Forsaken (20 page)

“Hannah Schmidt! Wait until I tell Mamm what—”

But she hadn't told Mamm. Or Dat. Or anyone else. Because Jacob had whispered to her during lunch some of the things Rachel had been doing late at night with Josef Nussbaum. And so Rachel and Hannah began covering for each other when Josef came to call or when Jacob shined a light in their bedroom window.

Stolen kisses, forbidden touches, led to fabrications and deceptions about where she'd been. And yet, Jacob made Hannah feel alive in a way she never had before. Her skin tingled with anticipation of seeing him, being near him. But during church, guilt had crept into her heart.

“Maybe we shouldn't…” she'd ventured when Jacob cupped her breast as they lay in the barn's loft.

“Why?” His focus was on her chest, and his thumb skimmed over the peak. In spite of her clothes ultimately separating her from Jacob, her body flared to life like a struck match. “We're going to be married.”

“I know but…”

Arguments and excuses were like a solitary thread holding a horse in check. And so Jacob probed her boundaries, made new ones, and stirred a fire within both of them, until Hannah thought the smoldering spark within might consume her like a stack of hay bales. But propriety and God's laws were not what put a halt to their experimentation and exploration.

She was lying against Jacob in an empty stall late one night, his coat beneath them, her head resting in the cleft of his shoulder. His shirt had come lose from his trousers, the fabric wrinkled and mussed in their groping and kissing. Her apron had been removed so the pins wouldn't prick him, and her skirt had scooched up over her knees.

He began to speak in a voice that resonated through her: “
And still as ever the world went round, my mouth on her pulsing neck was found, and my breast to her beating breast was bound.
”

The words tickled her ears and she marveled at his ability to speak in ways that made her heart flutter. “Did you write that?”

He chuckled. “I wish.”

She sat up, rested her forearm against his chest. “Who then?”

“D. H. Lawrence.”

She laid her cheek against his breast. “Tell me more.”

His hand slid along her spine and rested momentarily at the narrow indentation before slipping further downward to cup her backside. “
But firm at the centre my heart was found; Her own to my perfect Heart-beat bound, like a magnet's keeper closing the round.
”

“Hmm,” she sighed as her insides melted beneath his touch and words. “Is that all?”

“For now…” He kissed the top of her head, shifting until he could press kisses against her temples and eyelids.

“Why?”

“You're too much of a distraction. I have other things in mind.”

She smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Like what?”

He didn't answer but let his wandering hand turn her mind in the same direction.

A shiver passed through her as his explorations moved up the inside of her knee, and she clung to his shoulders. Jacob would be her husband soon. The summer was waning and at Sunday's service the bishop had mentioned classes for the coming baptism. If they both went through it together, even though she was still only fifteen, they could be married before Christmas. And soon their bodies would be one.

His tongue explored the delicate curves of her ear, and she felt his body shift, pulling her beneath him. When his hand reached her thigh, sending swirling sensations through her abdomen and lower regions, she whispered his name on a sigh, “Jacob.”

“I know.” He took her hand and slid it down his abdomen.

“Did you hear what was said today?”

“About?”

“Bishop Stoltzfus.”

His hand stilled. “Are you kidding?” He glanced down at her exposed leg, his tanned, work-roughened hand against the delicate whiteness of her thigh. “I was thinking of you. Of this.”

“But he was talking about the upcoming baptism.” Her hand curled over his shoulder. “And I thought if we both were baptized together then—”

“Not yet.”

Hannah straightened her elbow and pushed him back. “Why?”

“I'm going on that trip. I told you.”

“But…I thought…when we started”—her gaze shifted sideways—“seeing each other that you wouldn't want to go.”

“Not go?” He sat up, shoved a hand through his hair. “Are you serious? This is what I've been planning…saving for…for years. I'm going to Newark for the poetry festival in October then to New Orleans to visit where such amazing writers have lived—Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote—”

She'd heard that all before, and she slapped her skirt back into place, covering her exposed flesh and attempting the same with her hurt feelings. “Jacob Fisher—”

“What? You've known this.”

Tears sprang to her eyes then, as they did even still. Maybe it was the smoke from the bonfire. Maybe it was seeing her friends enjoying themselves the way she once had, the hope of promise in each kiss and caress. Or maybe it was because once she'd felt so alive and now she simply felt dead.

She wasn't the only person to ever lose their heart's desire. There were widows in their district, parents who had lost children, all sorts of pain and loss embedded in the hardship of life. Others seemed to carry on. Why had she found it so difficult? And yet, she wanted to feel alive again, the way she once had when sheltered in Jacob's arms.

Akiva stepped toward her, his body blocking out all the other images, even those in her head. “Are you all right?”

Staring into those dark eyes, she heard the whispers circle her and nodded.

“Have you ever danced?”

“Never.”

“I will teach you.”

She stepped back, uncertain and scared, her heart thundering louder than the music. “I should go home.”

“If that is what you want.” His gaze seemed to pierce right through her as his hand settled at her waist. “But is it? Really?”

