Forsaken (26 page)

He opened the passenger door for her, taking her hand, and showing her toward a square cloth he had placed on the ground. A stand of candles illuminated the area with golden, flickering light.

“It's a bit cold for a picnic, but I couldn't resist. A restaurant or bar didn't seem right after
The Four Seasons
.”

“This is perfect.”

He helped her sit on the cloth and handed her a glass filled with a bubbly liquid from a green bottle. “Champagne.”

She took a sniff, and it tickled her nose and made her smile.

Holding up his glass to hers, he grinned. “To great composers.”

“And writers.” She ducked her chin, embarrassed by her statement. “That's what Jacob would say.”

“He would indeed.”

The clink of their glasses rang out in the night with a lovely note of celebration. Although she wasn't sure what they were celebrating, she decided to celebrate her liberation from grief. This was a new beginning, a night of promise and hope.

He drank first, then she did, and the cool liquid tasted fruity and sparkly against her tongue.

“Jacob,” Akiva said, rolling the stem of the glass between his forefinger and thumb, “appreciated Keats, maybe you will recognize this poem—

“Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;

There are four seasons in the mind of man:

He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear

Takes in all beauty with an easy span:

He has his Summer, when luxuriously

Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves

To ruminate, and by such dreaming high

Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings

He furleth close; contented so to look

On mists in idleness—to let fair things

Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,

Or else he would forego his mortal nature.”

The words seemed to drive out her worries and fears, and wrapped around her like a cocoon, sheltering her from even her doubts and questions.

“It's beautiful.” She sipped again from the champagne glass. “Jacob had the ability to make words come alive. Or so it seemed.” Her gaze dropped and shifted sideways. “And you do too.”

He touched her chin and lifted it up so that her gaze met his. His smile was soft and tender; his touch gentle and warm. Her belly tilted and her head swayed beneath the potency of his gaze and caress. “You must try this,” he said, reaching into a basket beside him and pulling out a red, ripe strawberry.

She straightened. “Where did you get such a thing this time of year?”

He smiled and held the tiny green stem as she took a bite from the plump fruit that tasted surprisingly sweet. He ate the rest then nodded toward the champagne. “Now try it with the taste of strawberry on your tongue.”

Her mouth burst with flavor, and they ate several berries, some dipped in the champagne. Before she knew it the bottle of champagne was empty and her head felt light and wobbly. Even though the night air was below freezing, she didn't feel cold. She sniffed the air and it smelled of snow.

“Now,” he said as he leaned back on his elbow and stared up at her, “what did you think of the concert?”

“The music was…oh…” Words failed her. How could she share all that was in her heart, which felt lighter and more carefree? “I'm not sure I have the words to say it.” But it was as if her tongue had been loosened on its hinges and it waggled on and on about the different pieces, the joyfulness and sorrow found as the music dipped and soared, the words of Ecclesiastes stirring her, revealing her pride. With her cheeks warm and probably glowing, she quieted herself. “It's funny because it made me think of Grandma Ruth. I miss her.”

“Grandma Ruth?”

“She was my grandmother on my mother's side, married to Grandpa Ephraim.”

“What do you mean, ‘miss her'?” Akiva's forehead folded downward into a frown.

“I used to catch her humming sometimes when she tended her garden. She would have loved the music tonight. I wonder if she is hearing music like that in heaven.”

“She's dead?” His features tightened. “For how long?”

“Only a year.” Hannah felt fresh tears, and looked away before saying, “Thank you for taking me tonight, Akiva. I will remember it forever.”

“Forever is a long time.” He inched closer and kissed her softly.

She felt drawn to this man, to his heat, to the taste of strawberries and champagne, to the very scent of him. She had felt this way with Jacob too, yet not exactly. This man made her feel things she had not felt before, and her melancholic mood made her want to cling to someone, hold on to them so the aloneness she had felt for so long would vanish. Her fingers sifted through the hair at his nape, and then he deepened the kiss. He pulled her into his arms, slanting her body across his lap and she felt the hard solidness of his frame. She opened to him as she had never imagined possible. Their breaths melded with their lips, the taste and touch making her mind spin. She clung to him and their generated heat wrapped around them.

