A Reluctant Bride (32 page)

“Yes.”

“He's a nice young man. He's been helping customers from the moment I walked into the store.”

With a nod Sadie put the candy bar in a small paper bag. Aden had been very attentive since they opened, not only to the customers but to straightening the store shelves. During the short time they weren't busy, he had gone outside to sweep off the small slab of concrete in front of the door.

“It must be nice to be able to work with your husband,” the woman continued, taking the bag from Sadie.

“I'm still getting used to it,” she mumbled, unnerved by the woman's remark—and the confusing accuracy of it.

Around noon Aden came to the front counter. “Why don't you get some lunch?”

She shook her head. “We still have customers.”

“Not that many.” He looked around. “There's a lull right now. You
geh
eat and I'll mind the register.”

She hesitated. “I'm not really hungry.”

He put his hand on her forearm. “You need to eat, Sadie.”

A tingle traveled through her skin at his light touch. Throughout the morning she'd been catching glimpses of him, watching as he talked to customers with an ease she'd never seen before. His lean body was relaxed, his expression calm but not standoffish. She could almost say he was in his element—which shocked her nearly as much as her reaction to his touch.

He stepped back. “
Geh
on. You need the break.”

“I won't be long,” she said, hurrying from behind the counter.

“Sadie,” he said, stopping her in her tracks. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

She nodded slowly.

After a quick lunch, she returned, telling him it was his turn
to eat. A few of the customers had brought meals for her and Aden, so she had heated up a hamburger casserole and had left a plate for him, along with several slices of bread and butter.

Traffic continued to be good all afternoon, and by the end of the day she was exhausted, mentally and physically.

That evening, after they closed the store, Sadie totaled the receipts. Despite the crowd, sales had been disappointing. Then again, her expectations had been high. She knew she couldn't make enough money to cover the bills in a day. Still, it was disheartening to see that the profit they made would barely make a dent in one of Joanna's medical bills. She heaved a sigh.

Aden came up to her. “What's wrong?”

“This,” she said, gesturing to the receipts. She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I know, I have to be patient. God will provide—”

“He already has, Sadie.”

Her head shot up at his words. “What?”

“The natural gas rights. They're worth something.”

Why didn't he tell her this before? “How much?”

“I don't know. But if
mei vatter
wants them, I'm sure they're worth a lot.” He leaned forward. “Whatever money the rights will bring in, it will at least be something. Don't worry.” He reached for her hand. “We'll handle this together.”

The warmth and security of his touch flowed through her, giving her more hope than she'd felt in weeks.

He pulled away. “I've got to see to the horses. I'll put some more food out for Homer. I think he snuck here in the middle of the night because what I put out last night is gone. He's probably avoiding another bath.” He gave her a crooked grin, then walked out of the store.

Sadie looked at her hand, remembering the feel of his skin
against hers.
We'll handle this together.
Ever since her parents' deaths, she had felt alone despite Aden's presence. She tried so hard to keep him at a distance, but he kept gently moving closer, slowly drawing her to him with his kindness and loyalty.

She grabbed the receipts and the money drawer and headed for the office. Everything with Aden was happening too fast. Her parents had died only three weeks ago. She'd been married for less than a week. How could she be this affected by Aden in such a short time? It wasn't possible. She couldn't have any feelings for him.

She was afraid to.

When she finished in the office, she would find those papers. Then she would contact whoever she had to and find out what needed to happen to get whatever money the rights were worth. Once she was able to settle her father's accounts and pay off Joanna's bills, she would be able to stand on her own feet. She wouldn't need Aden's help or support. She wouldn't need him, and that would stop the terrifying stream of emotions he instilled from overtaking her.

Later that evening, she walked down the hallway and stopped at her parents' room. Aden had already turned in for the night. She'd said very little to him at supper and had barely looked at him. She couldn't let him in any more than she already had. She had to protect herself.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and walked into the darkness. She hadn't been in this room since her parents died. She went to the dresser and turned on the small lamp her mother had always kept there, then flicked on another battery-operated lamp on the nightstand. The room flooded with light. She turned from the lamp and stared at the bed. Sadie was suddenly unable to move.

The bed was still the way her mother had made it the morning of the accident. The geometric quilt pattern blurred in front of Sadie as memories came spilling over her in painful, unrelenting waves. When she and her sisters were little, they would run to their parents' bed during a thunderstorm and crawl under the warm covers. Their father would grumble a bit, tweak one of their noses and tell them they were fraidy cats, then roll over and fall back asleep.

But their mother would snuggle them close and tell them stories. Bible stories. Made-up stories. Stories that had been handed down through her family. Each one featured a brave young woman or man who was able to overcome fears with God's help. Abigail and Joanna would always drift off before
Mamm
finished, but Sadie would stay awake for every word, enthralled.

