Forsaken (18 page)

Akiva had stopped walking, and she turned back. A dark scowl darkened his features or maybe it was only the slant of moonlight. “Is something wrong?”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Tell me of Jacob.”

She shook her head, no longer smiling. “He always surprised me.”

“And you like surprises?”

She nodded. He began walking again and she joined him. Companionable silence filled the spaces between them. Her thoughts wrapped around memories of Jacob, and she found comfort, a kind of peace she hadn't known in a long while.

When Akiva took the turn into the field that led over the rise toward the cemetery, he asked, “And what do you say to him?”

Suddenly her defenses rose sharply. “That's private.”

“Of course, but let me give it a try.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
”

Her footsteps slowed.

“You like poetry too, don't you?”

She purposefully turned and headed back the way they had come, suddenly not wanting Akiva to accompany her to Jacob's grave. “You should go. You're well now, I reckon. There's nothing keeping you here.”

“I don't know about that.”

Her arms pumped with each step, and her heart raced. “Please,” she tossed over her shoulder, “leave me alone.”

But suddenly he was in front of her, blocking her path. His hands bracketed her shoulders, his grip strong and painful. “You should go with me tonight.”

“I do not wish to go anywhere with you. I want to be alone.”

“To mourn? Yes, of course. I understand.” He released her but his gaze held her in place. “But…”

“But?”

“Well”—he shrugged one casual shoulder and turned slightly away—“you might enjoy it.” Then he shook his head, looked toward the ground. “Nah, you probably wouldn't.”

“Why?” She took a step toward him, but his face was shrouded in darkness.

“There is a party. Amish kids know how to party better than anyone. But you're not like them.”

“It's true. I do not run around as others do.”

“Because you're in mourning.”

“I know what I want and it's not out here, not what they are seeking.”

“But is it at home? What you want isn't there either, is it? Would Jacob be glad that you have stopped living because of him?” His hands slid down her arms and he clasped her hands for only a brief second, his warmth spreading through her. Then he released her. “Or would he encourage you to live life to its fullest, the way he did?” He paused long enough for his words to sink into her. “Come with me.”

“I can't.” Tears pricked her eyelids.

“Why?”

But she didn't have a reason.

“You probably know many at this party,” he said calmly. “Kids from the area. Friends and family. Are they so wrong for living their lives?”

She thought of the seasons, how they bled from one to the other, and eventually even though the death of winter was inevitable, new life emerging in spring. It was how it should be. But death seemed to have taken hold of her heart.

“Come on then. Just this once.”

She stared at his offered hand, and her tears receded. Then slowly, cautiously, she placed her palm against his, and Akiva folded his fingers over hers. His hand was warm, almost too warm. He began walking across the field in a new direction, away from the cemetery, leading her down a path she did not know.

Levi strode across the field, his fingertips skimming the tips of toppled cornstalks, now dried and withering from the cold temperatures. Most fields had already been cleared but this one had not yet been readied for winter. A part of him felt the same as these corn stalks, crumpling under the weighty demands of patience. With long days in the field over for the season, at night he felt restless and alone, and had taken to walking, sometimes with a purpose and destination, sometimes walking aimlessly.

A wispy, filmy cloud slid across the face of the moon and diffused its light, sprinkling bits about him and creating garish shapes out of the trees ahead of him, their limbs like arms reaching out and clawing at the air. Tonight, he needed to be away from the Huffstetlers and the crushing sounds of their joyous togetherness. A happy family, they were bursting at the seams, with little ones all around and another on the way. Blessings of God were good and should be celebrated, and yet these pained Levi, causing a deep ache inside him.

Forgive me, Lord.
His prayers were short these days, more direct. If God heard, He wouldn't be more inclined to listen due to the sheer quantity of words, would He?

Levi had never doubted before that the Lord God Almighty heard each and every word of his prayers—until things had started to go so wrong. But now, maybe it was not Levi who wasn't being heard. Maybe
he
was not hearing the Lord.

Should he abandon his hopes, which centered on Hannah? Could there be someone else meant for him? Another Amish woman?