He laid her back gently onto the blanket, his hands framing her face, caressing her skin. She felt her back arching toward him, and she was eager to lose herself in the moment, the night, this man. His mouth was hot and bold, and pulled even her breath from her as if he could possess her soul. His gaze smoldered, and she felt his heat through her cape and clothes. Then he dipped his head, drew a line along the column of her neck, and she looked heavenward to give him free access. A tiny snowflake fell out of the darkness.

But he shoved himself away and she lay there alone, shivering. Even with his back to her, she could see his breathing was labored too.

“Akiva, what—”

“Get in the car, Hannah.”

“But—”

“Go. Now.”

She scurried to get up, her legs feeling stiff and then wobbly. Without a backward glance, she ran for the car and, with the help of a sudden gust of wind, slammed the door closed. Chilled, she huddled inside her cape until finally Akiva followed, placed the basket and blanket in the back of the car, and joined her. He started the engine but didn't drive. He didn't look at her either.

“I thought I could control myself. I thought…” He clenched the steering wheel. “I'll take you home.”

Dark ribbons swirled about Hannah, dancing and swiveling in a beguiling rhythm, and began one by one to wrap around her wrist and ankle and throat, the ribbon becoming thicker and twined along her limbs and around her middle. The bands snapped into strong lines. Then she felt herself falling, hurtling backward, yanked into a spiraling storm. She fought the bonds, but it was no use as she fell into a dark void where all she could hear was her own scream—far away and faint.

Her eyes opened. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath. She was lying in the dark, only a crease of light slipping inside and turning the black to gray. Shadows took shape, and she recognized the dresser, the pegs on the wall, her bedside table. Flinging off the sheets and quilt that entangled her legs, she sat upright.

Her head felt as if it had split open, exposing every nerve to the brightening light. Her stomach tilted uneasily, and she closed her aching eyes and lay back down, burrowing into the pillow.

But the clomp of horse's hooves and crunch of wagon wheels on the drive caused her to push up from the bed. She stumbled, a piercing ache in her temple, the weak light stabbing her eyes, but she made her way to the window and squinted out at the day, which had already begun without her.

Down below, a buggy came to a stop. She touched the neckline of her nightgown. How had she gotten home? The last she remembered she was with Akiva. Heat rose up inside her and scorched her cheeks. She placed a hand against her burning skin. What had she done?

As she watched the buggy below, Rachel climbed down and greeted Mamm with a hug and kiss. Embarrassment and shame fled beneath the onslaught of pure joy. It was good to see Rachel again. Hannah's hand pressed the cold glass. She must hurry.

How selfish of her, her thoughts focused on herself and not others, not even helping Mamm get ready. Hannah hurried to dress but felt her stomach lurch. She paused and put a hand against her belly until her insides settled again. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to remember undressing last night. Akiva must have brought her home as he'd promised. And left. Yes, of course he left. She would remember if he hadn't.

Before she could finish fastening the pin of her skirt, a knock on the door made her finger slip and she plunged the sharp pin into her thumb. Pressing the pad to her tongue and tasting the saltiness of her own blood, she said, “Come in.”

The door opened and Rachel peeked around the edge. “Am I too early for even the birds?”

Rachel's gaze dropped to Hannah's bare feet, and Hannah curled her toes under. “I overslept.”

“You, Hannah? Oversleeping?” Rachel tsked. “Shocking.” She entered what used to be her room too and closed the door behind her. “Did you have a late night?” She smiled in a manner that suggested exactly what she was out doing and Hannah's skin prickled with an inner heat. Laughing, Rachel plopped onto the unmade bed. “How is Levi these days?”

Levi.
Guilt stoked the fire inside her to burn hotter. She folded her nightgown, turning her back so Rachel could not see her face. There was so much Rachel didn't know, so much she had missed in the month since her wedding. “Fine. He's fine, I suppose. But I…uh”—she shrugged—“don't really know.”

Rachel's eyebrows narrowed. “You didn't see him last night?”

Turning toward the window and the morning light streaming through it, Hannah shook her head and grabbed her brush, drawing out the strokes and trying to ignore the dull ache in her head.

Rachel came up behind her and smoothed out her hair, fashioning it in the traditional Amish bun. “You're pale. Are you sure you're feeling all right?”

Hannah kept a steady hand against her rebellious stomach. “I'm fine.”

Then Rachel peered closer. “You aren't…” Her voice trailed off.

“Aren't what? I'm not ill.”

