Stones In the Road by E.B. Moore

Author:E.B. Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-09-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Breeding

October almost over, the light short, her days long. Thanks to Zeke at the harvest, stub ends of cornstalks lined the front field. Miriam’s crop had been weak, the corn crib only half-full, so Zeke said silage would stretch the feed into spring. His cousin Hans, new from Germany, persuaded him to try it at his farm too.

For Miriam, they’d hacked leaves and stalks and threw them in a pit they’d dug under the barn’s north side overhang. All morning Zeke had been packing the pit, heavy boots stomping in circles. When Miriam came with a cup of water, he climbed out. Wobbly, he walked a crooked path to take the cup, one hand at his forehead.

“Are you all right?” She held his elbow.

“Hans says fermentation can kill, but an open pit? I thought I’d be safe.”

“Kill?”

“Not me. I’m fine, just a little dizzy.” He lurched, dropping the cup. She braced him, an arm around the barrel of his solid body, Zeke, muscled thick where Abraham, these last months, had wasted to angle and bone.

Zeke’s warm body against hers, her knees weakened, pressing her to him. Oh, how she missed that solid comfort, that . . .

What was she doing? She should be supporting Zeke, not Zeke supporting her. Had he felt her moment of weakness? Please, no. She stiffened her legs.

Yes, she missed the body to body. Abraham’s body. But more she missed his loving, missed the husband whose face talked to her, told all without words, his worries over rain, cows calving, a member of his Flock in need, his littles.

She wanted to step away from Zeke’s enticing warmth, from the musk of his labor. She lifted her head to check his eyes. “Better?” she asked.

“A bit,” he said, his arm around her, his pale face inches from hers. The shoofly pie of his breath sweetened the air as his lips, so heavy and soft, brushed past hers—Oh!—and he slid to the ground.

Oh, confusion, how it rattled that instant before his legs had buckled. She rubbed her lips with the back of her hand, quelling the nonsense.

Had her thoughts invited this, her body given him an unintended signal? No, it was an accident. He would never—she would never—

But their lips had touched. Surely he couldn’t think she wanted this. She hadn’t.

If only her treacherous body hadn’t spoken out of turn.

Knees and hands on the ground, Zeke shook his head, hair dangling. He groaned and, blinking, slowly staggered to his feet. “No more silage today.” He studied his boots. Still dazed or embarrassed? Embarrassed for her?

“Mmmm,” she said, “best not revisit the dizzies.” The tops of her ears hot, she drove her fingernails into her palms. Lordy.

• • •

The dizzies hit Miriam at the very thought of seeing Zeke. And of all things, there she stood, Abraham beside her, her shoulder like a crutch, the two of them at the white board fence overlooking the breeding of sheep. Twenty ewes milled, their estrus starting, Zeke in the middle, holding a pot of inkberry juice ready to mark each covered ewe.

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