| |
After the service, there was always a light lunch served inside the house and outside on the lawn. Jemima, like all the other girls, helped serve her elders until it was her own turn to dine.
It was a fine, clear morning with a blue sky and green grass and white tablecloths and people talking and laughing. Many of Jemima’s elders greeted her pleasantly as she brought plates or pitchers to their tables.
Most of the boys stole shy glances at her face. She dimpled, and smiled at them, and watched in amusement as their faces went pink.
Afterwards, she joined her family and listened in dutiful silence as her father and their next-door neighbor talked crops. When she let her gaze wander, she noticed that Samuel was sitting at a table nearby. He was hard to miss when he took his hat off, his blond hair shone like corn silk against his black jacket. She noticed some of the other girls looking at him when he turned away, and she felt a little glow of gratitude. She was a lucky girl to have such a handsome young man pursuing her.
And he was pursuing her. It didn’t take him long to sense her eyes on him. He smiled, and then got serious again and looked at her with such frank intent that she felt herself going hot. Samuel had beautiful blue eyes, and they expressed every feeling going through his heart as clearly as any sign.
She looked at him through her lashes. That was Samuel’s charm – his glib laughter, and his carelessness, was all an act. He couldn’t hide his true feelings – his eyes betrayed him every time.
And what his eyes were saying to her at the moment was probably best not said in a room full of people.
Jemima smiled faintly, well pleased, and dropped her own gaze demurely.
After everyone had eaten lunch, and she was free, Samuel appeared at her elbow. He whisked her away with him so quickly that even her father – who was talking to a neighbor about horseshoes – didn’t have time to see them go.
Samuel took her hand and led her down a tortuous path that twisted crazily through a side door, down a few steps, through a narrow doorway, up a few stairs, and into a small sitting room in a hidden corner of their house.
Then he closed the door behind them and pulled her into his arms without another word.
Jemima went into them without a murmur and turned her face up to be kissed.
Samuel pulled her to his chest, twined his strong fingers in hers, pressed both hands behind her back, and kissed her with delicious tenderness. He was a delightful kisser – his lips seemed made for light, playful caresses, and he would pause mid-pucker sometimes, to pull back and look down at her until she opened her eyes. Then he would go on quirky kissing tangents, one kiss on each of her closed eyelids, lots of little kisses along her brows, and he might even plant a few stray kisses in the delicate, sensitive spot under her ear.
She giggled suddenly, and shook her head. “Oh, Samuel, that tickles,” she laughed, turning her face away teasingly. “Didn’t you shave your chin this morning?”
He looked down at her with a smile, and rubbed it with one brown hand. “Now that you mention it,” he admitted ruefully, and his smile widened to a grin. “Tell me, does the scruffy look do anything for me?” He turned his profile, and she giggled again.
Then the smile faded from his lips. A serious look replaced them,
He pulled back, taking both her hands in his. “Jemima, I brought you here because I wanted to talk to you alone. I have something to say to you.”
She held his gaze, waiting.
An uncharacteristic wave of shyness seemed to overwhelm him. “We-we’ve known each other a long time,” he stammered.
“Yes, Samuel.” She smiled, remembering the first time she had seen Samuel: he had been a mischievous little five-year-old boy making mud pies. He had looked up at her suddenly, his blue eyes and blond hair in stark contrast to a face covered in black mud. She had screamed and run away, and he had chased her.
He seemed to read the thought off her face. He relaxed a bit, and chuckled. “Yes, we go way back, don’t we, Mima?” he said softly.
She looked up into his eyes and nodded, giving him her earnest attention.
“You know what kind of person I am, and I hope you feel about me, the same way I feel about you.”
He massaged her hand gently, and half-smiled.
“After all – I asked to court with you, and you agreed.”
Jemima’s heartbeat quickened. She leaned in and looked deep into his beautiful eyes. Maybe Samuel was finally going to show her his heart. He might even tell her that he loved her.
And since he seemed to be shy, maybe she could help things along and give him a little nudge. Maybe she could gently remind him that there were other boys who might be willing to admit they loved her.
Maybe then he would confess his love, and pour out his heart, and make himself vulnerable – like in that magical letter.
She took a deep breath. “Yes, Samuel, we have been good friends. I agreed to see you. Not to see just you, but to go out. Just like you can see other girls, and not just me.”
He raised his eyes to hers, and the look in them now was determined. Jemima’s pulse quickened in anticipation. He was going to tell her he loved her at last. He was going to say it.
“I don’t want to go out with any other girls, Jemima. And I don’t want you to go out with any other men.”
She held his eyes. “Why not, Samuel?” she asked gently.
Samuel looked pained. “Jemima, I-I–”
There was suddenly a thunder of pounding feet outside, and two little girls burst into the room, laughing and giggling.
“Abby, you’re it!” shrieked a little pigtailed girl. “I caught you!”
“Count to ten!” the other one cried, and pressed herself against the wall. “One two three four...”
The pigtailed girl streaked out into the hall, only to collide with her outraged mother. “Ruth Beiler, stop that this instant! The noise you make – this isn’t our house!”
She looked in and caught sight of the other child. “Abby Stoltzfus, is that you? Come out now, and stop this nonsense!”
The child obeyed in subdued silence, and the woman finally noticed Jemima and Samuel standing there. She looked embarrassed.
“Oh – I’m sorry,” she murmured, and hustled the children out, but not before casting another curious, and frankly speculative glance at them.
After the door had closed behind the intruders, Samuel ran a hand through his rumpled blond hair, looked up at the ceiling, and then down at Jemima with a rueful sigh.
Jemima could have cried in frustration. There had been a confession trembling on Samuel’s very lips, and it was slipping away – she could feel it. She pressed her hands against his chest.
“Oh Samuel, never mind them,” she said earnestly, “you were going to tell me something. Don’t hold back – I’m listening! Tell me now.”
He smiled, gave a self-deprecating shrug, and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Mima,” he said tenderly, “I–”
He leaned close. Jemima searched his eyes with her own, but to her disappointment, no tender confession followed.
Unless she counted the gentle, softly rhythmic kiss that communicated so much.
And admitted exactly nothing.
