Chapter 42
Snow kissing. Yeah, I heard you. That’s gut …” Seth’s voice drifted off in the stillness of the barn and Jacob rolled his eyes.
“I’m trying to get some advice here, bruder.”
“From your lecherous younger sibling? You’re wasting your time. Remember, I tried to steal your bride.”
“Why are you so down on yourself?” Jacob smoothed his hand across Thunder’s side.
“You mean my tortured, longing self?” Seth sprawled across a bale of hay, his chin on his chest.
“Jah, that self. The one that’s deciding to shut down because only one woman in a lifetime isn’t swayed by your charm.”
“I’d rather go back to snow kissing.”
“Me too. I’m just not sure how to get there.”
“Jacob,” Seth groaned, lolling his head against a beam. “You are married! You know … marrriieeedd! Do what you want.”
“You’re no help. I think I went too fast and now I don’t know how to reach her without seeming like I just want to—”
“You make me sick.”
“Danki. Yet, I still have patience enough to tell you that you’d better get over yourself. You certainly aren’t going to win her by wallowing.”
“I don’t want to win her—or anybody else for that matter.”
“Okay. I’m going to go work with that colt now. I promised Tommy I’d give him some training time with me. Why don’t you go paint?” Jacob slid the barn door open.
“I can’t paint anymore. It doesn’t work,” Seth growled.
“Then you, my little bruder, are in deep trouble—heart trouble.” He shut the door before he could make out Seth’s furious response.
Lilly looked up from the projects she was grading at the kitchen table and wondered what time Jacob would get home. She sighed when she thought about how far he seemed to have drifted from her in the few days after their kisses on the trail. He seemed to be reserved and holding back for some reason, yet she knew he’d been intent in the woods. She wondered if she’d ever understand him and resisted the urge to bite her lip at the thought.
“Are you troubled about something?”
Lilly looked across the table into the sitting room where her mamm had been writing in her journal. It was still amazing to hear the warmth and tenderness that pervaded her mother’s tone when she spoke.
Lilly shrugged. “I don’t know. Danki for asking, Mamm.”
Her mother patted the chair next to hers. “Come here, will you? Let’s have a visit.”
Lilly went, pleased at the diversion of her thoughts; she sat down and smiled.
“I’ve been thinking, Lilly. We’ve never had—well, a woman-to-woman talk about what to expect as a married woman.”
Lilly raised a brow. “I think I understand the mechanics, Mamm.”
Her mother gave a false frown. “Saucy-mouthed girl. That’s not what I mean.”
“All right. I’m sorry. I have to confess that I don’t know what to expect from Jacob half the time.”
Her mother patted her hand. “That’s what I thought. I’d like you to read something from my journal, if you will.”
“Ach, I’d love to.” Lilly knew how important the journal was to her mother’s recovery and felt honored to be asked to share a part of it.
Her mother riffled through the pages a bit, then found a certain spot. “Here. Read from here to the bottom of the next page.”
Lilly took the notebook and thought how both familiar and foreign her mother’s handwriting was to her; it seemed such an intimate thing. Something she remembered from childhood yet hadn’t glimpsed in so long. She knew from teaching that handwriting revealed much about the personality of the writer. Her mother’s strongly formed loops and word endings were a reassurance that her strength and will were present and focused. She began to read.
I think I married Hiram too young—or at least, I was too young in my mind. I didn’t know half of what it meant to be a wife and mother when suddenly there was this sober, dark-haired baby girl staring up at me with all the trust in the world. I scarcely knew how to care for her. Oh, I understood the feeding and the diapering, but when she cried, it pierced my soul and scared me to death—especially when Hiram was out on a call. He always seemed to know how to comfort her better than I, and I found myself comforted just watching him hold her. But I also felt left behind. As though I were the one on the outside.
When we’d go to Meetings or frolics, I’d watch the other mothers with their babes and I’d wonder about the distance I felt from my daughter, though I held her close to my heart every chance I had. She didn’t resist me, but I never felt that I was sure enough, gut enough, to parent her with confidence. I didn’t know how to keep everything together—the running of the home, Hiram’s involvement with his work, and the ever-watching beautiful blue eyes of my baby maedel.
Suppose I failed her? Suppose I let her get hurt? When she started to crawl and bumped her head or walked and skinned her knee, I was riddled with guilt. I should have watched more closely, not let her have gone so far away from me.
And then … somehow, she was grown up, and Hiram was gone. I was still too young to deal with everything. And then my baby married—became a wife, will surely someday become a mother, and still, I am unsure of how to help her. What to do for her—to keep her safe. Should I tell her the truth—that marriage is sometimes filled with expectations that are never met, that the heart gets bruised but must go on? Should I tell her of the moments of joy, the intense pleasure of holding the hand of the one you love and wishing that time would stand still? What about the differences that arise—the petty arguments and fault finding that you wish would all be gone, never having been said. What about when your heart’s love takes ill and shrinks to some shadow of the person you knew. How do I tell her all of this and so much more? I love her … my Lilly. I told Hiram we must name her that, for I could think of no other flower so beautiful, and so delicate. She’s grown to match her name. But she is her own woman too. A special, wunderbaar woman. And for that, I am not too young to acknowledge and to be thankful to Derr Herr.
Lilly looked up with tears in her eyes. “Ach, Mamm.” She slipped from her chair to kneel at her mother’s feet, laying her head in the warm lap and feeling the comfort of gentle hands brushing at the hair against the nape of her neck. “I never knew”—she sobbed—“that you thought all that.”
“I should have told you,” her mother whispered. “But I can tell you now. And I can tell you that I know you’ve been struggling here and there with Jacob. I’ve prayed for you. I’ll keep on praying. You will have a gut marriage, a gut life. And I … I love you so much.”
“Oh, I love you too, Mamm.” Lilly clung to her mother and felt a peace that touched the deepest shadows in her soul. She felt whole and renewed and ready to face life as Jacob’s wife.
A sudden knock on the back kitchen door made her look up, startled, and she rose. She gave her mother a quick hug and quickly wiped away her tears. Then she went to open the door, wondering who might be calling so near to suppertime.
It was Alice, looking at her with suppressed excitement on her merry face. “Lilly, I have an idea. You have to come with me into Lockport right now.”