“Is it a quilt?” Larissa admired the detail of each swatch.
“It’s for your brother and his new mate. It’s a family tree.” She lifted the sewn cloth and opened the folded section displaying the many branches of the Hartzler line. “The babe will be here before you know it, and your family will have much to celebrate this spring, I hope.”
“It’s lovely.” An ache formed within her hollow womb, and she longed to someday have her own reason to celebrate.
Larissa’s worries stemmed from the trials her mother faced. The thought of her mother’s many miscarriages reminded her of her parent’s marriage. She wondered if she would now be permitted to visit her family home.
The older woman gave her a knowing smile. “It will happen for you.” She then whispered, “You must guard your thoughts, child. There are many elders about.”
Not realizing that her mind had been so unprotected, she put up a barricade. Adriel gave a nod when her mind was no longer open.
“Now just think, all of this can be put behind you and you can move on with happier things.”
Was it truly behind her? Silus had never been one to accept failure easily and he rarely walked away without getting the last word. He could act very entitled at times.
The unwelcome thoughts of her husband were banished by her interest in the quilt. “How do you decide the colors?”
Adriel explained her methods as she continued to sew. Males wandered through the corridors, drifting toward the front exit where several carriages waited. With so much movement and low chatter, she didn’t look up when masculine footsteps shuffled nearby.
A shadow fell over her. Her hand adjusted the hair peeking from the hem of her bonnet as it tickled like a spider, and she looked up to find Silus leering at her.
Adriel’s hands stilled and hissed an oath the moment she registered his presence. His oppressive arrogance paralyzed Larissa as her gaze desperately searched for Eleazar.
The corridor had emptied. Silus stared down at her with stifling arrogance. “I wanted to commend you on acquiring such a fine match, dear wife.” His sneered words delivered with unmistakable sarcasm. “Wait until the bishop realizes the millstone you will be around his neck. I almost pity you. You thought I was overbearing. You won’t be able to hide your inadequacies from him forever. Imagine how disappointed he will be—how enraged—when he discovers you’re as cold and lifeless as a corpse in the marriage bed. You’ll be praying to be back under me.”
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Hostetler.” Adriel had stopped sewing and folded her hands in a nonthreatening clasp on her lap.
His glare cut to her friend. “Are you speaking to me?”
Chin high, Adriel held his cold stare. “I suggest you find your carriage and be on your way.”
Silus scoffed and leaned lower to speak directly into Adriel’s face. “I suggest you learn your place and shut your mouth when a man is speaking.”
A thin red brow lifted, but the rest of Adriel’s face remained a mask of composure. “I see no man before me, only a boy. A small, lost boy. Go. Find your horse, loathsome boy, and be gone so we can all pity you in peace.”
Larissa’s eyes widened as Silus’s complexion darkened. He spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m not sure who permitted you to lurk in this corridor like an unwanted mut day after day, but I’ll make sure you don’t return. Next time a male tells you to shut your mouth, you’d be wise to listen. Speak to me like that again, and I’ll shut it for you—”
The threat was whisked out of the air as his body propelled through the corridor and slammed into the opposite wall. The impact left him gasping, and Larissa jumped. Panicked, she looked to Adriel, who still wore the same mask of composure as her dispassionate gaze latched on Silus. He choked and sputtered for air.
“Adriel, you mustn’t.”
The female didn’t relent, her stare unbreakable. Silus’s feet kicked and dangled as his body suspended a yard off the ground.
Setting her sewing basket aside, Adriel slowly stood and crossed the floor. Her skirts glided with unhurried strides and she didn’t stop until she stood before him, watching him suffer through dispassionate eyes.
Hands clasped loosely behind her back, Adriel lifted her chin. “I’m Adriel Schrock, the second oldest immortal on this farm. I pinned diapers to your great-grandfather’s hips when he was just a boy. I saw your great-great-grandparents perish at sea when we made our pilgrimage. Elder Abraham Gerig, the third eldest immortal on this farm, is my brother by law. Elder Christian Schrock is my son. And Bishop King is my dearest friend, and therefore, so is his mate. You, however, are as inconsequential as the flies that toil over horseshit. That is your place. I’m bound by nothing to honor you. Speak to me with anything less than reverence again, and I will snap your empty head from your neck.”