A Reluctant Bride (17 page)

A
den didn't move, and Sadie saw his eyes widening by the second. “Sadie, I . . . uh . . .”

She barely heard his stammering as she took in the bright purple, yellow, and green blotch covering his ribs on his left side. On the right was another darker spot above the waistband of his pants. There were smaller, more faded bruises, but he grabbed his shirt and threw it on again before she could see anything else.

He pulled the shirt front closed. “I thought I was alone . . . I got stung a couple of times.” He let out an awkward chuckle. “The suit doesn't always give the best protection.”

“Does that always happen when you get stung?” she asked. “The purple marks?” she added at his confused look. She was a little relieved by the possibility that the marks were a reaction to bee stings, which she knew very little about. She'd been stung once, and that was enough for her. But she'd heard about people having allergies. Maybe that's what the marks were, not the bruises they looked like.

She could almost convince herself of that, despite realizing it
didn't make sense that he would be around insects he was allergic to. Yet a nonsensical explanation was preferable to what she suspected was the truth.

His mouth moved as if he was answering, but no sound came out. Then he snatched the rest of his clothes from the table and rushed out of the room. She heard the heavy tread of his footsteps as he ran up the stairs. She blinked at the sound of Abigail's door slamming shut.

An unexpected sense of concern washed over her as she remembered that day in the office, when Sol had lunged at him. He hadn't made a move to protect himself. It was as if he'd expected Sol's reaction and was prepared to accept whatever his brother would literally throw at him.

She left the kitchen and went to the stairs, pausing at the bottom, unsure if she should continue. She didn't love Aden. She didn't care about him. He was a grown man and could handle his own problems.

But her heart gave a tiny squeeze after seeing how painful the bruises looked. And she couldn't ignore the fleeting shame in his eyes before he disappeared from the kitchen. She walked up the stairs, slowly, then lifted her hand to knock on Abigail's door. She stopped. If she knocked, he would send her away. It's what she would do.

With a deep breath she opened the door. She found him folding the white clothing, his shirt completely fastened and tucked into his broadfall pants. He didn't look at her as she walked into the room.

“Those are bruises, aren't they?” she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

He continued to fold the clothes.

Undaunted, she pressed on. “Did someone punch you?”

His long fingers pressed against the creases of the white clothing so hard she thought they would remain there permanently.

“Aden—”

“Leave it be, Sadie.” He put the pants on the bed and looked at her, his light-green eyes haunted. “Forget about what you saw.”

“How can I do that?”

“By ignoring me,” he said, his tone holding a sharp edge. He moved past her. “Like you always do.”

As he went downstairs, a chill went through her.

Aden pounded his fist against the barn door. He pulled away, seeing the blood on his knuckles. But he'd barely felt the pain. Shame and anger filled him. He hadn't meant for Sadie to see the bruises. No one ever saw them except his father and Sol. They were always in places where no one would find them.

Except his wife. He leaned his forehead against the wall, ignoring the rough wood scraping against his skin. What she must think of him. She already couldn't stand to be around him. Now she saw his secret humiliation.

The night after Aden had proposed, Sol had come home, more drunk than Aden had ever seen him—and more angry. Without warning he hoisted Aden out of bed and worked out his frustration on him. After the initial shock, Aden had taken every blow without uttering a sound. He'd had enough practice over the years, although it had been a long while since Sol had hit him like this. Unwilling to fight back, he allowed himself to be beaten while his mother and father slept in their bedroom down the hall.

But after a few minutes, Sol had stumbled away, muttering incoherently as he left Aden's room. Breathing hard, Aden had grabbed his side and sat on the edge of his bed. As far as beatings went, this one had been mild. But it had left its marks. After it was over he crawled back into bed, ignoring the pain and putting what had just happened out of his mind—the way he'd always done.

Sadie's horse whinnied in the background. He went to the animal. She was beautiful, like her owner. He touched her soft nose, stroked it gently, swallowing the tears that swelled his throat, not only for what happened last week, but for all the beatings he'd taken in the past. Tasting the burn angered him. Why couldn't he be strong? Why was he always so weak, like his father had told him he was over and over and over?

A
mann
doesn't cry.
A fist to the kidney.

A
mann
doesn't show weakness.
A hit to the back.

A
mann
never brings shame to his father.
A crack of the ribs.

Aden stepped away from the horse, his body shaking. Now Sadie knew. Then again, she always had. She knew he was weak. A coward. The one thing he could have brought to the marriage—his beehives—had been destroyed.

How could he expect her to ever respect him when he was so much less than she deserved?

Sadie kept looking at the back door as she prepared a late lunch. She wasn't the best cook around, but she could make a passable meal, unlike Joanna, who could whip up miracles in the kitchen, especially when it came to pies.

After Aden left, her emotions were raw. She couldn't face
going into her parents' bedroom to search for any papers or plans her father might have kept that would help with the bills. Not when she couldn't stop thinking about what had happened to Aden. Despite his refusal to confirm, she knew Sol had caused the bruises. He was the one person Sadie could see ignoring the bishop's dictate for turning the other cheek.

