A Quiet Life Page 10

Grace sang a few hymns for them. She had a beautiful voice. Matthias didn’t like to sing and Justus wondered if his choice to join in or not would pressure Lucy one way or the other. She closed her eyes immediately and appeared content to listen. Justus did the same.

  He listened anyway. He did not close his eyes. He watched Lucy enjoying the music. A small smile flit on and off as though her mouth was trying to follow a slow dance. Her eyes opened and caught him staring at her. The smile folded in on itself until her lips were inside her mouth and though her eyes stayed on his, her head began to tilt away. Justus tried to offer an encouraging smile. Her eyes widened but she did smile back, briefly.

  He turned to Grace as the song ended and told her it was beautiful. “I sure missed your voice in town,” he said. “There seemed to be more than one congregant who tried to make up for lack of ability with volume.”

  “I think God likes it when we sing to Him,” Grace said thoughtfully, “even when we don’t sound so great to each other.”

  Matthias, who was generally so stoic, grinned as he said, “There’s not so great and then there’s my voice.”

  Grace laughed and Justus said, “I don’t think you want to go insulting the Almighty on a Sunday. After all, He gave you that voice.”

  Matthias had gone back to his typical serious expression. “It’s not insulting to recognize that we have different gifts. Singing ain’t mine.”

  “What are your gifts?” Lucy asked tentatively.

  Matthias rubbed his hand under his chin as he considered the question.

  “Humility,” Grace said with a wink at her husband.

  “The man has a natural ability with animals,” Justus added. “The pigs hardly squeal at him, even when he’s coming to slaughter one. He can calm the jitteriest horse. I bet he could convince a hungry wolf not to bite him.”

  Grace shivered. “I’ll be happy if he never has a chance to prove you right on that last one.”

  “And he’s a skilled farmer. Our fields wouldn’t be as prosperous without his knack.”

  Matthias shook his head. “That’s just hard work, not some gift from God.”

  “That’s not true,” Lucy said. It was the least timid statement she’d ever made and it caused three heads to turn sharply in her direction. “The ability to work hard is a gift from God,” she continued. “I think He gives that one to all of us and some people simply choose not to accept it.”

  Grace nodded. “I agree. But what about you?” She kept her eyes on Lucy. “What gifts, other than hard work, did God give to you?”

  Lucy replied with a shrug.

  “I guess she got humility, too,” Justus observed. “With me around, I’d say we got more than our fair share.” He grinned at Lucy.

  “Maybe when you all know me better,” Lucy said, “you can tell me what my gifts are.”

  “Perhaps we’ll find out that you have a natural way with babies,” Grace said. She sent her husband a nervous glance before she patted her belly. “Because I’m afraid that I won’t.”

  Justus had begun a list of Lucy’s good qualities in his head, trying to determine which would be least likely to embarrass her, when Grace’s meaning grabbed his attention. “Are you saying,” he started, “are you telling us we’re gonna have another addition to the family?”

  “I think so.” Grace was turning pink.

  Lucy was smiling at the news and Justus jumped up to shake his brother’s hand. “Congratulations!”

  The four of them talked for a minute about one of the best gifts God could provide. Then Grace said she was itching to make footprints in the fresh snow. She and Matthias wrapped themselves up to do just that.

  Lucy was washing out some coffee cups as they left. Justus stood and watched her. She was wearing that frilly pink dress again. Grace had helped her make a pair of plain ones for everyday use. Lucy was always pretty but Justus was glad to see her put on the nice dress again. His ma had refused to wear her one store-bought dress on Sundays when they had no church to attend. She was so excited when Pa brought it home for her and she wore it only once before she died.

  The dark locks that Lucy usually left hanging in a long braid were pinned up on the back of her head in thinner braids, like Grace sometimes did to her hair. Justus felt a strong desire to inspect those braids more closely. He wondered if he could figure out how to make them fall. The attempt would surely succeed in producing one of those shocked expressions and while the thought amused him, he was hoping to alarm his wife less often.

