An Amish Wedding (9 page)

T
HE MORE SHE WALKED, THE MORE CONFUSED
R
OSE GOT
. Luke had her coming and going, and she had him in nearly the same position—except for the fact that he seemed so . . . steamy in his behavior, despite his injuries. Yet she still could explain little to nothing about why he’d done what he had the last months. And he’d kept on as though nothing had happened—except for the day he’d suggested she’d like more freedom . . .

She stopped so abruptly on the dirt road that she nearly stumbled. He’d offered her freedom, and had she taken it, he’d been willing to let her go, without any guilt or condemnation. Remorse flooded her consciousness, and she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. What she’d taken for granted—his love—was real. It was giving and patient and all of those other things she knew from church but couldn’t recall from her flustered mind.

Aenti
Tabby’s words teased at her consciousness with sudden importance.
What if there were more to Luke? More
.
More. More
.

She sighed and resumed walking, swiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. Luke still had a lot of explaining to do . . . but then, maybe she did too.

She arrived home slightly breathless with emotion to find that the family had returned from the fair.
Aenti
Tabby was in the backyard making unrefined sugar from the bumper crop of sugar beets they’d had that year.

“
Ach
, some stronger hands than mine for the press,” the older woman said with a welcoming smile.

Rose ducked her head so that her aunt wouldn’t see the emotion in her face and plunged her hands into a nearby bucket of soapy water. She dried her hands on a clean towel and then took over at the apple press, which currently ran with the bright red and purple of sugar beets. Later the juice would be boiled until nearly all the liquid had evaporated, leaving rough granules of sugar for cooking. The hard part was pressing the liquid from the beets.

Aenti
Tabby moved to continue cutting off the rough green tops. “So, have you seen your friend Priscilla lately? I’ve heard the Kings are having quite a time getting ready for her wedding.”

Rose realized she had been too involved in her own issues to be of much comfort to her friend. She’d have to pay her another visit soon. To think that Priscilla and Chester’s wedding was only three weeks away. The thought made her heart speed up at the seamless passage of time, and thoughts of her own December wedding to Luke flooded her mind again.

“How is your dress coming?”

“
Gut
. I’ve got it pieced, and I sew on it a bit whenever I can.”

Rose was waiting for it—more pressing questions about Luke from her
aenti
—and decided to forestall the process by talking a blue streak. But as she opened her mouth to speak, her
aenti
gave a shocked cry.

“What?” Rose asked in alarm.

“Your hands, child! You didn’t put on gloves.”

Rose stared down at her hands and wrists, now stained as purple as the beet juice that gushed through the press.

“
Ach!
I wasn’t thinking . . .”

“Or perhaps you were thinking too much,” Aenti Tabby suggested.

Rose laughed aloud ruefully. “I suppose I can try kerosene to get it off.”

“Or maybe your Luke would prefer a purple hand to hold until he’s feeling better.”

Rose opened her mouth in shock. “What?” How did her
aenti
know about Luke’s injuries?

Aenti
Tabby laughed at her expression. “Dr. Knepp stopped by before you got here to make sure that you were feeling well. Will you tell me what happened?”

Rose stared down at her purple fingers, perplexed, and thought hard about strangling Luke as she struggled for an answer.

Chapter Fifteen

“G
O ON UP
, R
OSE
.” M
R
. L
ANTZ SMILED WITH WHAT SEEMED
like extra exuberance. “He’s just resting that ankle a bit.”

Rose returned the smile to her kindly future father-in-law and decided Luke must have handled things all right. She crossed the beautifully pegged oak floors of the Lantz farmhouse with a familiar appreciation. Luke had suggested that they might move into the small house adjacent to the farm soon after they married, but Rose wouldn’t think of it. She’d loved the woman who would have been her mother-in-law, and part of her longed to bring back the feminine touches that were missing from the home—the watering can of red geraniums on the kitchen windowsill; the sheen and patina of the beautifully carved furniture, which in recent months seemed always to need a dusting; and just the general feel of a woman about the place to cook and clean, heal and listen. She was no fool though, and knew that unless she drew upon
Derr Herr
’s spirit, drinking from the Living Water to nourish herself first, she would have nothing to bring to her new family.

This thought filled her mind as she moved to the bottom of the staircase and glanced upward. Over the years Rose had climbed the staircase to Luke’s room more times than she could count, having always been treated like a daughter by the Lantzes. But today something was different as she gripped the smoothness of the simple balustrade with one hand and swiped at a stray piece of lint on her dress with the other. Today she was nervous, uncertain, and she hesitated at the closed wooden door at the top left of the steps. It wasn’t just her friend who lay within, but her betrothed—and the thief of her heart.

She knocked softly, half hoping he slept, but his voice rang true through the wood.

“
Kumme
in.”

She took a deep breath, plastered a pleasant expression on her face, and opened the door. Luke gazed at her with that same rich smile he seemed to have grown out of nowhere, and she felt herself flushing for no reason.

“Rose,
kumme
. Close the door and sit down.” He patted the edge of the bed near his hip, and she swallowed.

“
Ya
, but maybe I should leave the door open—your
daed
. . .”

