A Reluctant Bride (19 page)

“
Nix.
You normally don't like to accept help, that's all.” She paused. “Are you sure everything is all right?”

Sadie kept her voice calm. “Everything is fine. We're opening the store on Monday. Patience agreed to help out for a little while.”

“Oh.” Abigail's voice took on a melancholy tone.

“Now it's
mei
turn to interrogate you.” Sadie's voice softened. “Are you okay? How is Joanna?”

“The same as yesterday. She's very sweet and cooperative and tries to please everyone. Typical Joanna.” Abigail sighed. “At least I think she's being typical.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know . . . it's a feeling I have. She seems so . . . overeager, if that's possible. And she's working so hard on her therapy that she collapses at night with exhaustion. Even her therapists are a little concerned.”

A knot of tension appeared in the middle of Sadie's back. “I would think they would want her to work hard.”

“They do. I guess I'm not explaining it right.” Abigail sighed again. “I miss you, Sadie. I know Joanna does too. I was hoping
you could come for a visit soon. Maybe delay the opening of the store for a couple of days? Wait, hang on for a minute.”

Sadie picked at the splintered wood in the shanty. The tiny building had been there since Sadie could remember. It needed stripping and sanding and probably a good coat of white paint. Yet another thing that needed to be done.

“I've got to
geh
,” Abigail said when she returned. “Joanna's therapist wants to talk to me. Come soon, Sadie. Please?”

“I'll . . . try.”

Abigail hung up the phone and Sadie stared at the receiver. How could she deny her sister? Just hearing her voice made her yearn to be with her and Joanna. Still, she couldn't leave. Not right now. And she had no idea how to explain that to Abigail without telling her about Aden or about their family's huge debt.

She left the shanty and walked up the driveway. She could see Aden a few yards away, putting grass clippings into the wheelbarrow, probably to add to the pile of debris behind the barn. Sadie paused for a moment, watching his methodical, unhurried movements. He was slender but tightly compact, with broad shoulders and a torso that tapered to a narrow waist. Although it was nearly fall, the hot summer weather had hung on longer than usual. He paused and pushed his hat back from his face, his cheeks red from the heat. Then he gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow, and she could see the outline of his lower bicep grow taut underneath the edge of his shirtsleeve.

Shaking her head, she trudged back to the store, annoyed with herself. She didn't want to notice Aden that way. Keeping that mental separation between Aden the interloper and Aden the man was the only way she could maintain her sanity.

She went back to the office and plopped into the desk chair. The short stack of mail she'd brought in earlier was on the desk.
With a heavy sigh she picked up the first envelope and looked at the return address. Langdon Hospital. She tossed the letter to the side, not wanting to look at the bill.

Desperate to do something, she yanked open a drawer and emptied it, sifting through the huge stack of expired catalogs. Why had her father kept all these useless things? She set the catalogs on the growing pile of trash she needed to get rid of. She'd burn it in the next couple of days. The thought triggered another memory—bonfires with her parents, her sisters, and occasionally friends. Patience had come to a few. They would have popcorn and cider in the fall and ice cream in the summer.

She slammed the drawer shut, her frustration rising. She heard something fall inside the desk. She pulled out the drawer and reached her hand inside. Her fingers touched the corner of a small box. Sadie withdrew it and placed it on the desktop.

She'd never seen the simple brown cardboard box before. It was the type of container that might have held large Christmas cards or thank-you notes. Two rubber bands were wrapped around it and on the top was her mother's name, written in her father's handwriting.

Carefully she took off the rubber bands and lifted the lid. Her throat constricted as she picked up several letters, still in their envelopes, all addressed to her father from her mother.

The tears she tried so hard to hold back for so long started to slip down her cheeks as she read the first letter.

Dear Matthew,

By the time you read this we will have been married. Oh, how I have waited for this day! I've thanked God every day for you, since you asked me to marry you six months
ago. I love you, and I can't wait to start our lives together as husband and wife. You are my best friend, the love of my life, the man of my prayers . . .

Sadie continued to read several letters, each one dated the day of their anniversary, each one declaring her mother's love for her father. She'd had no idea how romantic their marriage was. As she continued to read, it was as if the words brought her parents alive again.

Their marriage had been everything a marriage should be—the union of friends who loved each other deeply.

Her parents' marriage had been everything her marriage wasn't.

When Aden walked into the kitchen that evening, part of him hoped Sadie was preparing supper. He found himself looking forward to the evening meal, even though they hadn't said much to each other last night and had exchanged even fewer words today. Sadie was a decent cook, and he appreciated the effort she'd put into making last night's meal, although it was too much food. Clearly she was used to making meals for a family of five. When he didn't see her, he went upstairs to wash up, assuming she would come in shortly.

He returned to the kitchen and waited for her. He'd fix supper himself, but he didn't know where anything was in the kitchen, and he felt awkward about rummaging through the cabinets again. When it was nearly seven o'clock, he decided to check on her. First he went to the pantry, found a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, and made her a sandwich. He poured
her a glass of cold tea and went outside. Not much of a supper, but he figured she had to be hungry.

