Chapter 23
If she’d struck him a physical blow, it couldn’t have shocked him more. He sank down onto his marriage bed—the bed where he’d spoken the name of another woman. He had no doubt that what Lilly said was true. He frantically combed through his mind to catch the dream, but it eluded him. He was never much at remembering his dreams; they’d never seemed to matter. Though he knew the Bible said that sometimes the Lord would speak to one of His own in dreams. Yet now—now, something from his stupid mind had hurt his new bride—and badly. He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if Lilly had cried out the name of another man, but he knew it had to be the intense pain of a knife blade cutting. He stared at her bent shoulders and dropped his head in his hands.
“Lilly … I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s not good enough, Jacob.”
“No, I know.” He looked at her, feeling his face burn with shame. “I don’t remember dreaming of Sarah.”
“But you were. Admit it. To yourself. To me. You really do love her still, maybe more than you even guessed. More than I could have guessed …” There was painful resignation in her tone, and it made his eyes sting.
He tried to think, to search his soul and mind, then remembered his fervent prayer of the night before.
“Lilly … I want to love you. To choose you.”
“Choose me? You did that already, Jacob. It’s called a wedding, remember?”
He rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Choose you first. Consciously. I-I’ve prayed about it. I don’t want to have feelings for Sarah. I’m trying.”
The room was quiet and he watched her think, his breath held. At last, she turned from the window, her slender body in silhouette from the sun’s first rays.
“All right, Jacob. I knew what I was getting. I knew it. This is my fault too, for going forward, for believing that you could forget.”
“I can forget. I will.”
“No. Your will can accomplish nothing on its own.” She took a deep breath. “The Lord must work this out between us. I … I forgive you though I cannot promise to forget.”
He bowed his head at her words, then listened as she gathered her things and slipped from the room.
Lilly went about her morning chores examining her own heart. There was no sense being mad or keeping secrets in a marriage that she’d vowed to honor all of her life. she’d accept his apology but remember to keep him at a distance emotionally.
She rolled back the wine-colored sleeves of the blouse she’d changed into and smoothed her white apron over her black dress. Then she set about making a big breakfast, hoping that Jacob would enjoy it; she might as well proceed with an attitude of goodwill.
She’d have to get up earlier on school days now too, she considered, as she made potato cakes out of the wedding’s leftover mashed potatoes. Tending to both her mother and Jacob’s meals would probably require a little more time.
She looked over her shoulder with a tight smile as the master bedroom door creaked open and Jacob walked into the kitchen. He’d changed into an aqua blue shirt and dark pants, and his hair looked freshly combed.
“Scrambled eggs, fried ham slices, potato cakes, and tomato preserves for breakfast,” she said low, attempting to be pleasant.
“That sounds gut.” He clasped his hands behind his back and moved to look out the kitchen window where snow fell in thick flakes.
“I have to make some Christmas cookies after breakfast—for all the guests who are bound to come round.”
“Ach, sure. That’s fine.”
She set a platter of the delicately fried potato cakes on the table.
“I forgot to mention,” he spoke. “My mamm invited us over this afternoon. She said to bring your mamm, of course.”
Lilly grimaced a bit as she turned the tender ham slices. “We must go—I’d love it, but I don’t know if my mother will come or not.”
“Do you mind leaving her for a bit at the holiday?”
“Nee, she’ll be fine. And, like I said, the bishop makes sure people always drop over, but I suppose more will come today because of us—Mamm just won’t answer the door if she’s not feeling up to visitors.” She brought the rest of the food to the table and surveyed the settings. “There—would you like to eat? Mamm will probably be up later and take something in her room.”
He came to the table and then bolted through his food so fast that she’d barely had the chance to begin on her eggs. He rose and took his plate to the sink, rinsing it, then depositing it on the counter.
“I have the outside chores to do—the horses and the firewood. You needn’t worry anymore about those things. I’ll be back in a bit.” And he was gone out the kitchen door with his coat half on and his scarf trailing loosely about his neck, dangling to his lean waist. As her eyes filled with unshed tears, she noticed he’d even left his hat behind.
Jacob walked rapidly to the haven of the barn and slid the door closed behind him as though he were being pursued. The horses nickered in greeting, but he couldn’t think straight enough to respond. Instead he leaned his back against the support of the wooden door and closed his eyes.
His head swam with half-worded prayers. He’d asked for Derr Herr’s help to choose to love his wife and then he’d called out for Sarah—on his wedding night. He tried again to grasp the dream, to rally his subconscious into some kind of obedience. But he couldn’t remember, and Lilly had said she couldn’t forget.
He expelled a breath of surrender. What had she said about his will? It was not his will that could work in all of this, but the Lord’s.
He opened Buttercup’s stall and greeted her with the back of his curled hand. Then he touched her gently on her withers. And she yielded to his touch. His gentle touch. Yield. He needed to learn how to yield to the Lord in the same way his horses learned to yield to the touch of his fingers—even those secret parts of his mind that seemed so far out of reach. Even his dreams needed to fall into the trust of the Lord.