Rachel's eyebrow arched. “What have you been doing…and who have you been doing it with?”

“No one. Nothing.” She looked away and nudged Rachel's hand to continue fastening her hair in place.

“You're sure this isn't morning sickness?”

The words shocked Hannah. “No! Why would you think that?”

“I know the symptoms, and you don't look so good this morning.”

“Must have been something I ate. Wait…You know the symptoms?” Hannah faced Rachel, who gave a slow nod and sheepish grin.

“Really? You're sure?”

Rachel nodded more vigorously, this time her cheeks flaming. “I think it happened on our wedding night.”

Hannah hugged her sister and whispered congratulations. “Does Josef know?”

“Of course. But we haven't told anyone. So don't—”

“I can keep a secret.”

“I know you can.” She turned Hannah away and finished fixing her hair.

Afterward, Hannah hugged her again. It felt good to be with her sister. “I've missed you.”

“And I you.” Rachel fingered a wisp of hair near Hannah's temple. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course. But Rachel?” Hannah ventured, knowing this might be the only moment they had alone throughout the day. “If I asked you something…would you tell me?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Tell me about the trip you took with Jacob?”

Rachel's face blanched. It wasn't the reaction Hannah expected. Rachel turned away and made the bed, folding the covers at the top neatly, then sat on the edge. Her hands trembled and she clasped them in her lap. “It was a foolish time. I only went to make Josef jealous.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Hannah”—her mouth thinned into a prim line of disappointment—“Jacob is gone. You need to move on.”

“I'm not asking about Jacob. I'm asking about you. And what you saw and did.”

She stood and walked toward the door. “There's nothing to tell. Come, the other women will be wondering where we are.”

***

Rachel and Mamm, along with several other ladies from the district, gathered around the quilt, needles at the ready and the chattering already at full steam, but the meek voices sounded like hammers pounding against Hannah's skull. They planned on finishing the quilt for Beth Ann's sister, Fern, who was getting married in two weeks. Hannah hoped it wouldn't take all day, as her eyes felt weak, and she pricked the edge of the cloth forming a straight if not quite even stitch. When Mamm peered over at her work, a frown marring her brow, Hannah gave herself a hard shake and concentrated on making each stitch tiny and even, with the same devotion she'd utilized when making the quilt she'd hoped to share with Jacob. But that quilt remained unfinished and buried in her hope chest.

Their hands moved quickly and efficiently, each stitch so like each of the many decisions they made each day, drawing together rather than unraveling the fabric of their lives, the seams solid and straight like their faith crisscrossing throughout their community, and the whole quilt reflected the love wrapping the couple in matrimony. Hannah looked across the stretched fabric pieces toward Rachel, who looked tired but also happy. And yet, her reaction to Hannah's question had unraveled her.

What piece was missing that Hannah couldn't see? Was it so vital that if yanked out into the open, it would strip all Rachel was trying to bind together? Or was it simply that Rachel had moved on? That looking back on a foolish journey only complicated her life? Was it simply a season of her life, now withered on the vine and forgotten?

A cooing sound made the women turn toward Katie, who tended Mae Troyer's six-month-old baby boy, Timothy, and Hannah stared at the blue-eyed youngster with a new wonder and awe that, in a few months' time, Rachel would have one of her own. Maybe it was that simple. Others had moved into the next season and were experiencing the blossoming of their summertime with marriages and babies, all while Hannah clung to the springtime of her youth, to a shriveling dream, a wilting hope, where the roots had died and could not sustain a full life.

“Your milk must be good,” Mamm said to Mae, her fingers never slowing, “as your boy is growing strong.”

Mae, only a year and a half older than Hannah, beamed. “
Ja
. He's always hungry, that one.”

“Marriage seems to agree with you, Rachel.” Edith Shetler, Beth Ann and Fern's mother, peered over the rim of her glasses.

Rachel blushed.

Beth Ann nudged her shoulder. “Josef treating you well?”

Rachel continued stitching, her blush deepening.

Mamm tsked. “We are embarrassing her.”

“That's the lot of a young bride,” Mae stated with a perfunctory nod. “A little teasing does no harm.”

“Still,” Mamm said, smiling at her oldest, “maybe we should change the subject.”

Edith's hands stilled, and she rested one on the quilt as she glanced around the group. “Have any of you experienced the loss of livestock lately?”