But no, he knew with certainty that she was the one for him. His assurance defied explanation or logic. No one touched his heart the way Hannah did. He didn't simply want a family; he wanted a family
with her
. He wanted to love her, sleep beside her, wake up to her soft smile, see her across the table during each meal. He wanted to raise a family with her and go through the seasons of life with her by his side.

And so he would wait. And walk. And walk some more.

The cold did not bother him even though he wore his coat open, the flaps slapping back against his arms in the stiff breeze. He ducked his head down, the brim of his hat blocking the wind from his head as he plowed across the field, intent only on pushing relentless and reckless thoughts out of his head and wearing his body out so maybe tonight when he crawled into his lonely bed he could sleep.

Rest was not his goal, only blissful, unconscious sleep.

But a noise over the stomping of his boots and crackle of dead leaves slowed his steps until he stood at the edge of the field listening to a throbbing, vibrating, and scraping against his eardrums. Even though weak, it grew stronger as he moved forward again and edged toward a tree break.

A shrieking voice accented the angry, repetitive beat.
English
music, or so they called it. Jacob used to listen to such.

Was Samuel, their youngest brother, doing the same now? Losing one brother felt like a part had been ripped out of him, but losing Samuel too…Even distance, which might as well have been halfway around the world, felt like a gaping hole in his chest. Levi's heart lurched as he thought of his family hundreds of miles away in Ohio. He stopped walking and blew out a low breath, trying to rein in his emotions.

“Ah, Jacob…” His brother's actions had changed everything.

His mother wrote occasionally from Ohio where his parents had moved with Samuel after Jacob's…well, after the burial, which was more of an emotional covering up than anything. But Levi had decided against moving. He'd stayed and hoped and now waited.

Would it all be for naught?

Hannah didn't know what she wanted. She was still grieving. Would time heal the pain? It hadn't eased the ache in his own chest. Yet, he did not have to relinquish the heartache in order to embrace love. While he waited for Hannah to move beyond her grief, Levi missed his mother's cooking, her encouraging smiles, how she let him swipe a glob of batter from the bowl of her peanut butter cookies. He missed talking with his father as they worked in the carpentry shop. Would his father tell him to give up on Hannah? Or encourage him to continue to wait? And he missed Samuel, arm wrestling and racing, teaching him how to use the saw and sander, how to hitch the horse and buggy. So much he hadn't been able to show his brother who was no longer a boy but a seventeen-year-old, teetering on the brink of manhood. So much of his brother's life Levi had missed. Was Samuel growing strong in his faith? Or running around like other Amish teens? Was he questioning tradition as Jacob had? Or was he finding faith a solid foundation in which to build his life?

Through the towering trees—just a twenty-foot span where the naked limbs of hackberries, elms, and oaks filtered out the moon's beams and during the summer constructed a dense haven for creatures both large and small—Levi walked, determined to put the regrets and pain behind him. His heavy, black workman's boots crunched leaves and twigs even though he moved slowly toward the jarring music.

Then from the shadows, he peered out at a humbled jumbled group of cars and trucks and buggies, encircling a blazing campfire. A teen poured something into the fire and the flames swelled and leapt toward the black sky and moon. Laughter emerged from the swirling smoke to be overtaken again by the pounding music.

Levi recognized some of the Amish faces—Joshua, Luke, Zachariah—kids just a few years younger than Levi, eager to kick off the restraints of Amish life for a temporary (or so their parents hoped) expedition into the
English
world. Samuel might be hanging out with friends around a fire in Ohio right this minute, and being here with these younger men made Levi feel somehow closer to his brother, his family. Most of these kids would return to their families and roots and traditions. But one or two…like Jacob….

Levi shook his head. Maybe he should go to Ohio, help Samuel, convince him of the value of living for God and that empty pursuits lacked meaning and purpose. But he'd learned through his experiences with Jacob, when arguments had been prevalent at the supper table over Jacob's radical ideas, that there was no convincing someone who didn't want to be convinced. The righteous path, narrow and sure, had to be found by each individual.

“Aerosmith.” The male voice, low and raspy, came out of the dark.

Levi glanced left, his eyes squinting through the stinging smoke. “What?”

“The music,” the
Englisher
said, “it's a band called Aerosmith.”