  “How do you normally spend your Sunday afternoons?” he asked as he dried a cup, leaving at least two feet between them. He heard a soft sigh.

  “Sundays weren’t much different than the rest of the week with Pa,” she said. “Caroline never visited on Sundays because she was allowed to go to church and the trip to town and back was enough for her. I was left alone. I tried not to do any unnecessary work but…” She hung her head and whispered, “Pa was usually sick in the mornings and cleaning up seemed necessary.”

  Justus understood exactly what kind of sickness the man had suffered. Lucy clearly didn’t want to talk about that. “I guess I need a new routine,” he said.

  She looked up at him with a hint of confusion.

  “In town, I spent the first half of Sundays with Rev. John’s long-winded sermons and midday meals with various townsfolk. That was plumb exhausting. I spent the rest of the day holed up in my room at the boardinghouse, usually with a book. Don’t reckon I can do that here.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, I don’t feel the need for rest after the pleasant service we had today. For another, I wasn’t a married man then.” Justus tried to look open to ideas because he really didn’t know what would be the best way to spend their time together.

  Lucy untied her apron and dropped it over the back of a kitchen chair. “What did you do before you went to town?”

  “I have a workshop in the barn.”

  “For woodworking?”

  He nodded. He’d been out there a few times during the week, taking stock of what else he and Lucy might need when they moved to their own house. But he hadn’t started any new projects. It felt as though getting his wife to warm up to him was enough of a project.

  Lucy bit her lower lip uncertainly. “Will you show me?”

  Justus was pleased at the genuine interest, no matter how shyly she showed it. He said, “Get yourself warm and we’ll go out now.”

  She had her cloak, hat and mittens on before he’d fastened the first button on his coat. He hoped there was some eagerness in her hurry and not simply the fact that she was used to following orders. He hadn’t meant it as an order.

  Justus opened the front door and motioned for Lucy to go through first. They walked around to the far side of the barn. Though his workshop shared a wall, it wasn’t actually part of the barn at all. It had been added on more recently and had a separate door. He opened that one for Lucy as well. She stepped inside only far enough to let him pass and then pressed herself against a wall as though she was afraid to touch anything. Her eyes traveled rapidly over the room.

  “I made four chairs,” Justus said, trying to coax her a bit closer, “even though there’ll be two of us. I figure Grace and Matthias will visit.” He winked.

  Lucy nodded and did take a step as she looked at the chairs.

  “Over here is a new board for our bedstead,” he continued. “We’ll have to take a mattress from the other house and it makes no sense to leave the other one behind, but I had an idea for the shape and couldn’t let it go to waste.”

  “This is even nicer than the one in my room.” Lucy seemed to forget her hesitation as she came forward and ran her mitten-covered hand over the wood.

  Justus let her inspect it for a moment before he pointed to a small dressing table. “I made this for… well, I thought if I had a wife she’d want a place to sit and fix her hair. Ma had one that Grace uses now. But I don’t suppose it’ll be any good without a mirror.
When I bought the supplies, I figured I was heading for home alone and couldn’t justify the expense of something that might never get used.”

  “I don’t need a mirror,” Lucy said. She slowly slid the center drawer out and pushed it back in again. She took off one of her mittens to feel the smooth surface. “I’ve been checking my reflection in the window pane, same as I did before.”

  She was used to window glass? If she hadn’t had a proper look at herself in some time, that might explain some of her surprise that he enjoyed looking at her. She just didn’t know how pretty she was. That was one way to stave off vanity. “Still,” he said, “you should have a real mirror and I’m sorry I don’t have one for you.”

  Lucy made a small whimpering sound as she quickly turned away from him. At first, he thought she was taking another look at the chairs. He recognized the shake in her shoulders though. She was trying to suppress another fit of giggles, like when she thought of her pa being afraid she’d run off.

