Spring for Susannah Read Online Free

shoulders.
    â€œSing with me,” he directed, starting “Amazing Grace.” Susannah took the alto part.
    â€œYou sing so well,” she said when they finished. “Did you consider going into ministry too?”
    â€œSusannah, we can’t talk about that in the middle of our wedding. I still have to kiss the bride!”
    She clutched the seat. As a girl she’d dreamed of a first kiss, the dream fading through years without suitors. Now, here it was, a first kiss on her wedding day, no less. His lips, warm and soft, brushed hers. She opened her eyes. He tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together. She’d disappointed him again.
    He stared off into the distance. After a while, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I did consider the ministry, but God didn’t call me. Matt’s better at bookwork anyhow. I need to be outside, moving around. Can’t sit still. Could’ve stayed to help my little sister and her husband run the old farm, but I wanted somewhere new, a challenge, a chance to build a place all my own.”
    He leaned toward her, his head inches from hers, and wiped his brow with his bandanna. Breathe, Susannah reminded herself.
    â€œSo I took the train as far west as the tracks were laid.”
    He was a talker. Good. He spoke in staccato phrases, drawing out the last word, punctuating with easy movements of his wrists. His voice sounded half an octave lower and rougher than his brother’s polished speech. He paused and looked at her. Her mind had wandered, and she hadn’t the faintest idea what he was saying.
    â€œDo you have neighbors?”
    â€œIvar and Marta Vold.”
    Susannah looked where he pointed. No smoke from a wood-stove, no plowed field, no path. Just empty prairie.
    â€œIvar showed up my first fall. Couldn’t speak a word of English, but I talked his ears off anyway. Helped me get the first harvest in, then we built his soddy. Wouldn’t stay in it, though. ’Round about Christmas, he made skis and hiked over from his place. About choked on my grub when he banged open my door—I sure wasn’t expecting any visitors. He looked like Saint Nicholas himself, his beard and eyebrows crusted with snow, nose bright red. Must have decided I wasn’t all that good of company. First sign of spring he sent for his wife.”
    A low chuckle rolled from deep in his chest. He unbuttoned his cuffs and folded up his sleeves. Dark brown hair curled across his forearms and lay flat over the back of his hands. His skin was work-worn, ruddy from the sun. “Last winter Ivar stayed over at his place. He couldn’t leave his wife, what with a baby on the way.”
    Two veins formed an x before his third and fourth knuckles. The fingers of his left hand twitched and his right wrist moved side to side for no apparent reason. His ox ignored the oscillations of the reins.
    â€œDon’t know if winter was so much worse, or I’d just had enough of my own company, but soon as the weather broke, I wrote Matt asking if he knew anyone he’d like as a sister-in-law. Sure am glad I won’t have to face another winter alone.” His warm hand pressed Susannah’s. “I’m talking too much. Your turn.”
    â€œWhat should I say?”
    â€œAnything. Tell me about you. Ever been out of the city?”
    She’d never been farther from home than Detroit’s outlying farms, making calls with Father. She’d never visited New York City or Washington City or even Toledo. “No.”
    Enthusiasm drained from his voice. “Sidestepping all my questions, like your letters: ‘The weather has been pleasant.’ Susannah, I want to know you, what you like, what you want.”
    What she wanted? Since when was that important?
    Susannah’s throat tightened. She’d spent days on those letters— composing drafts, searching for words that were not too forward or self-serving, then feeding her poor efforts to