There was a mood of space and openness to the entire house. Plants in carved crockery brought the outside in; two leaf-green couches formed a conversation cluster; an old deacon’s bench leaned against the curved wall of the living room. The bookcases were generous; Zach and Bett were both insatiable readers, at least in the winter. Generally, there was a splash of fresh flowers somewhere.
The place wasn’t overcrowded with furniture. Neither wanted to burden their space with excess furnishings, even if they’d had the money to do so. Truthfully, the last thing they’d needed was the expense of a new house, but Uncle John’s derelict old farmhouse had forced the decision. Not only had that ancient structure been crumbling from the foundations, but the furnace worked only from June until August; lights gratuitously went on in the middle of the night; and the plumbing only made a tired effort. It would have taken more money to fix up Uncle John’s house than to build their own. This one, at least, hadn’t been outrageously costly, both because they’d done most of the work themselves and because Zach was a maniac about energy conservation.
And to Bett, their place was distinctly theirs. In summer, they could collapse into a chair in filthy jeans, drinking iced tea while waiting for the next crisis. In winter, they could dress up on a special evening and sip honey wine in front of the fire and feel very, very luxurious. The house just fit them. And where else could a married couple say they’d made love on a gently sloping, grass-cushioned roof?
You’re digressing again, Bett told herself, and opened the refrigerator. Stop thinking about sex. Think about…money. Or babies.
Nothing in the refrigerator announced itself as irresistible. She closed the door and ambled back to the desk in Zach’s study to attack the bills. Slitting the first envelope, she noted that the local fuel deliverer had put a sticker of a smiling face on the invoice, which indicated that they owed him a whopping $939. George had such a sense of humor. She hoped his humor would last until they were paid for last Monday’s peaches.
Babies were more fun to think about than money, anyway. Actually, the diapered species was another of their motivations for building a house. Upstairs there happened to be three spacious rooms-one the master bedroom, one a combination spare room and storage niche that Bett promised herself regularly she would organize, and the third…the third room was still unpainted, still empty. Waiting. This was the room she and Zach had designated as the nursery.
This year they hoped to finish paying off their major loan from the bank, and next year they had additional orchards finally coming into production. Babies were just about ready to be slotted into the agenda. They’d been practicing to make them for some time. Zach, probably because he had been orphaned as a teenager, wanted a hundred. Bett would have settled for one. At times, the nesting urge would fill her with longing, but then Zach would really get in the spirit of practicing again…
You have a one-track mind this evening, she scolded herself and went upstairs. After taking a quick shower, she donned a pair of old white jeans and a T-shirt of Zach’s, then padded barefoot down to the kitchen again. After swiping the counter with a sponge and popping the lunch dishes into the dishwasher, she reopened the refrigerator, hoping that this time a decision about dinner would miraculously occur to her.
It didn’t. The only thought that did occur to her was that her mother would disown her for the way she kept house and organized meals. The thought of her mom instantly sent a wave of uneasiness through Bett’s mind. Elizabeth was in Milwaukee, only a few hours’ drive by car. When Bett was being honest with herself, she considered that distance exactly enough; she was able to see Elizabeth often without the two women being on top of each other. Not that they didn’t care about and love each other, but having such very different values, they inevitably, and sometimes sadly, clashed.
Bett stared at the offerings in the refrigerator, unconsciously biting her lip. Her father had died exactly thirteen months and four days ago; she was not likely to forget. She and her dad had been a matched pair; they both liked football games on Sunday afternoons and fooling around in the yard and talking with their feet propped up on the coffee table. Her mother was not at all that way. Elizabeth had not been coping well since Chet’s death. Bett was at a loss, not knowing how to help her mother, who was so different from her in every way. That geographical distance had begun to seem something she should feel guilty about.
“Bett?”
She chuckled at Zach’s growl, other thoughts chased away. Her husband was hardly likely to forget her desertion at the pond. Zach strode into the kitchen and paused, hands on hips, watching her as she started to prepare a picnic dinner of ham slices, cheese, fresh fruit and raw vegetables with dip. It was too hot for heavier fare, anyway.
“Did I or did I not tell you to come in here and put your feet up?” he asked mildly.
“Oh, Lord. I haven’t disobeyed another order?”
“You have.” Zach took a tray from above the refrigerator and nudged her aside with his hip to finish what she’d started. “You were in enough disgrace already,” he mentioned over his shoulder.
“Oh?” The sun had turned his skin bronze over the summer, a bronze that delightfully set off his light eyes. She’d always basically disliked the muscle-bound type, but she was extremely fond of Zach’s muscles, primarily because his sinew was attached to a lean frame that radiated sheer maleness whenever he moved. Fluid was the word. His body was tough and hard; inside, though she’d never tell him, there was tender stuff. Gentleness, even, when no one was looking and the lights were off. “So your swim felt good?” she asked idly. “Lord, it was hot this afternoon. Did you get Grady’s tractor fixed?”
“The tractor’s fixed, the semi’s already been here to pick up the peaches, the equipment’s all ready for tomorrow…and anyone could have been driving around the farm while you were streaking about naked.”
She followed Zach into the living room, carrying the smaller tray with iced-tea glasses and silverware. “I wasn’t streaking about naked. I took a quick dip in the pond to cool off. The bees have to be separated or they’re going to swarm,” she added seriously.
“How’s the honey production?”
They settled themselves on facing couches. “Absolutely stupendous. Mead time this fall.”
“Oh, Lord.” His wry grin made her chuckle. There was nothing messier than making mead, or honey wine. It took them a full fall afternoon of sticky-sweet messes that had become a tradition…as was the one evening a year when they both became perfectly silly on the stuff, once it was finished fermenting.
Zach didn’t waste any time dipping into the platter of fresh food. “You were not just taking a quick dip in the pond to cool off. You were flaunting again.”
“I never did understand why I married a man with such a dirty mind. I was simply swimming,” Bett said virtuously, and dove into her own plate.
“Bull. You knew I’d come after you.”
She leveled him a scolding frown, between grabbing a slice of cucumber and smothering it with dip. “You’ve accused me of this kind of thing before, you know. And I’ve explained to you that my mother raised a shy, modest type, hardly an exhibitionist… Did you check the peaches for tomorrow?”
“The north fifteen. We’ll probably spot-pick in the orchard behind the house as well. They’re nearly ready, and with this heat they could turn by tomorrow. Did you get the baskets?”
“At a discount.”
“How’d you manage that?” Zach shoved a foot against the coffee table.
“Seduced Kramer.”
“That must have taken dedication.”