Lilly's Wedding Quilt (22 page)
He sighed aloud.
“So—there was a girl … other girls?”
“
Jah
. I was young and stupid.”
“Well, it was your time to choose. To experiment with the outside world and its values.”
“Yes, but sometimes experiments are not worth the cost.”
She said nothing, but her intense expression showed she was working through something. He spoke with sudden intuition. “You want to be free sometimes, Lilly, don’t you?”
She took a long time to answer. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”
“Because you went from nursing your father to teaching school, to caring for your
mamm
, to marrying me.”
“But those were all choices that I made.”
“Those were choices you thought you
should
make—to do what was right, what was honorable.”
“And so we’re called to do. It’s as we’re instructed by
Derr Herr
and His Word.”
“And Christ’s declaration that He came to give abundant life … here and now, not someday—what about that?”
“My life is abundant,” she said quietly.
He shook his head. “And that’s what you still think you’re supposed to say. I want you to tell me what you’d like to do if you had absolutely no responsibilities. No mother to care for, no father to mourn, no job to work, no husband—just you. What would you do?”
He waited, feeling like he could virtually hear her sorting through answers, searching for the right one, the dutiful response.
“I don’t know,” she said finally, carefully.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“You don’t have to.”
“Lilly,
sei so gut
don’t hide—even though I know you have a right to with me. Tell me what you’d like to do.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “All right—silly things I guess. I’d like to take my
kapp
off and dance in the first spring rain, eat candy instead of breakfast, see what an
Englisch
woman’s magazine reads like.” She paused, shaking her head. “See? This is a senseless conversation.”
“Because I’m getting too near the hidden Lilly?” he persisted gently, watching her swallow in delicate profile.
“I … I don’t usually allow myself to think about me, inside, that much. It’s easier to keep walking forward.”
“You’re worth thinking about, Lilly Wyse.”
She shrugged. “Well, it’s foolishness to speak of anyway, Jacob. I have what I need.”
Her answer was simple yet so complex in its layered meanings to his ear. He chafed at his inability to say what he wanted, what he thought she deserved to do—to have.
They turned in silence down the lane to the Lapp house, where the single lamp burned in the waiting darkness.
W
hen they entered the house, Lilly slipped off her outer clothes and then tiptoed upstairs to find that her
mamm
had gone to bed early again. She came back down and put the still-warm sticky buns on top of the stove for a morning treat. Jacob hadn’t taken off his coat, and she looked at him questioningly.
“I’ve … uh … got some late chores in the barn. Go on to bed. I’ll be in later.”
She watched him go back out into the darkness and sighed. Christmas Eve had set in with a swamping feeling of squelched expectation for Lilly, although she wasn’t exactly sure what she had expected, especially after a morning and afternoon like they’d had. She sat at the kitchen table by the light of the kerosene lamp and crumbled a sugared Christmas tree cookie with her listless fingers, not feeling the least bit sleepy. Then she decided that she would not wallow on the eve of Christ’s birth.
She and her mother hadn’t decorated a Christmas gift table in the two years since her father had died, and Lilly decided that perhaps the traditional round table, decorated and ready for Christmas Day, might lift her mother’s spirits. She pulled on her boots, extra wraps, and gloves, and caught up a kerosene lamp to make her way out to her father’s small toolshed. The night was crystal clear, with the
munn
casting a yellowed gleam over the crusted snow. She saw the light between the crack in the barn doors but decided to let Jacob have the alone time he seemed to want. She reminded herself that she shouldn’t care anyway.
She opened the small door of the shed and held the lantern high, peering inside at the jumble of tools and veterinary equipment that had not been disturbed for a long while. She would have to bring Jacob out to go through her father’s things, she decided, and let him see if there was anything he might want.
She located the small hatchet, latched the door behind her, and set out in search of some pine boughs to place around the table’s edge.
The
munn’s
glow was almost so bright that she didn’t need the lantern. She kept it lit anyway as she prowled along the land behind the barn, looking for a small pine tree suitable for surrendering a few fragrant branches.
As she crunched through the snow, she thought about Jacob’s comment in the buggy that his shoulder ached. Although she’d patted his hand in a comforting gesture, she realized that she hadn’t truly felt compassion for him—at least not heartfelt compassion. She gazed up at the moonlit sky and realized that she wasn’t being very forgiving, especially at the time of Christ’s birth when God brought his Son into the world to make provision for forgiveness and reconciliation. She became so lost in the consideration of the idea that she nearly walked into the small-needled pine that was just about her height and perfect for boughs.
She set the lantern down in the snow and knelt to reach where the lower, longer branches connected with the trunk. She should have gotten a hacksaw, she thought with irritation, as she tried to angle the hatchet in through the snow-laden limbs. Already the cold was seeping through her skirt as she awkwardly began to chop.
“What are you doing out here?”
She jumped and twisted on her knees to find Jacob towering over her, his shadow stretched long in the light of the lantern.
“Jacob! You scared me to death. I thought you were busy in the barn.”
“I’m finished. Give me that.” He dropped to his knees beside her. “You should have gotten a hacksaw.”
She handed him the hatchet without a word and watched while he made short work of trimming off a few branches. Then he rose, put the hatchet under his arm, the boughs under the other, and reached down to haul her to her feet. They walked in awkward silence back toward the house and were almost there when Lilly stopped, convicted again about his shoulder.
“
Ach
, I forgot something in the barn.”
“I’ll go. What is it?” he asked.
“Horse liniment.”
“What?”
