The Deepest Sigh Page 5

  "I guess I'll go eat now." She turned away.

  He spoke quickly to stop her. "When did you say your birthday is?"

  "In thirteen days."

  "And you're going to be fifteen?"

  She scowled at him.

  He laughed. She was a funny thing. "Oh, that's right. It's been three years. So that makes you..." He pretended to count on his fingers, puzzling over it. "Why you're right. That makes you coming on eighteen." He gave her a steady look. "I guess you really are old enough for a suitor."

  Rilla surprised him by drilling him with her full gaze. "That's right, Lang. I'm all grown up."

  That was one thing she had on Delia, her amazing, ocean-colored eyes. Not quite blue and not quite green. Her eyes were beautiful. They stared at each other for a moment, and he looked her up and down, testing her. "I guess you are." She didn't have the luscious curves Delia had, and she never would. She was a skinny thing, tall and smart. He had always thought Rilla was smart, but she had filled out enough to show she wasn't fourteen anymore.

  She blushed. The color crept up her throat and sent a flush to her pale cheeks. Lang glanced toward the tables again where Delia leaned close to whisper something to Theo. So angelic. So fine. Was his last chance with her truly over?

  Maybe not.

  Might she tire of Theo after a time? Women did. Marriages grew stale. She'd be a happy new bride for a while, but someday the newness would wane, and once again, she might wish to know someone hadn't grown too used to her and she was still desired. She would always be lovely. Always.

  The thoughts came over him all at once as he looked at her. I can still have Delia if I don't give up. He would have to wait for her a while longer, but he had no plans to leave. He liked the work of the farm. In the meantime, he might save his money until the day he could convince her to go away with him. She'd be willing to leave Theo one day, but she wouldn't want to stay so close to Theo's family. Lang would take her far enough away so they could start their own life, but not so far she would never see her own family again. To Minnesota, maybe, or downstate.

  How long would the waiting take? A year? Two? It didn't matter. He would bide the time for her as long as it took. A spark of anger kindled inside him. He would have Delia. She would want to belong to him eventually. However... He glanced again at Rilla, young, fresh, and hoping for a passion like her sister had. Lang narrowed his focus. There was no reason he should wait like a eunuch. Even Jacob in the Bible had Leah while he waited for her sister Rachel.

  "Do you mind if I join you at the table, Rilla, or are you required to sit with family?"

  "No, I don't have to. I'd like that." The corners of her lips turned upward.

  What if it turned out Delia waited years to open her arms to him? If that happened, Lang would have someone to hold onto until then, someone as close to Delia as he could get. Maybe it would be a little bit like having Delia. At least he could imagine Rilla was she.

  Chapter Six

  Marilla snipped the last handful of green beans and picked the basket off the porch floor, giving her shoulders a roll. "I'm all done, Mama," she hollered. "You want them in there?"

  "Yes, bring them in." Her mother's voice returned through the screen door. "Then you can take these sandwiches out to the field."

  Marilla carried the beans inside and set them on the table. "Anything else, or should I stay out there and help pitch hay for a while?"

  "You go ahead. Your father thinks it might rain. I'm sure he wants all that hay up before then."

  "I hope it doesn't rain on my birthday."

  "You have plans?"

  Marilla shook her head. "None specifically."

  "Thought I might make you a blackberry pie with those berries you picked yesterday."

  Marilla wiggled her eyebrows. "I was hoping you would." She reached for the lunch basket her mother handed her. "Is this everything?"

  "Take them those two quart jars of water there."

  Marilla tucked the jars into the picnic basket and headed out the door. The air was heavy with heat and moisture. Her father was probably right. A storm was pending. She took along an extra hayfork and found the men pitching a windrow of hay onto the wagon on the far end of the field. They thanked her for the food and drink.

  "I'll stay and help, Dad. It sure does look like rain."

  "We've got a lot of ground to cover. Hopefully the heavy clouds won't roll in too soon."

