IT WAS LATE ON THE NIGHT OF THE QUILTING. ANGEL WAS ensconced upstairs in Abigail’s old room, and the house was quiet except for the gentle brush of Abigail’s nightdress as she puttered about the master bedroom putting things away and taking overlong to brush her hair. A single kerosene lamp burned on the bedside table, and Joseph sat up against the pillows watching her. She knew that she was dallying, but she wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject that had been on her mind since that afternoon.
“So, the quilt is beautiful,” he remarked, and she turned to watch him run his hand over the pattern of multicolored stars. “Abby’s Wish, hmm?”
She nodded. “When your sister found out the pattern name, she actually went around the table and had everyone make a wish for me.”
He smiled. “That’s nice. When are you coming to bed?”
She bit her lip. “Don’t you want to know the wishes?”
“I know what I wish.” His voice was husky, and she turned on her bare feet to face him, leaning against the bureau for support.
“What?” she whispered.
He laid aside his glasses and closed his eyes, and his thick lashes fanned against the flush of his cheeks. He began to speak in a dreamy tone that made her curl her toes into the wooden floorboards.
“I wish that you’d put down the hairbrush and that you’d walk toward me and that you’d smile your beautiful smile and that your eyes would shine. Then I wish you’d look at me the way you did when I was sick and whisper that you’d do anything to help me, because I need help, Abby. I need you, and I . . .” He broke off and opened his eyes, and she stared into their warm, dark depths, almost as if she could see herself reflected there.
And she could see herself as he’d described, coming to him . . . just as she was meant to do as his wife. The thought simmered across her consciousness, and she took one small step forward. She saw him swallow and watched as a pulse beat strongly in the bare line of his throat.
“Abby . . .”
She smiled and let the love she felt for him show in her eyes. She could hear him breathing, short, deep intakes of breath as if he’d run a long way and now was finding rest.
She came until she was within hand’s reach of him, but he still didn’t move. She wet her lips and gazed down at him, all of the love she felt for him heating her heart and her mind. She bent forward from the waist, letting her hair enclose them like a curtain, and then she kissed him.
“Joseph,” she murmured.
He opened his eyes. “Is this real?” he asked in wonder. “Do you . . . Are you . . . ?”
Her lips found his once more, and then he reached strong arms up to pull her to him. He pressed hot kisses along the line of her throat and through the cotton fabric of the shoulder of her gown.
“And what do you wish for, Abby Lambert?” he whispered in a breathless sigh, drawing the quilt over their heads.
She stared up at him, then pulled his eager mouth down to meet her own once more. “That’s easy,” she said between kisses. “As the Lord wills, I wish for a lifetime of joy, and children, and peace, with the husband of my heart.”
He smiled. “Well then, Mrs. Lambert, I’ll give it my earnest attention to make sure that your every wish comes very . . . very true.”