“Liniment … you know … to tend the horse after it’s been running.”
“I know what it is. Why do you want it?”
She shrugged. “I just do.”
He rolled his eyes. “All right. Take the branches and go in. I’ll be there directly.”
She turned to watch him trudge toward the barn through the snow, determination building in her heart.
L
illy had just finished smoothing a patchwork cloth over the small circular table she’d dragged into a prominent place in the sitting room when Jacob returned to the house, setting the large brown bottle of horse liniment onto the sink counter.
She entered the kitchen with resolve as he took off his hat and coat.
“
Ach, gut
. Will you please slip your shirt off your shoulder and sit down at the kitchen table?”
There. Her voice sounded detached and calm, with just a hint of wifely concern
.
Jacob turned from putting his hat on a nail. “What?”
She was not going to repeat herself
. “Come on, it’s late, and you’ll feel ever so much better. It’s an old trick of Father’s—using the liniment, I mean.”
She grasped the big bottle and uncorked it. The distinctive pungent odor of mint and other herbs spread through the air. She looked at him expectantly.
“I don’t—what are you doing?”
She began to tap her foot, watching as he seemed to take an unwilling step closer to the table.
“Your shoulder, Jacob—you said it was hurting. I’ll put some liniment on and it’ll help. I want to help you as your wife should.”
She saw myriad emotions cross his face. He was probably wanting to laugh at the idea of using a horse medicine and no doubt didn’t savor the thought of her willing hands against his skin. She squelched the insecurity she felt and held to her purpose. He hurt; she was going to fix it.
“
Danki
, Lilly, but I’m fine, really. It was just a twinge.”
“Slip your shirt down and sit.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And so you may be.” She stopped her foot tapping and turned her back to him. She did not want him to see the tears of frustration and hurt rising in her eyes. Perhaps there was only one woman he wanted to be there for him. “Will I not be your
fraa
, Jacob?” she asked.
Then she remembered the look on his face when he saw her and Seth in an embrace. It might be that hurt that kept him distant now. She sighed, the truth weighing heavily upon her. She needed to forgive him as much as she needed his forgiveness.
She heard the surprise in his voice. “Lilly, I’m sorry. Here, I’ll do as you ask. Thank you for your help and concern.”
She turned around in time to see him ease his suspender down and had to catch her breath. She frowned. She was not going to be moved by his nearness. She concentrated on moving the end of the kitchen bench for him. She watched as his reluctant fingers pulled one side of his shirt from the waistband of his pants and then reached for his collar.
She waited while he slid the fabric from his arm, and when an unaccounted flush burned her cheeks, she decided that the fire must be built too high in the woodstove. She clenched her teeth as he exposed his shoulder and bent his head.
I might as well get used to his undressing
, she told herself, reaching to adjust a stray tendril of hair from the side of her
kapp
.
He is my husband, after all—even if in name only
.
He sank onto the corner of the bench and put his elbows on the table.
“
Nee
. Just let that arm relax,” she instructed.
He obeyed, dropping his left arm to hang down straight. She stepped over the bench, lifting her skirt in a bunch to sidle next to him. She tried not to notice his nearness and the scent of pine that clung to his skin.
“You don’t have to do this,” he muttered.
Oh, yes I do
, she thought, angling closer to him.
“It’s not a problem, Jacob.”
She poured a handful of the liquid into her cupped palm, then put the bottle on the table.
“Is it very bad?” she asked, her hand poised near the scar.
Yes
, her own mind whispered.
This whole idea is very, very bad somehow because it wasn’t just about helping him any longer; it had become a hazardous intimacy
.
“No. Go on.”
He jumped when she laid her hand against the back of his arm, causing her to startle as well, so that some of the liquid spilled from her palm and ran down the tanned length of his arm.
“Sorry,” she choked. “Are you all right?”
“Jah
.”
Of course he was. It was only she who had these absurdly sensual thoughts.
Yet, perhaps he wasn’t as unaffected as she thought. His breathing was shallow and he stared fixedly at the wood grain of the table.
She began to move her fingers in a circular motion against his skin, first soft, then with increasing pressure, watching his pulse throb in the line of his throat with each seeking pass of her hand.
“It’s funny how your scar is beginning to look like a star in front here.” She kept her tone conversational.
“I … I can’t talk now,” he confessed in a rush, and she felt a warmth radiate along her shoulders at his admission.
“You don’t have to, Jacob. Just relax.”
She sought to deepen his comfort. She moved her palm to the back of his arm, finding different nerves and tendons. Then she raised her other hand to brace against the back of his shoulder so that she might gain better pressure.
He made a choked sound from the back of his throat.
“Does it feel good, Jacob?”
He nodded and she allowed herself to smile, trying to ignore the whisper of her mind. She wanted him to be unable to recall the ache of the wound. She wanted her hands to become an anchor for him, a rock thrown in the center of a pond—with him part of the resonance, the rippling outlay of wet and warmth and …
She stopped and rose, putting the cork back in the bottle.
That was quite enough
.
He let his head fall forward on the table atop his other arm.
“Now just sit there a moment, and I’ll put a cloth round your shoulder, so you needn’t get your shirt stained.”
He didn’t move until she’d finished her ministrations. Then he lifted his head and looked at her with distant eyes and a faint smile on his face.
“Jacob, are you falling asleep? Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll show you the Christmas table in the morning.”
He agreed, brushing past her with murmured thanks, then moving to the bedroom, leaving her behind with her hands tingling from far more than the burn of the liniment.