed. She turned to find him laughing at her and leaning against the gentle family
milch
cow, Rose.

“You need some work, sweet. You couldn’t catch a cat.”

She lunged for him then, something about his teasing sending tiny electric shocks down her spine. She told herself that she was furious.

She chased him across the hay-strewn floor, stirring up dust motes in a narrow stream of sunlight from the upper window, and then took off up the ladder at his heels to the haymow above. She almost had him at the top and laughed aloud with sudden pleasure.

“What was that? A real laugh . . . oh my!” He was hopping backward and didn’t see the pile of feed bags behind him; he went over into the hay, and she grabbed his ankle with a vengeance.

“I got you,” she gasped.

He was laughing, the full, rich sound making her shiver. “That you did.” He lay in the hay, smiling up at her, his glasses slightly askew. “Now name your price.”

She sank to her knees beside him breathlessly. “I want to make you pay.”

He folded his arms behind his head, his lean stomach stretched out in easy repose. He wasn’t even winded. “Go ahead.”

Her blue eyes narrowed like a cat’s, and she knew by sudden instinct how to make him pay. “I name a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

“
Ya
, and you must keep perfectly still.”

“All right.” He looked a little bored, and she lowered her gaze to his firm mouth.

Not for nothing had she practiced kissing in the cracked bureau mirror since she was about twelve. She leaned over him and blew softly on his lips as if to awaken them, then she closed her eyes and pretended he was the mirror. She took her time, fitting her lips to the line and contours of his own, until she sensed a tensing in his chest. She drew back and found him staring up at her.

“Done?” he asked in a casual voice, though his tone didn’t match the heightened color in his cheeks or his intense gaze.

“Ya,”
she said primly, gathering up her skirts and rising in some confusion. She couldn’t tell if he’d been affected or not, and it made her annoyed and . . . hurt somehow. Perhaps the mirror wasn’t really a good way to practice. She slipped down the ladder and out of the barn without saying anything more.

J
OSEPH LAY IN THE HAY, TRYING TO REGULATE HIS BREATHING
. The kiss had thrown him, turned him upside down, in fact. Where had she learned how to kiss like that? He shifted in the hay when he thought of the boys gathered around her at the oak tree, yet he couldn’t explain her innocent tenseness at his every touch or look. It was just him, he thought with a sigh. She’d got herself into the marriage with a leap and no look, and if she ever found out the truth about his past, she’d probably despise him.