A Marriage of the Heart (31 page)

She settled for a quick thank-you and was surprised when Judith pressed a covered basket into her hands.

“Here’re some of the carrots that you did and directions for the sweet corn. And there’s something else so you needn’t worry over supper. I also put in a
gut
box of Amish recipe cards. You can be a good cook, Abigail, if you’ll have the patience for it.”

“I will.
Danki
.” And she knew it was a promise that she meant to keep.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE SUN WAS BEGINNING TO SET, FRAMING THE GENTLE
curves of the landscape with pink and amber light when Joseph left the fields, tired but fulfilled. He walked back toward the house alone; his father-in-law had waved him on ahead. He was hot enough from the warm September weather that a good long soak in a tub sounded like heaven. But since he knew that Abby would probably be unnerved by the whole process, he decided instead to jump into the rather secluded creek that ran through the Kauffmans’ property.

Ducking through some overgrowth, he eyed a fairly deep spot in the moving water and stripped down with pleasure, tossing his clothes over a bush. The water was icy cold but felt wonderful, and he wished that he had a bar of soap. He scooped up a handful of sand from the creek bottom instead and scrubbed with abrasive enthusiasm. Then he sat down on a convenient, flat, underwater rock and let the current swirl past his chest while his mind drifted into pleasant abeyance.

A
BIGAIL WAS HOT AND TIRED BY THE TIME SHE PULLED THE
buggy up to the hitch at home. She knew that she should have been there a lot sooner to get supper ready, but she just felt like she had to get the canning supplies to apply her newfound knowledge. And, she admitted to herself, to make Joseph proud.

When she entered the house, she found everything quiet as usual except for the kitten, which wanted to be fed. She washed her hands, then poured a saucer of milk for the small creature and set it inside the box, blowing at the hair that clung damply to her forehead. She glanced around the kitchen with one eye on the setting sun. Joseph and her father were apparently working late in the fields. She decided she’d indulge in one of her favorite secret pursuits before attempting supper. Besides
Englisch
magazines, she loved dipping her feet in the local stream.

She stole out the back door and skirted the property to the creek that cut through the area. She slipped off her heavy black shoes and thick kneesocks, then she caught up her skirt above her ankles and went to perch on her favorite log, dangling her toes in the refreshing water.

“I see we’re of a similar mind today.”

Joseph’s cheerful voice almost made her tilt backward off the log as she glanced down the creek and saw him sitting no more than ten feet away. Her gaze skittered to his clothes on the bush and then back to his bare chest. He grinned at her.

She said the first thing that came to mind. “Where are your glasses?”

“Safe on the bank.” He started to tread water with his arms, as if preparing to come closer, and she jumped to her feet, her bare toes digging into the rough bark of the log.

“Uh . . . just stay there, please . . . I’ve got to go back and start supper.”

“Nervous, Mrs. Lambert?” he asked.

“Nee,”
she snapped, though her face flushed.

He laughed aloud, the sound causing chills to run in delicious tingles across the back of her neck and down her spine. She pushed the intriguing sensations away and lifted her chin.

“Maybe you’re the one who’s nervous.”

His smile deepened, and he held her captive with the intensity
of his dark eyes. “Maybe. This is all new to me, too—having a wife share my bath.”

She stuttered on her reply. “I am not sharing your bath. And why aren’t you bathing at home in the hip bath, like everyone else?”

He splashed at a stray dragonfly. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I’d preserve your maidenly dignity.”

Another thought crossed her mind and caused her to frown in irritation. “You do realize that anyone could come along here and see you?”

“
Ach
. You mean another girl, right?”

She nodded in spite of herself. “That is exactly what I mean.”

“Well then, I’d best get out, don’t you think?” He moved as if to rise and she turned and fled barefoot, his laughter ringing in her ears.

J
OSEPH BROUGHT HER SHOES AND SOCKS TO HER
while her father looked on askance.

Abigail stood next to the stove, heating up the bean and bacon soup Judith had given her so she didn’t have to worry about supper.

“You seem to have forgotten something,” Joseph teased in a low tone.

Abigail ducked her head, then lifted it again, only to wish she hadn’t when she caught the clean, masculine scent of him. His hair was damp, too, and clung to his neck overlong in places.

“You need a haircut.”

“Can I trust you with a pair of scissors?”

“I cut Father’s hair,” she replied in an injured tone.

They both turned to look at Solomon Kauffman’s hair, which was actually layered neatly and fell with some style to complement his long beard.

“What is it?” he asked, frowning at them.

“Just debating the merits of a haircut at home,” Joseph answered.

“
Ach
, well, Abigail is a fair hand with the shears.”

“Well,
gut
, then.”

After supper Joseph found himself seated on the back porch. A large white sheet was draped around his neck and flowed down over his chest and arms. Abigail stood considering him while he chafed under her perusal.

“Just cut it already.”

“Take off your glasses. I need to see the true shape of your face.”

“Honestly, Abby, there’s no style with the Amish—just saw away.”

He knew she was ignoring him and he closed his eyes, holding his glasses under the sheet. When she first touched the back of his neck, he started with a little jump.

