A Marriage of the Heart (7 page)

Utterly drained, she pulled the covers up to her chin and dreamed fitfully. Tangled blue threads, the color of the wedding dress she was sewing on a bit each day, seemed to stretch from her
mind to wrap around her arms and wrists. The thread was thin but confining, and she struggled against the bonds. Then a dark-hooded stranger stood before her and raised a pair of silver shears high. She felt her breath catch in her throat at the slash of silver against the white of her skin, but then the threads were gone and she was free. She called to him because he was running from her, and he turned. The hood fell away, and Luke stood before her. Then he caught her up in a swinging embrace and she laughed, free and clear . . .

Rose jerked awake and sat straight up in bed. Her heart was pounding and she stared out the window, glad to see the first streaks of the morning sun falling across the hardwood floor of her room. She decided that a walk in the woods before breakfast would clear her tangled thoughts, and she hurried to dress. She wanted to slip away before anyone would notice she was gone. She needed some time to herself to consider her dream.

But when she crept downstairs, it was to find everyone wide-awake and already halfway through breakfast at the kitchen table. “
Mamm
,” she cried in dismay. “Why didn’t you call me to help with the meal?”

Ben laughed. “We all called you, but you slept like the dead! Don’t you remember that today’s the first day of the fair?”

Rose bit her lip as she accepted a bowl of steaming oatmeal from her mother and sat down at the table. “I guess I forgot,” she mumbled.

The first fall fair in the area was something her family always attended together, but after her poor night’s sleep, the outing held little appeal. She kept seeing the moment in her dream when the stranger’s hood fell backward to reveal Luke’s face.

“As is right,” her father remarked, scraping the last of his plate. “Probably dreaming of your wedding coming, like any girl would.”

Rose concentrated on the wet lumps of her oatmeal and didn’t lift her head. She had no desire to talk about dreaming—wedding or otherwise.

“Are you feeling well, Rosie?”
Aenti
Tabby asked softly.

A sudden inspiration struck Rose. “Well, actually . . . if you all wouldn’t mind—I wonder if I might stay home today to do some sewing on my wedding dress. I’ve barely pieced the pattern yet, and I feel like time is running away from me.”

She saw her mother glance down the table to her father’s warm eyes.

“
Ya
, Rose.”
Mamm
smiled. “Just for today. Some time alone may be
gut
for you.”

Rose nodded.
“Danki.”

James held his plate out for more sausage. “
Ya
, Rose, but just don’t go entertaining any Rob in the Hood while we’re gone. Luke Lantz might take offense.”

She frowned as both of her brothers laughed, and told herself that she’d had enough of fairy tales for a while.

O
NCE SHE’D HELPED CLEAN UP BREAKFAST, THEN WAVED
the family off, she decided that a walk in the brisk sunshine would do her good before beginning hours of sewing. Of their own accord, her feet seemed to lead to the forest behind her home. She spent a peaceful half hour praying as she walked, collecting
the reddest leaves, and daydreaming. On one level, she continued her prayers for Luke from the evening before, asking the Lord if Luke might one day escape the task of bookkeeping and use instead the ready skill he had with woodworking.

But then she became aware of a rhythmic pounding from somewhere in the distance. She stopped and listened. She couldn’t imagine who’d be building on anything out this far. Her steps quickened as a childish memory of an old tumbledown shack on the Lantzes’ property surfaced in her consciousness. She crept through the trees to the sunny clearing and stopped, pressing hard against an old oak.

Clad in blue jeans, work boots, and a loose white shirt, Luke was atop the low roof of the old shack. His back was to her, his head bent, as he concentrated on securing a new white pine board to the roof. The sun caught on the muscles of his arms as he lifted the hammer, and she made an inadvertent sound of pleasure at the sight. He half turned in her direction, then seemed to tense and put a foot back onto the gray wood. There was a brief cracking sound and a muffled cry. Rose gasped as the weathered part of the roof gave way beneath his weight and Luke disappeared in a rain of old wood and an ominous cloud of dust.

Chapter Eleven

R
OSE RAN TO THE DOOR OF THE SHACK, COUGHING AS SHE
breathed in the dust. She flung open the door and saw Luke lying facedown and still beneath a splintered pile of boards. She began snatching at the boards, heedless of their weight or the scratches from the wood on her arms.

“Luke! Are you all right?”

He gave a faint groan, then sneezed from the mess she was kicking up. “Rose—you know it’s me?”

“
Ya
, of course . . . since that first time in the woods.”

Luke sighed, a gusty exhalation, rolled over onto his back, and stared up at her through the dust and shards of wood. “I should have known,” he muttered. He closed his eyes and slid one arm up and over his face, revealing an ugly gash on the underside of his wrist.

She dropped to her knees beside him and began to tear a strip from her apron and dab at the blood.

He lowered his arm slowly. “Don’t. It needs to be washed first. And I think there’s a splinter there.”