  Her hand came down on the back of a chair for support as the laughs became audible. She was sucking in breaths between them, trying to stop herself. He wanted to put his arms around her and be the support the chair was giving her. They could laugh together if she’d let him in on the joke. He settled for taking her other hand. It was the one without a mitten and her fingers were cold. She gripped his hand and stopped laughing abruptly.

  “Tell me, Lucy.”

  She shook her head and tried to step backwards.

  He didn’t let go. “What made you laugh?”

  She looked completely sober as she shook her head again. She refused to face him but after a moment of silence she whispered, “I just can’t believe you apologized to me.”

  “That was funny?” Justus was too confused to be offended that she had been laughing at him.

  Lucy let out a slow breath. She appeared to be considering what to say.

  Justus tried to be patient because he did want an explanation. He also wanted to kiss her. She was especially beautiful when she laughed. Heck, he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. The workshop had never seemed small before he stood in it holding his wife’s hand while her cheeks were pink and her warm breath fogged the air.

  “This farm,” Lucy said, “this farm is nearer to perfect than I could have imagined. You and your family have welcomed me so…” Her voice got a little quieter. “When I think of the life I almost had… the life you saved me from… and then you go and apologize over a piece of glass.”

  As soon as Lucy expressed the feeling of having been rescued, Justus decided that he’d heard enough explanation. He pulled her closer and put his lips on hers to stop them from talking. A small gasp escaped before she returned the kiss. Her other hand, the one he wasn’t holding, came up and touched his arm. The sense that she was reaching out to him stoked the desire to carry her into the house to answer in the most intimate way possible. He could picture the stunned expression she’d surely have if he picked her up though and it almost produced his own fit of mad laughter.

  He released her and took two steps away. This was not the right time. His hands fumbled over pulling back an oilcloth on a table. “This here,” he said, trying to pretend the tour had not been interrupted, “this’ll be for the kitchen. I’ve been using it as a work surface in the meantime.”

  A glance at Lucy said that she was looking at the table but he couldn’t tell if she saw it. Her expression was unreadable. At least surprise he recognized.

  “It’s sturdy,” he said, “but I didn’t try to make it fancy. I thought… well, some women would want to cover it with a pretty cloth anyway.”

  Justus rapped his knuckles on the tabletop as though that might demonstrate its soundness. Lucy still didn’t say anything.

  “I, uh... I cut some fresh lumber this week.” He gestured to some logs outside the door. “Haven’t even taken the bark off as I couldn’t decide what else we’d need.”

  Lucy slipped her loose mitten back over her hand. Then she sat down in the nearest chair. “Maybe not for us, maybe not for a while… but maybe… a cradle?”

  “A cradle?” Justus said. There was merit in that idea. Based on Grace’s still-flat stomach, the need was months away, but he’d never made a cradle. He might need all those months because it might take several attempts. Then he realized that Lucy had sat down because she intended to stay and watch him get started.

  That was an idea with much less merit. He was still thinking that he’d rather have his hands on her than on a piece of wood. Grabbing something sharp and trying to keep it steady while she was in the room was going to be difficult. He sighed and went to fetch a log. He unbuttoned his coat in the cold air for a jolt of concentration.

  ~~ ~~

  Lucy watched Justus bring a log inside and set it on the table. His muscular arms fit easily around it. An image came to mind of herself being in his arms in place of the wood. Now that was a ridiculous notion. Why would he want to carry her when she had two perfectly good legs? She might have wondered what put such a silly idea into her head except that she already knew. He’d kissed her again and confused the sense out of her in the process.

  After Grace’s comment about him being smitten, Lucy tried to pay attention for signs of affection. But Justus treated everyone so kindly she couldn’t convince herself there was anything special directed at her. Until he kissed her. There was a longing behind it so sweet and so intense and it disappeared so suddenly that she must have only dreamed it up. There he was now, scrapping away that bark as though she didn’t exist either.