“You are nervous, Mr. Lambert,” she teased.

He laughed. “Again, maybe—this is new to me too.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, sending exquisite chills down his back. When was the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness? Her delicate, tentative fingers were playing havoc with his insides, and all she was doing was cutting his hair. He blew out a breath of disgust. Still, there was something to be said for being attracted to one’s own wife, no matter the circumstances of the marriage.

She diligently combed and cut, and he began to relax beneath her touch. She had the persistence of an artist, and he knew no one had ever taken so much time with his hair. He let his hands rest on his knees and almost dropped his glasses when she spoke.

“There!” she said with satisfaction. She held up a small hand mirror. “Father always wants to see the back. What do you think?”

He slipped his glasses back on and peered at the mirror behind
his shoulder. His dark hair fell neat and even, and she’d done something to make it curl at his nape.

“It’s great, Abby. Thank you.”

She trailed the mirror around to his front and he poked self-consciously beneath her gaze at his bangs. “Really great.”

She smiled at him, clearly pleased, but there was also an air of suppressed excitement about her that made him just a little nervous.

“What?” he asked.

She clutched the mirror to her chest. “I learned how to can today . . . carrots and sweet corn. For you.”

He smiled up at her. “Where did you go?”

“In town, to Yoder’s Pantry. Do you remember? It’s a restaurant—one of the cooks was really nice and taught me about canning. I helped all morning and afternoon.”

He felt a funny feeling in his stomach as he watched her. A surge of protectiveness and caring for her fragile excitement. For him. She said she’d learned for him. It humbled his heart somehow in the way that a hundred other gifts might not have done. He reached his hand out from beneath the sheet and caught her own smaller one in his palm.

“Thank you, Abby. I think that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me.”

She blushed, and he had to suppress the urge to rise and take her in his arms. It was one thing to tease, but quite another to kiss her with intent. And the way he was feeling at the moment didn’t allow for any casual contact.

“I’d better go in and clean up the dishes. Will you—bring me some corn tomorrow from the field?”

“First thing, I promise.”

“Danki.”
She gathered up the scissors and the mirror and whisked the sheet from around his neck with one hand, shaking the dark clippings out onto the ground.

“The birds like the hair to feather their nests for winter.”

He nodded. “I remember.”

“All right, well,
gut
.”

She went in through the screen door, leaving him sitting in the falling darkness, alone with his thoughts.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
N THE TWO WEEKS FOLLOWING THE HAIRCUT, AN UNEASY
tenseness settled on Abigail whenever Joseph was around. When she’d been touching him, she had felt overwhelmed by the feelings of tenderness and attraction that had caused her heart to race and her hands to be not quite as steady as she would have liked.

She tried to evaluate her feelings objectively as she lay on her bed one afternoon, snatching a few minutes of time for herself. Was he handsome?
Hot
, as Tillie had said? Yes. Was he intelligent, kind to the kitten and to her father as well as to herself? Yes.

But so what? There were plenty of kind, handsome men about. Why should she find herself becoming entangled with the man she’d married out of convenience? She turned over and thumped her pillow, groaning aloud. She hated now what she’d done to him, how she’d trapped him, but he never seemed to give her an opportunity to talk about it. And half the time, she had no idea what he was thinking behind those deep, dark eyes of his.

She laid her head down on her pillow for a moment, then she reached her hand down between the mattress and bedspring, sliding out one of the teen magazines she hadn’t looked at in a while. Today the glossy
Englisch
girls and boys annoyed her with their perfect smiles and posed looks. Somehow they’d lost their appeal, and she wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened. She sighed and was about to thrust the magazine back into its hiding place when the door opened and Joseph walked in.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He smiled, then caught sight of the magazine.

Abigail flushed and ignored the urge to stuff it under her belly. “Just relaxing for a minute,” she replied with as much casualness as she could muster. “What are you doing?”

“I need a clean shirt. I have to run into town to get a blade for the harvester for your father. What are you reading?”

He came close and sank down on the edge of the bed. She tried to ignore the pull of his handsomeness and the smell of the outdoors that clung to his skin and sweat-dampened hair.

“Nothing—it’s just silly, really.”

“Let me see.”

“No, I’d rather not.” She moved the magazine to her far hand and turned her head away from him. He reached across her back and snatched it from her, as she’d expected he would. She waited for his recriminations to fall on her head.

She heard the pages turning, and her face burned when she thought about all of the feminine details contained within. Then she felt a light tap on the back of her cap.

“Hmm . . . here you are. I’ve got to get moving or your
daed
will have a fit. Do you want to come?”

She rolled over and looked up at him, taking the magazine back with suspicion. “That’s it?”

“What?” He paused in easing down his suspenders.

“The magazine? You’re not going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

She bounced upward to sit, unsure of why she was irritated. “I don’t know—something.”

He laughed as he grabbed his extra shirt. “I will never understand women.”

“What do you mean,
women
? Shouldn’t you say
woman
? I am your only wife, right?”

“Look, do you want to go or not?”