When Aden didn't return, she assumed he wasn't coming back in for lunch. She wasn't hungry either. She put the food away, then set to cleaning the kitchen, which needed a good, thorough scrubbing. The work didn't do much to help take her mind off him, and as the rest of the afternoon passed, she regretted pushing him for an answer. Whatever happened wasn't any of her business. They were married in name only, and it would be better for both of them if they shared as little as possible.

Yet, as she began to prepare supper, his words continued to echo in her mind, making her heart clench.

Ignore me . . . like you always do.

If only he knew she had never ignored him, not since that day in the cornfield. She was always aware of his presence in a room, mostly because it was a reminder of that day. Because of Sol's actions and Aden's reaction to them, she was constantly on her guard.

She may not have paid much attention to him, but it wasn't as if Aden had ever drawn notice to himself. Since that was the case, why was she feeling guilty? Why was she
worried
about him?

She opened the oven door and checked on the sizzling pork chops. Did Aden like pork chops? She shut the oven door and thought she was losing her mind.

The door to the outside opened and she whirled around. Aden didn't look at her when he walked into the kitchen, keeping his head down. He held two bowls in his hand, one full of
food and the other one with water. She recognized the food as her mother's canned meat, then remembered him mentioning a dog. He dumped the meat in the trash, which he had to since it had been outside almost the whole day. She should be upset about him wasting her food, but she wasn't. He was feeding a stray. Reaching out to a creature that needed him. Something deep inside her stirred.

Turning back to her preparations, her face flushing, she grabbed the potato masher, battering the cooked potatoes even though they were already creamy.

He put the bowls in the sink. “You made supper?” His voice sounded a little raspy.

“I thought you'd be hungry. You didn't have lunch, did you?” She kept her back to him, still struggling with her unexpected emotions.

A pause. “I'll
geh
wash up.”

When he disappeared, she pulled the masher out of the potatoes and tossed it into the sink. Getting her wits about her, she put the amber ceramic bowl on the table, then added the plate of pork chops. A medley of crookneck squash, zucchini, and onions was in a casserole dish, cooked until tender and glistening with melted butter. Sliced bread rounded out the meal. She took a step back from the table. She'd made too much food for two people.

Aden entered the room, his long hair combed, but still wild looking and in need of a cut. He pulled out the chair at the end of the table. She unwittingly sucked in a sharp breath.

He stilled. “I shouldn't sit here?”

“It's not that.” She hugged her arms around her waist. “
Mei daed
. . .”

Aden nodded. “This was his seat.” He pushed the chair back under the table. “Where would you like me to sit?”

Another kind gesture. Focusing on supper instead of how he continually destroyed her expectations of him, she pointed to Abigail's chair, then sat down across from him.

Aden bowed his head and she followed suit for prayer, struggling to maintain focus. When she heard Aden helping himself to the food, she looked up.

He pierced a pork chop with his fork. He eyed the five other chops on the plate, but didn't say anything. She took a small spoonful of potatoes, her appetite still gone.

The silence in the kitchen was punctuated with the sound of silverware scraping against dishes. Aden kept his head down as he ate. For some strange reason she couldn't stop watching him, thinking about the bruises, about the past, about the secrets he held that were possibly more painful than she'd ever imagined.

As if he knew she was staring, he lifted his head. His lips twisted in what she thought might be an attempt at a smile but looked more like a grimace.

“I hope it's okay,” she blurted. “The food, I mean.”

“It is. I like pork chops.” He pushed his fork around a few bites of potatoes still on his plate.

“So did
mei daed
.” She pushed her plate away. “They were his favorite.” She looked at him, and this time he held her gaze. His fern-colored eyes seemed to turn hazel in the light from the propane lamp suspended above the table. She didn't like what she saw in them—compassion, sincerity, and the worst emotion of all—pity.

Sadie pushed back from the table and started clearing the dishes. She turned on the hot water tap. Soon steaming water poured into the sink.

Aden came up behind her and set his plate on the counter next to the sink. “Can I help you?”

She couldn't look at him. She didn't want these feelings that were bubbling to the surface so fast they threatened to take her breath away. She didn't want to let go of the resentment she'd held on to for six years. She didn't want to wonder about his life, to be concerned about his pain, to feel the strange and foreign warmth coming over her at his nearness.

“I'll check on the horses,” he said when she didn't answer.

She nodded and turned off the hot water tap, resisting the urge to watch him leave. She thrust her fingers into the scalding water. They burned, but she didn't pull them out right away. The physical pain shoved everything else out of her mind, and she was grateful for it. When she removed her hands, they were red and hurting—but she'd take that over the way she felt when Aden stood next to her.

After she finished cleaning the kitchen, she went upstairs to her room and shut the door. It was barely dark, but she was exhausted. She undressed, changed into her nightclothes, and got into bed. Despite her fatigue, her body tensed as she lay there, waiting, wondering for the second night in a row if Aden would come to her, and praying as hard as she could that he wouldn't.