came to stand before him, her thick lashes downcast. “Jude—I’m sorry. I should have asked someone else but I didn’t know . . . back home I just washed my cloths out in the creek each month, but here . . . Well, I need more for later today.”
She trailed off and he remembered studying hygiene on the mountain and knew this was a common practice among the women.
“Sweetheart, you don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me—about anything.” He swallowed, then went on, reaching to catch her hand. “Come here. Sit on my lap.” He sat in the desk chair and the old wood creaked with a comfortable sound as he pulled her down to rest against his chest.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, resting his chin on top of her kapp and trailing a hand down around her belly, rubbing softly.
“Only a bit.” But he heard the discomfort in her voice and increased the pressure of his hand, feeling her relax a bit more against his chest.
“Mary, I am such a lout. Look, I’ll take you to the store, all right?”
“Again?” Her voice dropped in dismay. “Besides the shoes?”
He had to chuckle. “Yes, again. And we’ll get you fixed up for everything for your—uh—that time of the month, okay? Trust me?”
She turned her face into his shirt and nodded and he closed his eyes against the wash of emotion he felt at her vulnerability. He’d never been so needed or felt so helpless. He wished, for a vague moment, that there was such a thing as God and that His power would care for him personally as he cared for his wife. My temporary wife . . . His hand stilled against her at the thought. He needed to keep a rein on his thoughts . . . a few months . . . that was all. That’s all.
Mary squirmed in her chair at the Lyons’s elaborate luncheon table as she thought of their shopping expedition to the drugstore. She glanced at her husband across the table while he spoke with his grandfather, but then had to look away when he returned her gaze with a raised brow. At the store, he’d been calm and knowing, slanting her his oh-so-handsome, you-need-my-help grin, and she’d felt a curious tightening in her chest as he’d explained the various feminine products available in what she’d come to think of as his “professor voice.” She wondered, as she played with a heavy silver fork, how he managed to know so much about women.
But she soon pushed thoughts of Jude aside as she tried to focus on having a genuine conversation with her new mother-in-law, who was seated to her left.
“Of course, he’s always had a fascination with the Amish, even though Ted’s tried to dissuade him.” Mrs. Lyons spoke in an undertone with a glance down the long table at her husband, who was talking with Carol. “But you certainly are beautiful . . . and Jude was always affectionate when he was young. Will you be staying for the holidays? They’re coming up fast and I must see about a new decorating firm for December. Do the Amish have trees at Christmas? Wherever did you find that wolf? Will you have more salad? Bas, serve her more salad.”
Mary blinked into the carefully made-up blue eyes of her hostess and struggled for a foothold to answer. The process made her head ache and she realized she’d never heard a person speak so much in one breath, not even Old John Beider—who was known on the mountain to be able to talk a man to sleep.
Bas was filling her plate with the mixture of greens, pecans, and orange slices, and only when she shook her head did the older man murmur and step back. She stared in dismay at the pile of salad, worried how she could possibly eat it all. At home, everyone served themselves when she brought food to the table.
Jude’s mother was still eyeing her with a quizzical expression, and Mary put her fork down with a shaky hand. “I—we—yes, we have Christmas trees but we make the decorations.”
“Lovely, I’m sure.” Mrs. Lyons smiled. “Did you put that in your book, Jude? Handmade decorations
She trailed off and he remembered studying hygiene on the mountain and knew this was a common practice among the women.
“Sweetheart, you don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me—about anything.” He swallowed, then went on, reaching to catch her hand. “Come here. Sit on my lap.” He sat in the desk chair and the old wood creaked with a comfortable sound as he pulled her down to rest against his chest.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, resting his chin on top of her kapp and trailing a hand down around her belly, rubbing softly.
“Only a bit.” But he heard the discomfort in her voice and increased the pressure of his hand, feeling her relax a bit more against his chest.
“Mary, I am such a lout. Look, I’ll take you to the store, all right?”
“Again?” Her voice dropped in dismay. “Besides the shoes?”
He had to chuckle. “Yes, again. And we’ll get you fixed up for everything for your—uh—that time of the month, okay? Trust me?”
She turned her face into his shirt and nodded and he closed his eyes against the wash of emotion he felt at her vulnerability. He’d never been so needed or felt so helpless. He wished, for a vague moment, that there was such a thing as God and that His power would care for him personally as he cared for his wife. My temporary wife . . . His hand stilled against her at the thought. He needed to keep a rein on his thoughts . . . a few months . . . that was all. That’s all.
Mary squirmed in her chair at the Lyons’s elaborate luncheon table as she thought of their shopping expedition to the drugstore. She glanced at her husband across the table while he spoke with his grandfather, but then had to look away when he returned her gaze with a raised brow. At the store, he’d been calm and knowing, slanting her his oh-so-handsome, you-need-my-help grin, and she’d felt a curious tightening in her chest as he’d explained the various feminine products available in what she’d come to think of as his “professor voice.” She wondered, as she played with a heavy silver fork, how he managed to know so much about women.
But she soon pushed thoughts of Jude aside as she tried to focus on having a genuine conversation with her new mother-in-law, who was seated to her left.
“Of course, he’s always had a fascination with the Amish, even though Ted’s tried to dissuade him.” Mrs. Lyons spoke in an undertone with a glance down the long table at her husband, who was talking with Carol. “But you certainly are beautiful . . . and Jude was always affectionate when he was young. Will you be staying for the holidays? They’re coming up fast and I must see about a new decorating firm for December. Do the Amish have trees at Christmas? Wherever did you find that wolf? Will you have more salad? Bas, serve her more salad.”
Mary blinked into the carefully made-up blue eyes of her hostess and struggled for a foothold to answer. The process made her head ache and she realized she’d never heard a person speak so much in one breath, not even Old John Beider—who was known on the mountain to be able to talk a man to sleep.
Bas was filling her plate with the mixture of greens, pecans, and orange slices, and only when she shook her head did the older man murmur and step back. She stared in dismay at the pile of salad, worried how she could possibly eat it all. At home, everyone served themselves when she brought food to the table.
Jude’s mother was still eyeing her with a quizzical expression, and Mary put her fork down with a shaky hand. “I—we—yes, we have Christmas trees but we make the decorations.”
“Lovely, I’m sure.” Mrs. Lyons smiled. “Did you put that in your book, Jude? Handmade decorations
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