Even his voice seemed different now—husky, inviting. And his dark blue eyes gleamed up at her with a knowing confidence. She let her eyes trail down his torn shirt to the low-slung blue jeans and shook her head, wondering if she was losing her mind. Was this really her Luke? The irony of her sense of proprietorship struck when she realized that no woman would take for granted the holding of the man before her.

“I—should have told you that I knew who you were,” she said. “But I wanted you to trust me, to tell me what you were doing. You didn’t.” Her eyes met his, and he caught her hand, pulling her dirty fingertips to his lips.

“Nee
,” he murmured against her skin. “I was wrong.”

He kissed her fingers with lingering passion, as she watched, mesmerized; then he let her go. She snatched her hand back as if she’d touched hot coals, feeling her face grow warm, whether from anger or excitement, she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts felt thick, like the oatmeal she’d choked down at breakfast.

“Well, then—what? Why did you go on pretending with me that you were the thief?”

He smiled at her, a flash of white teeth and something fast and wolfish that made her catch her breath. “I am the thief.”

“You—you touched me and kissed me, and I thought I was betraying Lu—you! Or that you were betraying me . . .” She broke off in confusion.

“Let your hair down, Rose, will you?” His eyes were intent, compelling, and she wondered if he’d taken a knock on the head when he’d fallen.

“Wh-what?”

“Please. I want to see you—revealed, like you’re seeing me.”

“Revealed?” she repeated slowly. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I’m the same person I’ve always been, Rose. Maybe you just haven’t noticed.”

She shook her head, inadvertently letting several strands escape the confines of her
kapp
and brush against his chest.

He smiled, a lazy, sultry smile that made her think of honey dripping from a comb, and she had to blink to keep her thoughts straight.

“We’re nearly married,” he observed, reaching to catch a stray curl and run it between his fingertips. The sunlight slanted down through the hole in the roof at that moment and fell across the tableau of her hair in his hand.

“Luke!” she snapped, breaking his reverie and yanking her hair from his hand. She ignored the sharp pain at her scalp. She was having difficulty breathing and thought that the dust couldn’t be good for either one of them. “We need to get out of here.”

“Probably,” he murmured. “But I think my left ankle’s sprained, so it may present a problem.” His eyes drifted closed.

“Hey!”

“Don’t worry; I’m here. Just get me up, if you can. We’ll go to Dr. Knepp’s.”

“Fine. But you’ve got to tell me what you’re doing with this shack—in the middle of nowhere.” Her fingers pressed down his leg to test the extent of the sprain, and she wondered desperately how she’d ever move his weight.

He laughed, then groaned when she touched his ankle.
“That’s another story. And don’t forget my wallet and pants when we go.”

“Is that all you’re hiding?” she muttered, reaching to grasp at his shoulders.

“Maybe.” He grinned lopsidedly. “But there might be a few more things I should confess to the bishop before we marry.”

She stared at him in exasperation and wondered exactly what else her all-too-familiar and at the same time utterly alien betrothed would have to confess before she became his wife.

Chapter Twelve

S
HE BREATHED A SIGH OF RELIEF WHEN HE TOLD HER
that he’d hidden a horse and wagon in a copse of trees behind the shack. She led the horse round to the front of the dilapidated place, then half walked, half dragged Luke outside, trying to ignore the scent of sun and sweat that clung to his dusty skin.

“Your shirt’s ruined,” she pointed out. “And where are your suspenders?”

He grinned at her and gestured with his chin. “Over on that stump with my other stuff.”

She went to gather his wallet and hat. Then she picked up his dark pants with the attached suspenders and turned to him with a frown. He was leaning against the horse for support, and for all of his seeming cheerfulness she couldn’t help but see the tense lines of pain around his handsome mouth.

“Do you—do you want to put this on?” she questioned gruffly, extending the hat to him.

Luke nodded. “
Ya
, if you’ll help a bit.” His eyes danced as he swayed.

“Fine.” She laid the items in her hands on the wagon seat, then came closer to where he stood, perching his hat on his head.

“Let’s leave the hat, Rose. Just take a back road to the Knepps’. I feel like I’m going to be sick. Sorry.”

Rose made a clucking sound of comfort and stood waiting, watching a pallor wash over him and a bead of sweat trail down his cheek. She pulled his hat back off, and he drew a deep breath.

“Do you want to sit down?” she asked anxiously.

“
Nee
, I’m all right now. Glad I wasn’t sick in front of you.”

“I saw you throw up from gorging yourself on watermelon when you were twelve, remember?”

He smiled faintly. “No secrets with a best friend.”

“No secrets,” she repeated soberly.

He exhaled. “Let’s just go. I’ll lie in the back of the wagon.”

Somehow she managed to get him there; to half recline, clutching the side of the wagon. She used his dark pants to wrap about his ankle, then set about easing the wagon down back roads to get to the physician’s home. And all the while her mind whirled with questions and emotions that she didn’t care to examine too closely, choosing instead to focus on Luke’s injuries and his need for care.