She had to force her gaze from the bed. Her head throbbing, she turned and walked to the closet. Swallowing, she opened the door. Her parents' clothes were still there, her father's on the left, her mother's on the right. She touched the skirt of her mother's favorite dress, a light pink one that barely got past the bishop's rule of no bright colors for women's clothing. Her fingertips ran over her father's church shirt, which her mother ironed every Saturday night. She pressed a sleeve to her cheek, her father's faint scent still on the fabric.

Her eyes burned as if they were on fire.

“Sadie?”

She dropped her father's sleeve. Heard Aden move closer to her. She refused to turn around. Her throat squeezed shut and she was unable to speak. She flinched as his hand touched her shoulder.

“You're not doing this alone,” he said.

He knew exactly why she was here, as if he were inside her
skin. She should send him away. He didn't have the right to be here. She didn't need him here.

“There are two boxes in the closet,” she said, barely able to force the words out. “We can look through those.”

Aden nodded, and she stepped aside as he retrieved the boxes. She still couldn't look at him. “Where do you want me to put them?” he asked.

“I don't care.”

She waited until he had set them on the bed before she turned around. Her feet felt like lead as she propelled them toward the first box.
I have to find those papers . . .
She repeated the words over and over in her mind, as if they would give her the strength to continue.

The box was her mother's. The papers wouldn't be in there. Yet she found herself reaching inside. Her fingers touched a book, and she lifted it out, seeing the old cookbook with its cracked binding and dog-eared pages. Sadie took more items out of the box—a carefully folded paper dress pattern, a sock
Mamm
had given up knitting on, a stack of greeting cards from
Mamm
's friends, a folded pile of fabric . . .

The pressure in her chest grew, flaring out all over her body until her head spun. She jerked in a breath, but it wasn't enough. Her lungs were closing and she could feel them shutting down as hot tears flooded her eyes.

“Sadie . . .”

Aden's voice reached her. Calm, just like he was. But he seemed far away as spots appeared in front of her, huge black dots threatening to steal her vision. She felt his arm, sturdy and strong, around her shoulders. She couldn't push him away even if she tried. He led her out of the room, into the hallway, and then to her own bedroom.

“Sit down,” he said in a gentle, but firm, tone.

She didn't argue, since her legs were on the verge of collapsing under her. She perched at the edge of her bed.

He crouched in front of her. “Do you need some water?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I'm fine.”

He moved a little closer to her, peering at her face. “You're pale.”

The spots dimmed and her breathing eased. She had no idea what had come over her. As she drew in air, she finally looked at him. Saw the concern—no, worry—in his eyes. She didn't want him to worry or be concerned with her at all.

“I'm tired.” She lifted her heavy arms and crossed them over her chest. After another long drag of breath she said, “It's been a long day and I need some sleep.”

He tilted his head, and she knew he didn't believe her. But his closeness was threatening to take away what little breath she had. “I want to be alone, Aden.”

His eyes didn't leave hers for a long, drawn-out moment that seemed to last for hours. “All right,” he eventually said, rising from the floor. “If you need anything, let me know.”

She looked away, keeping her gaze from his until she heard her door shut.

Aden stood outside Sadie's doorway, unsure what to do. Since their wedding day, he'd made it a point never to push her, to always give her the space she needed. But today was different. Something had changed in him. Maybe it was the fact that for the first time he'd felt needed and respected. He'd enjoyed working in the store, helping out the customers, even making small
talk with a few of them. Some were men from church, and he could tell they hadn't heard about Sol's shunning. He wasn't surprised. His family was expert at keeping secrets.

But while he'd felt more comfortable as the day passed, Sadie had grown more uncomfortable, and he didn't know why. He thought it might have something to do with him taking her hand when he'd seen how worried she was over the receipts. She'd flinched when he touched her, though she didn't let go. He didn't regret reaching out to her even though it might have set their relationship back several steps.

He'd told Sadie they would handle things together, and he meant everything, not just their financial situation. She needed comforting. Reassurance. And after what happened in her parents' bedroom, she needed to grieve. For some reason, she wouldn't allow herself any of that.

They had more in common than he'd realized. He knew what it was like to keep emotions so tightly wound and hidden that they threatened to suffocate. He understood the risk of letting someone get close to you. His father's and brother's abusiveness was only part of the reason Aden had kept his distance from everyone. Now he knew something else had driven him to stay separate from the community—the fear of getting hurt. He'd experienced so much pain in his life that he didn't have room for any more.

Yet some of that pain was easing. Being free of his father and being married to Sadie had opened the door to healing, and he drank it up like a man dying of thirst.

He wanted to show Sadie that she didn't have to bear her grief alone, that letting someone in wouldn't be opening the door to hurt, but to healing.

Aden stared at the door, struggling to decide whether he
should go to her or honor her request to be left alone. After a few moments he went downstairs, turned out the lights, and returned to his room.

Yet he didn't stay there. He took the quilt off Abigail's bed and walked into the hallway to Sadie's room. He wrapped the quilt around his shoulders and sank to the floor, leaning against the wall next to the door. If she had a nightmare or another attack of emotional distress in the middle of the night, he would at least be close. She may have pushed him away . . . but he would never be far from her.