Chapter 22
Lilly came fully awake when she heard him call out the name … Sarah. She rolled over and looked at him in the half light of predawn. His hair was ruffled against the white pillow, his lashes thick crescents against his flushed cheeks, his breathing rapid and uneven. He was dreaming—about Sarah.
Lilly felt a chill deep inside as if he had struck her with an icy hand. She moved away from him in silence. She didn’t try to check the tears streaming down her cheeks, and she clenched her hands together beneath her pillow. Somehow, last night in the barn, she had thought that he was interested in her as a person. As someone to share his life with. The idea of him still harboring his love for Sarah had foolishly never even entered her mind.
Now she knew the truth; his subconscious mind revealed where his heart truly lay, and she must never, ever forget it. She decided that allowing him to get too close to her would only hurt her in the end. She wondered if she’d been a fool to go through with a wedding to someone who was so in love with another woman that he dreamed of her on his wedding night. She swallowed a sob, then jumped as she felt his hand on her shoulder.
“Guder mariye, Mrs. Wyse.” His voice was deep, lulling. She thrust the sound from her mind.
“You slept in your wedding dress? Why didn’t you change?”
She wiped hastily at her tears, then hoped her voice would come out steady. “I couldn’t see in the dark. So silly of me.”
“Are you all right?”
She felt him shift in the bed, moving closer to her.
She nodded hard. “Allergies—in the morning. I need to get a drink of water.” She wriggled from beneath his hand and slid from the bed, keeping her head turned. She hurried across the wide fir boards and slipped out the door and into the safety of the kitchen.
She knew she had to go back to him, if only to grab clean clothes and change before her mother awoke and started to ask questions. So she splashed icy cold water on her face from the sink again and again, then dried herself with a tea towel. She straightened, smoothed out the wrinkles in her wedding dress, then headed back to the bedroom.
She had made her vows before Derr Herr and man, and she had no intention of forsaking her words—no matter whom he chose to dream about.
Jacob allowed himself the rare luxury of lounging awake in bed while the first streaks of dawn played across his chest and arms. He folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. His father had insisted he take the day after the wedding and Christmas day off from his normal chores and work. He hadn’t wanted to, but now he considered that it might be nice to spend some time getting to know his bride. The Englisch idea of a honeymoon was not something practiced by his community. Instead, couples would usually spend the remainder of the winter months with the groom’s family, visiting relatives here and there, and then move into their own little place, usually on the groom’s family property. But there was always the possibility for differences in living arrangements, like in the case of Lilly’s mamm.
He opened his eyes as Lilly reentered the room, her head still down.
“Feeling all right?” he asked.
She nodded, and he watched as she began to gather clothing from the neat row of nails along the wall, then picked up her brush from the dresser. There was definitely something wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Perhaps he’d accidentally touched her in his sleep and made her feel uncomfortable.
He pulled his hands from behind his head and played with the sheet tangled along his hip for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.
“Lilly, before you go dress, I was wondering if there is … uh … some husband’s privilege that you’d like me to exercise?”
That made her look up. She stared at him with eyes as round as a hoot owl’s and stood frozen at the end of the bed.
“A husband’s privilege?” she whispered in a tight voice.
He watched her from beneath shuttered lids as she appeared to be gathering the resolve to bolt.
“Jah, I thought there might be something that you wanted …”
She looked like she was considering as she put a slender hand up to feel for her kapp, which was askew from the night’s sleep. Stray tendrils of rich brown strands fell in wisps around the fine bones of her face and neck.
“You think I want something from you?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She put her hand down and clutched her clothes in front of her like a shield.
He watched in some confusion as myriad expressions played across her face—anger, sadness, and then, reluctant determination.
She dropped the pile of clothes to the floor and stepped closer to where he sat.
“You want to know if I want something from you—something for the little wife to keep her feeling happy?” Her voice trembled with suppressed emotion.
“Jah?” He wondered where he’d made his mistake.
“Very well, Mr. Wyse.”
She used her schoolteacher tone and he had the feeling that he’d just grabbed hold of the wrong end of a rattlesnake.
Did she want something from him? She wanted to give him a firm kick somewhere. Her tears had given way to a definite flame of anger, and she was furious with herself for even now letting her eyes stray to his bare chest. She dragged her gaze upward and saw uncertainty mingled with concern in his eyes. She dropped her arms to her sides and stood stiff and still.
He stood up and caught her close, then bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “You’re riled about something, my fraa. I wonder what?”
She shrugged her shoulders and looked at his sock-covered feet.
“What have I said?” He reached to touch her hair with a gentle hand. “May I help you brush your hair?”
“What—do you mean?”
He smiled as she peeked up at him. “I’m a hand at grooming horses, but your hair is altogether different—it’s so soft and smells like summer. It’s like something from a dream—” He broke off, seeming to lose his train of thought, and she frowned.
But his hands were already at her hair, feeling for the pins that held her kapp in place.
“How many hairpins do you use?”
She tried to concentrate on the unusual question while his clever fingers began to find each pin in its hidden place.
“I don’t—I mean, it doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it does,” he coaxed, locating a pin behind one ear and bending to brush his lips against the spot.
She stared fixedly at his chest, trying to remind herself where his heart truly lay. She recited in her head the proper anatomical terms for the bones and muscles that moved and flexed in perfect symmetry before her. Thorax … sternum … trapezius …
With a flick of his wrist he tossed her kapp backward onto the bed, and she felt more of her hair begin to come loose. He bent his face close to hers, so that his own dark hair brushed her hot cheeks. “Well, teacher, you’re trying to be a million miles away. Why is that?”
Her breath felt funny in her chest, like the time she’d raced some students to the top of Elk Mountain and had won. She couldn’t help but meet his warm eyes and she tried once more to focus. Iris … cornea … mouth …
She pulled away from his arms, feeling confused and absurd, with one part of her hair up and the rest down. She hugged her arms protectively across her chest and knew she had to get things out in the open with him or she’d probably always feel consumed with the raw emotions he seemed to inspire. “You ask me what I want? Fine. I want truth between us, Jacob Wyse.”
“Truth?”
“Jah.” She turned to face the window, not wanting to see his face when she spoke. “Do you still love her?”
There was a distinct quiet in the room that did little to reassure her.
“Sarah?” he asked finally.
“Jah, Jacob—Sarah.” Her voice trembled and she clenched her hands into fists. “I must know.” She turned to face him.
He shook his head once as though to align his thoughts in order to speak. “Nee.”
“Truth!” she demanded.
“Why do you ask—”
“This morning you cried out in your sleep. You called for her. You said Sarah’s name.”