Chapter 26
They sat together in silence in the moving sled. Jacob held rein on Thunder as the horse sought to gather speed and slide the cutter along in the brisk night air. But Jacob was in no hurry to get home and face his marriage bed once more. For one thing, he’d told himself that he absolutely would not go to sleep, not if there was any chance that he’d make a fool of himself as he’d done the previous night. He didn’t need that much sleep anyway and could always catch a nap here and there when he was back working at the horse farm. It seemed that a long life of dreamless nights sprawled before him unless he could put a bit and bridle on his dumm mind.
Then he thought of Seth and his throat ached. His fury had burned down to a gnawing hurt, and he had to concentrate on the road to keep from reliving the moments in the bedroom all over again.
“Your home is so alive, Jacob. You’re blessed to have such a family,” Lilly said.
“Jah, the Lord is gut.” He searched his mind for something else to say, wanting to bridge the wide gulf that seemed to stretch between them. “Are you cold?” he asked, wondering if she’d just think it was an excuse to get her closer to him. He had to admit that was part of it. But he really was concerned about her. She finally scooted across the seat of the small sled and he thought he could feel the sweet warmth of her against his side, even through the thickness of his coat.
“I hope my mother was all right,” she said. “But I suppose if she hadn’t been, we would have heard. Your mamm sent a whole baking pan of sticky buns home to tempt her appetite.”
“That’s nice.”
“Jacob, I’m sorry about Seth. I—didn’t mean anything, but I was wrong. Please forgive me. It will never happen again.”
He looked down at her face, pale with concern even in the darkness.
“You’re forgiven. Don’t worry about it. I mostly blame myself anyway.”
She was silent and he strove once more for some balance of conversation. “It must be going to snow again tonight; my shoulder’s aching.”
“Ach, I’m sorry.” She patted his gloved hand, then drew away, taking a deep breath. “I felt sorry for Mrs. Zook. Did you notice how tearful she looked at supper? I was really surprised at the argument that she and Kate had. Did you—could you hear them?”
“Jah, it was difficult not to.”
“Do you think Kate will be all right? I mean … I know I’ve never been that fond of her—I’ve actually been quite jealous of her at times. But Tom Granger’s son? It just doesn’t seem right— even if it is her rumspringa.”
He shrugged. “Englisch or not, the son may be different from the father, and we cannot judge.”
She made a soft sound of agreement.
“I guess I feel like a person’s got to make choices,” he said. “And maybe I’m prejudiced, but it seems to me that women tend to get involved with other people’s choices a lot more than men do.”
Lilly gave a quick sniff. “Well, I hope you’d be involved if it were your daughter …” She broke off and he remained silent, unsure of what she wanted him to say.
She drew a small breath. “I guess the truth of why I’m interested in Kate Zook running around with an Englischer’s son is because that jealousy hasn’t really gone away. I’m still jealous of her—or something. And that sounds bad, like I want to be the one running around or having rumspringa—I mean, after tonight with Seth …” She trailed off anxiously and he decided to have mercy on the tangle of words she’d gotten herself into.
“Did you have a rumspringa or were you always sure about being baptized and joining the church?”
“Jah, I was sure; I didn’t need a time of running around to know.” There was a faint, wistful tone in her voice that belied her words and surprised him. Lilly, who seemed so steady and calm and logical, perhaps wanting to experience the outside world. It just didn’t seem to fit with what he thought he knew of her.
“Tell me about your rumspringa,” she ventured.
He half-laughed, remembering. “You don’t want to know.”
“But I do, really.”
“Ach, it was … a mess, really.” He let his mind drift back over the wild year when he’d been nineteen. Time stolen from the Englisch world came to him in a rush of flagrant images—baseball games and beer drinking, blue jeans and T-shirts hidden for quick changing in the back of his buggy. But also … the girls.
“Did you … I mean … you were waiting for Sarah, so you probably didn’t …” Lilly broke off but he knew exactly what she was getting at.
“Didn’t see other girls? Englisch girls?”
“Well, jah.”
His mouth tightened with regret as he thought of the countless times that year that he’d gone past what he knew was proper, nuzzling and kissing girls without any particular concern. It didn’t matter how willing and eager the girl had been. It had been wrong. He’d rationalized his behavior with juvenile male pride that he was “practicing” for Sarah, so she’d get no bumbling fool for a husband. Now, he just felt cold by the meaningless moments and wished he could take back his behavior despite the fact that he’d confessed it in vague terms before he’d joined the church.
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.
When 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.