  They finished their lunch, and Marilla picked up the extra hayfork. The wagon sat between two rows of hay. Her father pitched on one side. She moved to the other. Lang joined her, working just ahead of her on the opposite side of the windrow. She dug her fork into the row and pitched. A sudden sprinkle of hay hit her. She looked up and saw Lang grinning as he pitched his forkful of hay and then bent to sprinkle her with another small forkful.

  She brightened. "Oh...so that's how you want to play." She flung a forkful of hay at him, catching his shirt front before hurrying to pitch some onto the wagon.

  Their banter with the hay continued, though they took care to keep moving and making progress with the load while dousing one another now and again with a sprinkling of seedy, dry hay. Marilla tried hard to suppress her giggles so her father wouldn't hear. She didn't want Lang to get into trouble, but now and then, a laugh broke free. They were both panting a little heavier by the time they reached the end of the row.

  "Make sure you take a drink. I don't want you to faint in the heat," her father warned. She nodded and staggered happily to the wagon to lift the basket down and pull out the remaining jar of water. She leaned against the rack at the back of the wagon, unlatched the jar, and took a long swallow, careful to save some for the men. Lang came around the wagon and stood in front of her. She held the jar out to him, but he hesitated a moment, looking long enough at her that a tingle crept up her spine. He reached for the jar, but his fingers lay on hers, and he didn't take the jar from them right away. A further thrill passed through her. What was it in the way he looked at her today? She didn't know for sure, but she wouldn't look away. Not this time.

  He put the jar to his lips and drank, pulling his long gaze away from her.

  "Seems it's going to rain on my birthday tomorrow," she whispered, watching the way his Adam's apple moved in his throat as he swallowed.

  He lowered the jar and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "That's not so bad."

  "Isn't it? I always like sunshine on my birthday."

  "We can stand with a cool down." His dark eyes held hers so steady she thought she might swoon.

  She nodded. "I suppose we won't be working outdoors."

  "Do you have other plans?"

  She shook her head. "None to speak of."

  "Maybe we'll have to think of something." He grinned and lifted the jar for another drink.

  She trembled. Did he mean something more in his words? "Lang..."

  Her father stepped around the corner of the wagon. Lang straightened taller and handed him the water jar. Her dad gave a nod. "Looks like we'll make it before the rain. It's like working alongside a train, trying to keep up with the two of you."

  Marilla lifted her chin. "We've given each other a challenge. With my birthday tomorrow, we don't want any of the farm work left undone today to spoil it."