  Adding to her puzzlement was Caroline’s insistence that having a man’s hands on you was something to endure. The kiss had made Lucy question her understanding of the word.

  Lucy tried to kick herself out of her fantasy world by focusing on the man in front of her. He’d tossed his hat aside and it hadn’t had time to squash the curls on top of his head like it did most evenings. Those curls shook slightly as he worked to remove the bark.

  He was an attractive man in every facet of the word and he tried to make her laugh. He was providing a wonderful home and would eventually care for her as much as any family member. Wishing that he felt the same heart-skipping passion that she did was being greedy.

  It seemed to Lucy that her thoughts were generating some sort of weird cloud in the room, dimming everything that wasn’t directly between her and Justus. His hands slipped a few times as though he sensed it and felt pressured by it. Was that why he kissed her? Was he still trying to fill the role she expected?

  Lucy took a deep breath to steady herself and pull the cloud back into her head. Some conversation should shift the focus to the job at hand. And she was genuinely interested in his work. She asked about the tools and his plans for the cradle. By the time they left the workshop, Grace nearly had dinner on the table. Lucy felt guilty for not helping. Justus had asked her not to tell anyone what he was working on and the satisfaction of sharing a secret with him tempered her guilt.

  A few days later, Grace suggested they make a dessert for the men and Lucy offered to do it herself. Grace accepted the offer and pulled out some needlework. Lucy was nervous as she got started and spoke each step aloud in the hopes that Grace would stop her if she was about to ruin it.

  Her pie was cooling and she was helping Grace cut some biscuits when Matthias and Justus came into the house. They were trying to get a floor in the new house before it was time to plow the fields.

  “How’d it go today?” Grace asked over her shoulder.

  When her question got no answer, both women turned to see their husbands standing in the doorway, hats still on, drinking in the air. Justus turned to his brother, “‘Bout time they made us a pie, don’t you think?”

  Matthias nodded solemnly and began unbuttoning his coat.

  Justus quickly hung up his outer clothing and came into the kitchen half of the room for inspection. “Pumpkin?” he said, eyes wide in mock disbelief.

  Grace laughed and tried to shoo hi
m away.

  “Just a little piece,” he pleaded. “It isn’t fair to make a hungry man wait when it smells so good.”

  “You’ll have to take it up with your wife,” Grace said. “Lucy made the pie.”

  Justus shifted his attention to Lucy and she thought she might melt in the heat from his expectant gaze. “Will you let me taste it if I say please?”

  She turned automatically to get a plate and as she held her knife over the pie, she saw the biggest grin she’d ever seen appear on her husband’s face as he said, “You’re not just teasing me, are you?”

  Her hand froze as something clicked in her brain. He was honestly asking her permission. When her pa said, “Can I have some pie?” he meant, “Hurry up and dish me some pie before I get angry.” But Justus wasn’t going to touch it if she asked him not to. This was what it was like to have a man’s respect.

  She forced a smile even though a tear was working its way towards the bridge of her nose. “Just a small piece,” she said as she dished it quickly to turn away.

  She wasn’t fast enough. Justus saw the tear. He left the pie on the table and put his hand on her shoulder. The gentle touch threatened to turn the single tear into a flood and she was not going to cry in front of everyone. She shook him off and said, “Please eat the pie.”

  Lucy concentrated on the biscuit dough as she heard the chair scrape across the floor and the sound of a fork on a tin plate.

  Grace leaned over and whispered, “Are you all right?”

  Lucy nodded. She had pushed aside the flash of emotion.

  After a minute, Justus moved to the corner chair and began the rhythmic scratching of his knife on a stick. He said, “I bet you wish you had asked for pie, too, don’t you?”

  Matthias made no audible reply.

  “I’m already looking forward to more later.”

  “What makes you think you get more?” Grace teased.

  “I know you can’t eat it fast enough to stop me.”

  “What if you fill up on the stew?” Lucy asked. “Grace has been working hard on it.”