Arms of Love (43 page)

L
ena took time in the later afternoon to ponder sleeping arrangements on the farm. Of course, Ruth and Samuel would occupy the large bedroom, but if Ellen and Joseph chose to stay on another night, she wasn’t sure how all of the couples—she flushed when she recalled that she was now part of the concept of couples—would fit into the various rooms. She supposed that she could simply stay with Abby and postpone her wedding night, but she knew Adam would probably not like the idea.

“Why are you frowning on our wedding day?” Adam asked as he came inside the kitchen door.

She blushed. “No reason. I was thinking about . . . household arrangements.”

“Well, as to that line of thought, I asked my
mamm
and fater to simply stay on here for one more night. I would, if it please you, take you to our new home for our wedding night. Back to my room.”

Something about the last part of his suggestion deepened her blush. To go to his room seemed so—personal. And yet, she was his wife! She pulled at the hem of her apron, clearly flustered.

He laughed. “You can be both shy and bold, Lena Wyse. It is enough to keep a man on his toes and wary at all times.”

“Wary?”

“Aye, and that means that I will never grow bored in a life we carve together. My hope is that you will feel the same.”

She dropped her apron hem to shyly stretch and kiss his cheek. “I cannot wait to begin—this life carving with you.”

He caught her close. “You have wit as well as wisdom, and I fancy you will share many adventures with me through this earthly life.”

She would have kissed him again, but her mother-in-law entered the kitchen, then stopped abruptly.

“
Ach
, excuse me—both of you.” She made haste to turn, and both Lena and Adam protested.

Adam caught his mother close, and Lena giggled as he hugged both of them tight together. “My two favorite women.”

“Adam,” his mother scolded with brightened cheeks. “What will Lena think?”

“Lena thinks it is fine,” Lena said. “I hope—I hope that the Lord has given me back a new
mamm
in you, Ellen.”

“
Ya, ach
, I would love that, Lena.”

“See?” Adam laughed. “Family love.”

Adam was nervous. He and Lena had taken the wagon and now rode through the quiet trees toward his home. He mentally tried to list all of the things he knew he should do before leading Lena upstairs—feed and water the stock, offer her something from the picnic meal that Ruth had provided, touch her hair and loose its pins.

Lena chattered gaily about this and that. She was nervous too, he could tell. It was silly, he told himself. Once they kissed each other, then all would be well, but kissing was one thing—a far thing—from becoming man and wife.

He sighed aloud without meaning to do so.

“What’s wrong, Adam?”

“Nothing.”

“
Nee
. You sighed. What is it?”

Now this was fine . . . If he were a different man, he would make some dashing joke and she would smile back with secret happiness. But he knew nothing better to do than to tell the truth.

“Nervous, a bit,” he said.

“You mean, am I?”

“
Nee
. I am.”

“
Ach
. Me too.”

“Don’t be.” He reached a hand from the reins to clasp her fingers and felt a bit better.

“Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why should I not be nervous?”

For a moment she sounded like a frightened little girl, and Adam had the jolting awareness that she had lost her mother in a rush. She had, perhaps, had no time to discuss the inner workings of intimacy between a man and wife. The thought terrified him. Perhaps he should have asked his mother to speak with her. But no, that might have been awkward for Lena.

“You should not be nervous because—because it is a perfectly natural thing that happens when two people love each other, and—”

She laughed, and he looked at her sideways. “What?”

“You sound like a mother hen, giving a proper lesson to her brood. I am nervous because I’m thinking of silly things like how I will look in my nightdress. My feet are big, and my freckles stand out in the early morning light, and I have a birthmark inside my left calf that looks like a small continent—”

“All right, all right,” he said. “I understand.” He could not hear one more of her revealing explanations. He felt like he had just been given a whirlwind introduction to her form that left him feeling breathless and wanting.

“So why are you nervous?”

He looked at her again, hoping she was teasing, but there was complete seriousness in the turquoise depths of her eyes.

“Well . . . I’ve got to get the chores done, and then . . .”

She clapped her hands lightly. “
Ach, gut
, Adam. Would you mind if I had a bath, then, while you’re busy? I know I bathed last night, but it would feel so refreshing after the day.”

He ruthlessly pushed aside the images that her suggestion conjured up and nodded. “Of course. I’ll hitch up a draft horse and haul the water up from the creek.”

