Page 19 of Leviticus
“Um, Leviticus, could you—” Before I could finish my request, he was there behind me. His body was pressed close to mine as he reached up for the pan. My breath caught at his closeness. His scent invaded my senses, and I blushed. My hands fisted at my sides, willing the blush to recede quickly. I didn’t want to be a blushing fool. I wanted to be the confident wife he deserved.
“Here you are.” His voice felt like velvet as he handed me the pan.
“Thank you,” I barely murmured. I was acting like a lovesick fool. He didn’t deserve a silly, blushing wife. I had a lot of work to do. I shook the thoughts from my head and set the pan to heating while I cleaned up the few dishes I had dirtied. Within a few minutes, the omelets were prepared and ready to eat. I plated one for Leviticus — Levi, and made sure it looked nice. No spills or drips.
I carried the plate to the table in the adjoining dining room where he sat looking over a newspaper. It wasn’t the newspaper Zion put out, which intrigued me. I knew better than to ask, however. I held the plate out in front of me, smiling and hoping that it would suffice.
He coughed strangely, drawing my gaze back to him. He looked shocked. Panicked, I looked over the plate, worried I had made some grave error.
“Is something not to your liking?” I questioned, worried.
“No, um…. no. It looks delicious, Ruth. But you could have just told me breakfast was ready.” His voice was strained and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.
“It’s quite alright. I enjoy cooking and am happy to bring you your food.” He groaned audibly, and I looked at him questioningly.
“Very well. Please join me,” he finished, his eyes not meeting mine. I fetched my own plate and sat opposite him at the table. We ate in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. I was hyper aware of his facial expressions while he ate. I wanted him to enjoy the food I prepared for him. It was what Mama had taught me. Keep a tidy home and keep your husband well fed and you will have a happy life.
Once we had finished with breakfast, I quickly cleared the table and finished dishes. Levi read his paper and stayed quiet. It felt like a complete shift from this morning, where we had been warm and in some little bubble of happiness. The Levi before me was all business. It felt like I had been doused in cold water. Well, if that was how he wanted things to be, I would adjust like a good wife would.
“Leviticus, I was wondering if we could do that tour of the house now?” I asked, drying off the last dish and putting it away in the cupboard.
“Levi,” he corrected. “And yes, that sounds like a good way to finish off the morning.” He put the paper down and seemed at least less tense for the time being. It was going to take some work to get to know my new husband.
The tour went well, going through the beautiful home and learning where things were. There was nothing truly surprising, other than my surprise at some of the things his home included. I was not expecting his study to include such beautiful shelving, all stocked to the maximum with books. When we had entered his study, I was not surprised to see the same deep color scheme here; the room was done in a beautiful dark navy which looked exquisite against the dark wood of the shelving and furniture. There was a couch and a chair, both upholstered with a mustard yellow. It was unlike any color scheme I had seen before and yet; it was perfect. Bold and beautiful, masculine and feminine, all rolled into one.
My eyes roved over the entire wall of books before I caught myself, stepping back from the sight and clasping my hands behind my back to keep myself from reaching out to take one or two for reading.
I didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed at me or the way his hands clenched at his sides.
“Come along,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. Books would not be in my future, it seemed.
The rest of the tour went as expected, a completely normal house with completely normal things. I had thought that perhaps I would start cleaning and that would be a good way to show him what kind of wife I could be for him, but the house was already immaculate. Even the laundry was finished, save for our clothes from the prior day. Not enough to do the washing. There was literally nothing for me to do, and Levi was not exactly being a chatty Kathy.
“Levi?” I asked, having finally decided to just ask. “What would you have me do the rest of the day? I noticed the house is clean, and the washing has been done. I would like to be helpful where I can.”
“Just relax. Enjoy your day, Ruth,” he answered with a small smile. He wasn’t trying to push me away. That much I could see. But neither was he drawing me in or attempting to spend any measure of actual time with me.
“Very well,” I answered, still at a complete loss for what to do. “Perhaps I shall take a walk.” Yes, that seemed like the answer.
“Actually,” Levi stopped me as I turned to leave his study. “Part of the rules of our honeymoon state that we may not leave our home for any reason during this time, barring an emergency, of course. So, a walk will have to wait. Perhaps I could accompany you on a walk around my property tomorrow.”
“Why not today?” I asked, genuinely surprised that he didn’t want to spend time with me today. Wasn’t this supposed to be the time we took to get to know one another?
“I need to see to a few things. But, I will see if I can make time today.” His answer was firm, final, and I was confused. This was supposed to be a time where we learned about one another. Why would he be so distant? Perhaps it was just the awkwardness of having a new person in his home, and a woman at that. I resigned myself to that belief and made my way back to our bedroom. Now would be a good time to journal. I hadn’t had a chance to in the last two days and, truth be told, I had pages worth to write.
The fading light of day surprised me as I finished up the last words in my journal. My eyes were damp with tears and my body ached with the pain of the words I had written, yet my heart felt lighter. So much had transpired in the last forty-eight hours and writing down my thoughts, putting those emotions to words and those words down on paper, had done me a world of good.
Journaling was a habit I had started long before in the early days of my youth. I had always been a precocious child and a very inquisitive one at that. My questions had heavily burdened my parents, and they had sought to right me from my incessant inquisitions at a very early age. My mother had finally told me to go write down all my questions one day and that we would discuss them later. What had happened, instead, was journaling. I had written down my questions and found that by doing so, I didn’t feel the need to ask every little thing. I thought about them; I processed them, and then I felt lighter. So I kept with it. Now, nearly fifteen years later, I had a whole stack of journals to my name. The ones from my younger days I had burned, but from the time puberty really hit and on, I had kept. There was so much to question, so much to unpackage. These journals had become my safe place.
I closed my journal, finding space in the bedside table to store it alongside the other journals. I was grateful this was here and I had not needed to go in search of a place to store my precious words. I checked the bathroom mirror, splashing cool water on my face before making my way downstairs to begin the preparations for dinner. As I passed by the study, I could hear Levi’s voice in hushed tones. I couldn’t make out the words, but he didn’t sound pleased.
Perhaps a special meal was in order, then.
I checked the pantry, quickly pulling out the ingredients needed for my grandmother’s chicken parmesan. It wasn’t an overly complicated meal, which worked well in my favor as I noted that it was already 5:30 p.m. The dish came together rather quickly, and I knew it would be well received. Who didn’t love such a hearty dish?
“What smells so good?” He asked with a genuine smile on his face as I pulled the chicken from the oven.
“Chicken parmesan. My grandmother’s recipe, passed down to me before her passing,” I explained with a proud smile on my face. I knew it didn’t bode well for women to be prideful, but I couldn’t rightly help it. It pleased me to please my husband. Making him smile gave me joy and fulfilled me far more than I had anticipated and I wanted to please him more.