Levi shrugged as his gaze focused on the shape of a man, but he could not detect the face. “It's no concern of mine.”

“Do you know them? The kids here?”

“Some,
ja
.”

“Are they all Amish?”

“Some.” Levi thought he'd seen this
Englisher
somewhere. “Do I know you?”

The man stepped out of the shadows into a slant of pale, shimmering moonlight. “Roc Girouard.”

Levi clasped the man's hand. “Levi Fisher. The wedding,
ja
? You were at Josef and Rachel's wedding.”

“Inadvertently.”

Watching the
Englisher
with open curiosity, Levi asked, “What are you doing here? Are you a reporter?”

“No. No worries there.”

“Are you writing a book or something? There are those who come here to search out our lifestyle.”

“I'm guessing those things written aren't always positive.” The
Englisher
shook his head. “I know how that feels. Thing is, my English teacher back in high school told me to stick to math. Funny”—he scratched his jaw—“my math teacher told me to stick to writing. I'm not a reporter, and I'm not writing a book or trying to bring harm to your community. In fact, you might say I'm doing the opposite.”

Levi set his jaw firmly. “And what might that be?”

“Let's just say I'm like a guardian angel.”

Levi crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you believe you are protecting us from?”

“Did you hear about the teen girl that went missing?”

Levi gave a grim nod. “Ruby Yoder.”

“She was out partying like this group of numbskulls.”

“Some say she went off with her
English
boyfriend.”

“Her body was found.”

A cold, spiky sensation crept down Levi's spine. “Too much to drink?” He'd heard of such happening. “Or a car wreck, I reckon.”

“Nope.”

The cold spikes jabbed at Levi. “Sometimes that happens.”

“Not this time.”

Levi looked at the kids around the fire, passing around a bottle of alcohol and handing a cigarette to each other. “Drugs then?”

Roc rubbed his jaw and met Levi's questioning gaze straight on. “She was murdered. The blood drained from her body.”

Every ounce of blood drained from Levi's head, and the trees around him tilted and spun. He clenched his jaw hard, biting down, as if sheer will would keep him on his feet.
Not again
.
Not this time
. “A-and h-how do you know this?”

Roc maintained direct eye contact as if trying to read Levi or transfer some knowledge to him. “It's in the unofficial police report. They're not saying all of that, of course, publicly. Don't want to cause a panic. Some crazy killer on the loose. Might freak people out.”

“Unofficial report? How would you see this? Are you the killer?”

“I'm hunting the killer. And when I find him, then I guess I'll be guilty of that charge myself.”

Levi looked heavenward. The stars were few tonight, just a smattering of them overhead. Most were hidden behind the shifting clouds. He wasn't sure what made him speak. It was not the Amish way to speak much to outsiders, but the words came anyway. “We lost a lamb the other night.”

Roc stepped toward him, his focus intent, his body taut as if ready to spring to action. “How?”

“Daniel believed it was a wild animal. It happens,
ja
? Not often but still…Daniel was convinced.” But Levi had known. He'd tried to tell Daniel. He'd tried, but maybe not hard enough. He rubbed the back of his neck, his thoughts turned toward a night two years ago. A night he wanted to forget. A night that seemed permanently etched in his mind. It had split his family apart. And stolen his brother, both his brothers, from him forever. “But maybe it wasn't an animal.”

“Not the four-legged kind,” Roc said. “Was there a wound on your lamb?”

Levi pointed to his neck with two fingers and remembered the blood-stained wooly coat. He hadn't wanted to believe it was the same as he'd seen before. He'd wanted to believe what Daniel Schmidt had said about wild animals on the prowl—anything but what Levi had seen before. But instinctively he'd known there should have been more blood. It had made him frantic…worried…but he'd convinced himself it was something else…
anything
else.

What would he have done with such knowledge anyway? Could he have told someone? Convinced anyone? Worse, could he have saved someone? He looked to Roc, desperate to remove the guilt he bore. “You think the
animal
that did this is here in Promise?”

“No doubt about it.”

If the animal was here, and if that animal was what he thought, then Levi knew the reason: Hannah. And he took off running, running like a wild animal was chasing and gaining on him, as if her life depended on him. Because it just might.