“
Nee
.” She shook her head. “The creek’s fine with me. I will slip down there—I do it all the time at home.”

“You do?” he asked in a choked voice.

“Mm-hmm. Sometimes even in the winter. Fater thinks the chill water is
gut
for us.”

“Oh.”

He let his thoughts drift. He knew every inch of the creek bank at home. It would be very easy to slip down a trail and keep a discreet eye on her. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of her bathing outside, but he didn’t know how to broach the subject at the moment.

They arrived at the farmhouse and he came around to help her down, letting her linger for a moment in his arms. “You will be careful at the creek, won’t you, Lena? There could be snakes . . . or panthers . . .”

“
Ach
, Adam.” She laughed and wriggled free of his grasp. “I will be fine.”

He stood, watching her go toward the creek bank, already pulling at the pins around her collar, and he thought in frantic indecision whether to tend to his pale-skinned wife’s safety or see to the stock. His wife won out.

He waited a few minutes, giving her a chance for privacy, then slipped along the creek bank, deep in tall, green blueberry bushes, and glanced up the water. He saw one slender, pale arm and averted his gaze. Obviously, if she was not screaming, she was not in trouble . . . though a rattlesnake could strike with swiftness and leave the victim gasping. He looked again, feeling like a green lad, when her voice drifted across the dancing water.

“Adam Wyse! Are you spying on me?”

“
Nee
,” he answered finally.

She laughed, a light, rippling sound that competed with the music of the bubbles against the rocks.

“Are you planning on coming in?”

He wet his lips. What did she want him to say? Her voice sounded calm, inviting . . .

“If you would like.”

“
Ach
, I would like. But stay down there, if you do not mind. I intend to preserve my maidenly dignity for at least another half hour.”

He laughed and pulled his coat and vest off. He stripped down to his breeches and, turning from upstream, sank into the deliciously chill water, letting himself float while trying to avoid a boyish peeking at his beloved.

Then her voice came from somewhere near behind him, and he almost flopped over in the water. “What?”

She laughed. “I said that I am getting out, if you do not mind. I thought I would warm up a bit inside.”

“Right. Sounds
gut
. I will join you shortly.”

He heard her gentle splashing away from him and risked one glance. A moment later he saw her collapse against the muddy bank.

She was clad in a light shift and grasping frantically at her lower leg.

“Lena!” He sloshed through the water and saw a snake swimming off in a calm swirl; a rattler, over four feet long, its dull body and thick head cutting easily across the current.

He got to her as she slipped back into the water and scooped her up into his arms.

“You were right,” she gasped, managing a tight smile. “Too many snakes.”

Chapter 42

L
ena seemed to weigh nothing in his arms as he ran with her to the house.

Strangely, the image of an early war flag flashed through Adam’s mind. The coiled snake, its rattles exposed.
Don’t tread on me
. . . Lena must have had no chance to hear the warning.

If there was one thing he was thankful for at the moment, it was the facts about snakes that his father had beaten into him in an ironic attempt to protect him. Rattlers could climb trees, hang in tall bushes, swim, and would strike in any mood. Their venom did not depend on their size; a smaller snake could be just as poisonous. He thought about putting Lena in the wagon and making the drive back to her home, but he knew that such jolting and time would only spread the poison through her delicate veins.

Adam gained the steps and carried Lena without thinking into the only safe place he had known in the house—his room, his bed. He laid her down gently, swiftly trying to assess if she was having trouble breathing. She didn’t struggle, but tears stood out in stark relief against the pallor of her skin. He knew that venom could work in minutes or hours, depending on how much of the stuff was actually injected.

Sometimes, if a person was lucky, the bite could be dry, no venom in the wound. The bite mark itself would tell.

“Lena, you must stay warm. I have to remove your shift; it is soaked.

Forgive me.”

She nodded and moved with restless pain. “Not quite a
gut
start to our wedding night.”

He watched her scrunch her eyes closed as he hurriedly stripped off the gown and pulled one of his huge nightshirts over her body. He was quick, impersonal; and she was soon buried beneath the covers.

“I need to look at the bite now, Lena.”

“It is my right leg.”

“I know . . . but only there? It didn’t strike you elsewhere?”

She shook her head.