Mamm nodded, her needle moving with lightning speed. “We lost a lamb not long ago.”

“We lost a cow earlier this week,” Mae said as she glanced toward her son, who rubbed his fist over his face. “He's getting tired, Katie. You might be able to rock him to sleep now.”

Katie nodded, scooped the baby into her arms, snuggling the chunky body against her chest, and settled into Mamm's wooden rocker, which had been used in their family to rock babies to sleep for over a century. The curved base rolled against the wood floor in a slow and steady rhythm.

“Josef says there is a wild animal loose.” Rachel's needle snagged the material, and it took several jabs for her to correct her error in the quilt.

Mae glanced over her shoulder toward Katie and then hunched her shoulders, leaning over the quilt, and whispered, “A man came by our farm. An
Englisher
. He warned us about a stranger. A dangerous stranger in the area.”

Mamm set down her needle and thread. “This is idle talk.”

Silence descended as the women bowed their heads over the quilt and focused on their sewing, but concern came in through the back door like a cold, wintry wind and gave Hannah a chill that wouldn't go away.

***

Hannah walked arm-in-arm with Rachel toward the fields as the wind boasted and threatened to steal their scarves.

“Josef and I are going away for a while,” Rachel said softly.

Hannah blinked back tears, whether from the wind or the emotions building inside her she wasn't sure. It was tradition for a newly married couple to go visiting. “You will enjoy that, I reckon.”

“We'll most probably be gone for Christmas. Josef has an uncle and cousins in Ohio he wants to visit.”

“It will be nice for you to meet them.”

“A long journey for sure.” Rachel patted Hannah's arm. There was something in her movement, in the way she kept patting, as if maybe she was trying to reassure herself and not Hannah. “But that's not why we're going.” Her tone dipped low, and she stopped and took hold of Hannah's hands. Her eyes were suddenly bright. “It's the animal killings.”

“There's no reason to fear. It's just a wild animal. That's what you said.”

Fierceness hardened Rachel's blue eyes and stretched her skin tightly over the bones in her face. “You are naïve, Hannah. Promise me you will be careful.”

Hannah searched her sister's face, trying to read her expression, but Rachel had never looked like this. “What are you afraid of?”

Rachel glanced over her shoulder as if someone might be listening, but there was no one to hear out past the laundry line, where the sheets billowed and snapped in the wind. The women had stayed in the house, Mae having already left, and the men were in the barn. Not even Toby, who was curled up in his shelter, would hear them. “You're not still going out at night, Hannah? Are you?”

“What's going on?”

Rachel licked her lips and stared down at their joined hands. “When I went with Jacob to New Orleans, there were”—she swallowed hard—“similar happenings.”

A chill icicled down Hannah's spine. “Similar how?

Rachel pulled back, stepped toward the house. “I've said too much.”

Hannah clutched Rachel's cape, held her in place. “Tell me.
Bitte
.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to drown all the happiness she seemed to have in her new marriage and tucked deep inside her womb. “I cannot.”

“This is all about Jacob?”

Rachel's eyes widened.

“He told me something happened,” Hannah rushed on, as memories crowded in on her. “He was confused…curious, drawn to something he said I couldn't understand. But maybe…maybe I need to know now.”

“No. You must…stay close to Levi. He will protect you.”

Hannah's jaw hardened with her resolve. “Jacob wasn't afraid. Fear not—”

“Yes, he was. Fear brought him home.” Rachel looked down at the ground then back at the house, where Katie stepped out onto the porch, her hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the wintry sun as she searched the yard for them.

Hannah tugged on Rachel's arm and pulled her to the other side of the laundry line so the sheet would shield them from view. “What do you mean?”

A tear slipped down Rachel's cheek.

“Jacob didn't die in an accident at his father's carpentry shop, did he?”

“I don't know that for sure, but—”

“Hannah! Rachel!” Mamm's call shattered Hannah's chance. Rachel backed away, turned toward the house, and waved. “Coming, Mamm!”

Hannah trailed her sister's hastened steps, which she suspected were an eagerness to get away from telling more. “Tell me quick.”

“It's getting late. Josef will be waiting.”

“Meet me tonight.”

Rachel paused. Fear made her eyes dark and intent. “I told you not to go out at night. Please, Hannah—”

“I have to know. Meet me.”