  Her dad said it was good thinking, and when he looked momentarily across the field, Lang winked at her.

  ~~~~~

  A pouring rain sounded on the shed roof above Lang's head. He didn't mind bunking in the small building. It was tight and dry, and he had his own potbelly stove to dry his socks by in the winter. He rose and lit the oil lamp on a beat up table sitting beneath a small four-pane window. The sky was a sheet of steel gray against the weakness of dawn. If they'd had any hay left on the field, it would have been ruined. Thankfully, today, beyond the regular animal chores, which were plenty enough, nothing would press them to accomplish more. Lang would spend a couple hours in the work shed sharpening tools and oiling harnesses. Mr
s. Eckert had told him she was planning a special birthday dinner for Rilla, and Lang should plan on joining them. Would Rilla be disappointed about such a gloomy day?

  He buttoned his trousers and pulled his suspenders over his shoulders as he glanced out the window again. The rain had lightened, and he could make out the glow of light coming from the upper window over on the house. For a long time after he had first come to work on the Eckert farm, he had tried to discern which window was Delia's. He had discovered hers was on the other side of the house. The glow he could see from his cabin was from Rilla's room. He liked to imagine it was Delia's though.

  What was the room like Delia shared now with Theo? Likely it was a room full of soft, embroidered things and lacy curtains. Things Theo wouldn't care about, but she'd fuss about them the way women did. He glanced up at Rilla's window again. The light had gone out.

  He pulled a raincoat down from one of the hooks along the wall and yanked on his boots. He may as well go out now. The rain didn't look like it would be letting up any time soon.

  Lang reached the barn before Rilla and her father did. He plucked a stool off the wall and got right to milking. Father and daughter joined him a few minutes later. They milked in silence today, just like they had been doing since Delia left them. There was too much work to accomplish to leave time for chatter. Most days now, Mr. Eckert joined them. Then Rilla would operate the separator, sometimes with her mother's help. Lang realized with a bit of pride that Mr. Eckert would have more to handle than any single man could on his farm without Lang's help. With one daughter gone, Lang had become indispensable. His job felt quite secure.

  Lang did pause for a moment's teasing as he passed by Rilla who was pressed against the flank of a jersey cow. "I expect you'll become a more efficient milkmaid since you're now an adult."

  She answered him by bending the cow's teat and shooting a spray of milk his way. He dodged it by a hair and laughed.

  As they neared the finish, Rilla's father left them, hauling two hefty cans of milk out the barn door. Lang followed Rilla a few minutes later after they completed the last of it. They hung their stools on the wall, and Lang carried the last can of milk to the milk house. The rain had lightened to a shower.

  "I'll help you today," he said, lifting a can of ice-cold milk from the reservoir and pulling off the lid. He heaved it upward and moved next to her to pour the contents into the separator. Rilla turned the handle. "Here." He bumped her with his shoulder and took her place, giving the handle a hardy crank. "It is your birthday after all." He offered her a broad smile.

  For a moment, he enjoyed her discomfiture. There was nowhere for her to go. He stood between her and the exit while she was cornered between the cream separator and the wall.

  She shrugged against the small corner. "I don't know what to do with myself."

  "Just stand there and look pretty. When we're done, I'll help you scrub the parts."

  Rilla snorted. "Pretty? I haven't even washed my face, and I smell like manure."

  He gave her a swift perusal and said with gentle enthusiasm, "Pretty just the same."

  This time she blushed, and Lang accepted the reward.

  The rain ended just before lunchtime. The yard lay in soggy puddles. The ducks wandered about quacking and stretching their wings as though it were they who'd just gotten a present. Rilla had secluded herself to the housework, while Lang and Mr. Eckert spent the morning in the tool shop. Mrs. Eckert called to them at noon to come and eat their midday meal.

  Lang removed his muddy boots at the door and found his usual seat around the family table in the Eckerts' big, airy kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Eckert had once lived in a tiny two-room cabin in a clearing just through the woods off the edge of the southeast pasture. Rilla's mother must have been thrilled with her new house and its big kitchen, pantry, sitting room, lower and upper bedrooms, full-length screen porch, and even a closet or two. She must have felt like she was moving into a mansion. Like Delia must feel even without the comparison of having to live in a small log cabin. No one used the old cabin now. Likely it housed a family of squirrels or maybe a raccoon or two.

  Lang sat on a bench across from Rilla. She and Delia used to sit next to each other while their parents sat on either end of the sturdy oak table. Everything felt different now with only the four of them. Mrs. Eckert set a bowl of sausages on the table while Rilla sliced a loaf of bread. Mr. Eckert had just led them in saying grace when a knock sounded on the front door.

  "Who could that be on such a day?" Rilla's father rose and left them.