“My
daed
knows you’ve been up here a hundred times with that door shut, but suit yourself.” He stretched his long arms behind his head so that his suspenders strained across his white shirt, and shifted so that his ankle was better positioned on the heap of pillows. “Will you sit down then?” he asked.

Rose forced herself away from the idea of the chair near the window and went to perch on his bedside, trying to keep away from the length of his black-clad leg.

“How’s the ankle?”

“Not too bad as long as I stay off it a bit here and there.”

Rose nodded and cast about for something else to say.

“So, it’s my fault, I’m guessing,” he observed.

“What’s your fault?”

“You meeting strangers in the woods.” He smiled up at her, but his eyes were searching, compelling.

She hadn’t been sure how to bring up the subject of his disguise and her enticement with him, but since he’d provided an opening . . .

“
Ya
, it is your fault. Both for being the stranger and for being—well, a stranger to me—your supposedly best friend.” Her voice wavered a bit. “But I could have told you I recognized you.”

“You told that stranger you wanted freedom,” he said seriously. “Why did you agree to marry me, Rose?”

She caught her breath. She couldn’t tell him the things she’d told
Aenti
Tabby when she’d asked the same question, so she sat silent and miserable, staring at the quilt top.

He reached to toy with her fingers and took a deep breath. “It’s not too late for anything, Rose. Engagements can be broken. Friendships can remain.”

Her gaze flew to his handsome face, and her heart hammered in her chest. “Is that what you want?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “No fair, Rose. Tell me what you want.”

You
, her mind screamed with sudden certainty, but she wet her lips cautiously. He’d betrayed her trust, and she did want things from him—the truth, for a start. Yet she hadn’t been truthful either. She decided on plowing ahead in the discussion and getting to her own accounting later.

“You have no idea how it’s been for me,” she declared. “I’ve known you forever but haven’t really known you at all—at least, that’s how it seems.”

“So you feel like I’ve taken advantage of you in a way?” he asked quietly.

She blew out a frustrated breath. “No . . .
ya
. . . I don’t know. And you’ve never seemed to well—desire me—when you were—are—really you—”

“Why are your fingers purple?” he interrupted.

“Beet juice sugaring.”

“
Ach
,” he sighed, squeezing her fingertips. “Well, I have taken advantage of you, I guess. I didn’t mean to. And as far as desiring you, Rose—do you have any idea what it’s been like holding back for all these months—these years even?”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I felt like the same kid who chased bullfrogs with you and brought home stray dogs. I felt like you’d grown into something beautiful while I was still this awkward person. And then . . . when
Mamm
died, I guess I just sort of distanced myself, unintentionally, but the feelings were there, Rose.”

“Well, I thought you couldn’t stand the thought of touching me, and I wanted—well . . .” She thrilled at the thought that he’d fought back his feelings for her.

His hand drifted to stroke her arm. “What did you want?”

She shook her head stubbornly in reply, and he shifted his weight fully onto his back. “Rose, listen . . . I’m sorry. I’ll prove it to you. Come here.” His eyes burned like dark blue flame as he reached out for her.

Rose leaned forward and reached one purple fingertip to trace the contour of his mouth. She brushed her lips against his, following the trail of her finger. His arms drew her closer and he deepened the kiss, and she felt his chest rise and fall in uneven rhythm.

Rose pulled away. There
was
more she wanted from him . . . answers, for a start.

“Luke, tell me about the thefts,” she whispered. “And the
Englisch
ways of dress and doings. You were baptized last year.”

“I know.”

“And?” She trailed her lips to the line of his throat, finding a spot behind his ear and tasting the salty sweetness of his skin.

“And I can’t go hobbling out there in the dark anymore . . . at least, not until this ankle heals up.”

She broke away from him at his words, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand.

“What were you doing in the first place? Why would you steal from your own people when they’d gladly give you anything you asked for?”

He opened his eyes with visible reluctance. “Would they?”

“
Ya
, you know that.”

He shook his dark head slowly. “They’d give for me, but maybe not for someone else.”

“Someone else?” Her heart began to pound in dismay. “Who else?”

“I can’t say, Rose. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t say?”

“
Nee
, but I do need your help.”

Rose was rapidly losing patience. “You need my help—but you can’t say why? Are you wanting me to pick up where you left off—rebuilding tumbledown shacks, thieving from the neighbors, and pretending I’m
Englisch
?”

“Actually, something like that.”

Rose bounced upward so fast that the bedsprings twanged.

Luke grimaced with pain as the pillows under his foot shifted. “Just sit down and listen.”

“
Nee
. Not until you start telling me your secrets.”

“It’s not my secret to tell,” he said finally.

She bristled at his words. “Then whose secret is it?”

“Another woman’s.” He looked grim. “An
Englisch
woman.”

L
UKE’S CALLS TO
R
OSE WENT UNHEEDED, AND EVENTUALLY
he sank back against his pillow and covered his face with his bandaged hand. He looked up in surprise when the door creaked back open.

“What’s all the fuss?” Mark asked, almost apologetically. “I was next door fixing that windowsill for
Daed
.”