The store was still unlocked, and he walked inside. The grocery area was dark, with only a little light shining through the windows from the setting sun outside. The days were growing shorter, and tomorrow he planned to start laying in more firewood. Before long they'd have to light up the wood stove in the living room.

An image of Sadie and him sitting in front of the warm stove passed through his mind. Drinking cups of coffee, talking about their day, sharing their dreams . . .

He shook his head, stopping himself from wishing for something that would never happen. He saw the light on in the office and walked toward it.

Aden knocked on the door and waited. When she didn't answer, he knocked again. Again, no answer. He opened the door a tiny crack and heard the sound of her sniffling. “Sadie?” he said, opening the door wider.

She was sitting in front of the desk, a paper in her hand. She didn't seem to realize he was there. At first he didn't know what to do. Should he set the sandwich down and leave? Should he ask her what's wrong?

He set the sandwich and tea down on the desk and knelt beside her. He glanced at the paper she was reading and realized it was a letter. Several more lay in her lap.

She turned to him, her beautiful brown eyes red-rimmed and liquid with tears. She stared at him for a moment, as if she didn't recognize him. Then she turned. “
Geh
away,” she muttered, gathering letters and shoving them into a small box.

Her sharp tone smarted, but he didn't move. “I brought you something to eat,” he said, as if food would solve everything.

“I'm not hungry.” She shut the lid on the box and threw it into the desk drawer.

“But—”

She slammed the drawer shut and glared at him. “Leave me alone!”

“I don't think that's a
gut
idea right now.”

She shoved her chair back and jumped up. He rose and stepped back before she bumped into him. To his surprise, she faced him. Sadie was only a couple inches shorter, and they could look each other in the eye. What he saw in her gaze made him draw back.

“Stop it!” she yelled. “Just . . . stop.”

He flinched. He started to speak again, but she held up her hand, shutting him down.

“Stop trying to help me. Stop being
nice
.” Her chin trembled. “It was easier when I hated you,” she said in a harsh whisper.

He stiffened. She might as well have plunged a knife in his back. His jaw tensed as he turned and went back to the house.

He climbed the stairs and entered Abigail's room, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against it, the darkness of the room enveloping him. What was he supposed to do now? His marriage was rooted in deceit, and from Sadie's point of view, hate. How could they move past that?

A knock sounded at the door, making him jump away. He opened it. Sadie's silhouette was outlined in the shadows of the hallway.

CHAPTER 10

S
adie stepped into the room when Aden moved aside to let her in. With unsteady legs she took a few more steps, still wondering what brought her here. She'd told Aden the truth—that she hated him. Yet when she saw his stricken look, the way he walked out of the office as if she'd physically wounded him, her heart had compressed in her chest.

What had he done to deserve her anger? Brought her a sandwich? Asked if she was okay?
Saved me from Sol?

She wrestled with her thoughts as she turned on the lamp in Abigail's room. The first thing she saw was her sister's childhood doll sitting on the side table near her bed. It was a faceless Amish doll. Her mother had made one for each of her daughters for Christmas when they were little girls. Abigail's was dressed in light blue, Sadie's in light green, and Joanna's in light pink. Sadie touched the top of the doll's little black
kapp
, then she turned around.

Aden stood by the door, which was still open. He looked out of place in this room, which reflected Abigail's girly tastes. Two
of Abigail's cross-stitched samplers were framed on the wall, both full of flowers and pastel colors. Her sister had picked up weaving a couple of years ago, and one of her muted-colored rag rugs covered the middle of the room. The sweet scent of Abigail's favorite vanilla candles, ones she lit almost every night, still permeated the room.

Aden wasn't a large man, yet his presence almost overwhelmed the delicate and feminine bedroom. His strong jaw was unmoving, his lips set in a cold line that reflected the ice in his green eyes. He didn't belong in her sister's bedroom. But he stayed for Sadie's benefit. He spent his nights next to an Amish doll instead of claiming his right as her husband. That unsettled her. But the idea of sleeping with Aden plain scared her.

She crossed the room and sat on the floor, leaning her back against the closet door. She pulled her knees up to her chin, her toes touching the edge of Abigail's woven rug, the skirt of her dress shrouding her legs.

Aden didn't move. He didn't say anything. She glanced at him, saw the pain in his eyes . . . and looked away.

“I'm sorry,” she finally whispered.

“It's okay.”

She looked at him. “
Nee
, it's not. I was rude.”
More than rude.
“I don't hate you.”

He kept his gaze on hers. “I wouldn't blame you if you did.”

Sadie stared at him until the question that had burrowed deep inside her all these years came to the surface. “Aden . . . why did you leave me with Sol?”

Looking away, he leaned his shoulder against the door frame. He didn't speak for a long time. Finally he said, “Because I was scared.”

“So was I.”

“I know.” When he turned to her, his expression was raw. “It's not an excuse . . . or even a
gut
reason. It's just the truth.”