  Lang reached for the butter and a slice of bread. A moment later, her father returned with a guest in tow.

  "Marilla, you have a visitor." He moved aside, and Jacob Hessman stepped forward.

  "I apologize for interrupting your meal. I wasn't thinking of the time."

  "You are welcome at any time, Jacob. Please, join us for our lunch, will you?" Mrs. Eckert indicated space on the bench next to Lang.

  "Oh, I could not."

  He looked more than awkward standing there in front of them. It wasn't that his presence filled the room, though Jacob was taller than Lang by two or three inches, and his chest was broader than what one would expect from a grocer. No, it wasn't his size. It was that he was Rilla's guest, and he stood there with a bouquet of brown-eyed-Susans clutched in his square hands. His hair, blond as summer wheat, was combed off his forehead, and he wore a clean shirt tucked into his trousers. The full feature was highlighted by the flush in his cheeks. He'd clearly hoped to speak to her without an audience. Nevertheless, Mrs. Eckert was gracious.

  She stood. "Let me take those for you, Jacob. Did you bring them for Rilla?" She plucked the flowers from his hands and opened the cupboard to find a vase to put them in.

  Jacob nodded. "I recalled it was your birthday, Marilla."

  She smiled at him. "Thank you, Jacob. How very thoughtful of you."

  Mrs. Eckert filled the vase with water from the pump over the sink, arranged the flowers, and returned them to the center of the table. "Please, have a seat."

  He conceded. Lang scooted over, making room on his side of the table. Jacob sat across from Rilla now.

  "I'm very surprised you remembered my birthday, Jacob. You certainly didn't need to come all this way, but thank you."

  "Actually, I came with even better news. I could have waited until you came to town, but since it was your birthday, I thought you'd enjoy it even more."

  "Oh?" She looked expectant. Lang didn't wonder so much what the news could be, only that Jacob had gone out of his way to bring it. Clearly, it wasn't lost upon Jacob Hessman that Rilla had come of age.

  "The quilt you sewed. I've had it in the store since when...June?"

  Her eyes brightened. "Yes, the end of May actually."

  Jacob reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. "A couple passing through on one of the trains came in yesterday and bought it."

  Rilla's voice jumped with excitement. "They did? Oh, how wonderful! Thank you, Jacob. This is such good news. I was afraid I had made a mistake in thinking I had done a good job on the quilt."

  "You did a fine job, Marilla." Mrs. Eckert beamed at her.

  Her father gave a nod. "Cold weather will be here before we know it. Folks might not have looked twice in the heat of summer, but they know winter's coming."

  Rilla stood and retrieved another plate from the stack on a shelf. "You must join us, Jacob. I insist."

  Now he flushed again and acquiesced.

  Lang passed him the bowl of sausages and took brief stock of Jacob once again. The grocer’s behavior set off a warning bell. If Lang intended to pursue Rilla, he'd have to step up his game, and soon.

  Chapter Seven

  Marilla stood in the barnyard shucking corn off the cob for the chickens pecking in the dirt. From the corner of her eye, she spied Lang's approach. He halted at the edge of the dirt circumference.

  "How about you and I drop in on the newlyweds tonight after din
ner?"

  Marilla perked up at Lang's suggestion. She'd been dying to go see Delia again. She had been but once to their home a quarter mile up the road. Marilla and her parents had gone by invitation a few days after Delia and Theo returned from their brief honeymoon. They had showered them with some supplies for their pantry too. Marilla hadn't ever considered how much she would miss her sister's daily presence. Did Delia miss her too?

  However, the idea of going there with Lang excited her even more. It would almost be like they were a couple. I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Just because he's smiled at me a little differently lately. Lang had been quiet when Jacob stopped by with flowers for her birthday. Course, he wasn't usually very talkative around her parents' table, and anyway, it was awfully sweet of Jacob to remember her special day, even if she didn't want to encourage him.

  She lifted a brow at Lang's suggestion. "Won't you be tired? It'll be getting close to dark by then."

  He grinned. "I'll manage. I thought maybe you'd like to get away from the house for a while since your birthday was such a washout the other day."

  She tucked the empty red cob into one apron pocket and, from another, plucked out a new cob and began twisting off the kernels. "Then the answer is yes. I'd love to." She sent him a lavish smile. "Thanks for asking, Lang."

  "Thanks for taking me up on it." He winked and walked away, whistling a tune. She was almost afraid to wonder... Was Lang flirting with her?

  The day dragged by, but finally the evening milking was finished, the equipment was all cleaned up, and supper dishes were washed, dried, and put away. She itched to have her walk with Lang. She couldn't have been any more excited to wander the short distance up their dirt road. She slipped out of her apron and off to her room to change clothes and tie a ribbon in her hair. This was the time of day when her mother sat with her mending or took up some knitting, and her father sometimes listened to a radio program or read a book. Lang was also finished for the day. Most evenings, he kept to his little room in the makeover shed or minded his own company some other way.