Her insides swayed and shifted. “I'm uncomfortable.”

“You have nothing to fear. I will take you home if that is what you wish. But…”

She nodded but stopped abruptly. “But what?”

“Maybe Jacob would want you to dance. Just this once.”

“This is not about Jacob.” And yet she knew it was.

“Then your faith? How can you commit to your faith when you are blind to what else is in the world? Are they really doing something so wrong here? Or is it just that you have never experienced these things?”

“Drinking and smoking…it is not allowed.”

“What does it say in the Bible? Does it say not to drink? It says not to get drunk. You have not experienced many things, sweet Hannah. Hidden things. Secret things. The mysteries of life.” He touched her cheek, sliding his finger along her skin, leaving a trail of heat. “What would you have me do?”

Only one word came to mind, and it came out as a hoarse whisper. “Stay.”

A hint of a smile teased the corner of his mouth and her heart gave an extra beat. “Good. Now”—he braced his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to look directly into her eyes. His were dark, black as rich soil, and flickered back and forth as they studied and tried to read her every thought—“close your eyes.” At her hesitation, his smile broadened. “Do it.”

She did, and her world went dark, awakening her other senses. The steady, thrumming beat pulsed around them. Warming one side of her, the fire crackled. The cold night air caressed her exposed cheeks and neck and wrists. She trembled, but not from cold or fear but from awareness…his closeness. His scent shrouded her, seeming to touch her, cover her, and yet not. It was like no other scent she'd ever known, overwhelming and alluring, just out of bounds and yet all around her—teasing, tempting, enticing.

Then he touched her, his hands warm on her shoulders. He placed a slight amount of pressure with one hand then the other, her body swayed right then left and back and forth, a wavelike action.

“Just relax,” he spoke, his voice bathing her ear. “Feel the music flow over you. Let it tell you what to do, how to move.” His hands slid slowly down her arms to her stiff fingers, and he gave them a gentle shake, loosening her limbs, and then he pulled her hands outward, lifting up her arms. She squeezed her eyes closed, unwilling to look at him or anyone else who might see her foolishness. Feeling exposed, she focused on the strength in his touch, the smell of the fire, the wide expanse of sky above them. Suddenly, she felt open and free.

Then his hands embraced her waist and her eyes automatically opened. She lowered her arms, only to have them rest on Akiva's shoulders because he was standing so close. So close, his breath washed over her. So close, his chest met hers. So close, his kiss was but a breath away.

She attempted a step back, but he held her fast, his arms folding around her, gentle yet solid. “Don't be afraid, sweet Hannah. I will not harm you. Let me guide you.”

Roc left his car back on Straight Edge Road and ran, following after the quiet but anxious, and now obviously panicked, Amish man, Levi Fisher.

Something made the younger man take off like a croc out of the swamp, and Roc had to find out what spooked him.

This man, Levi, had stamina. Roc's side clamped down and his lungs burned but he kept going, keeping an eye on Levi who was a good twenty, okay fifty, feet ahead. The distance between them kept lengthening. Roc blamed it on the uneven ground, which seemed to reach out and grab at his feet, tripping and trapping him with snaking roots and deep ruts as they ran through a wooded area to an open field, then alongside a paved road to a dirt one, at the end of which they came to an open gate. Levi stopped and Roc limped up behind him. Beyond the gate in the stillness of the moonlight, a farmhouse loomed up out of the flat ground. All appeared dark and quiet. Was it an illusion?

Levi drew a couple of deep breaths, all the while training his gaze on that house, not seeming to care or notice that Roc had caught up to him. Then more cautiously, less recklessly, Levi moved forward, this time veering off the direct path, parallel to the road and yet set deep in the shadows, at a slower pace that gave Roc time to regain his breath and keep up. When they were opposite the side of the house, Levi came to another stop. This time, his breathing was labored, his breath frosting the air in puffs like exhaust fumes. The place looked different at night, spookier, but Roc had been here.

“This the Schmidt farm?”

With his hat tilted far back on his head, Levi gave a quick nod.

“There someone here that you're worried about?”

He gave no response this time. Roc looked from Levi to the house and then back. “Look, man, if there is something going on here, you should tell me. Maybe I can help. Do you know something about the death of that Amish gal?”

“No.” His word was merely a whisper.

Frustrated that he ran all this way for a lovesick fool, he grabbed Levi's shoulder and shoved him against the barn wall. Levi blinked as if coming out of a dream. “What do you know? Tell me about that animal of yours that died? Where is it?”

“I buried it.”

“But where did it die?”

“The barn.”

“Will you show me?”

His shoulders sagging slightly, Levi nodded and waited for Roc to release him, then walked toward the end of the barn. He unbolted the door and slid it sideways. The smell of hay and dung immediately hit Roc, and he heard the snuffling and shifting of animals inside, cozy and comfortable in the quiet warmth. Levi entered first, and Roc felt his Glock against his side, steady and solid.

A flair of light brought a warm glow. Levi held a lantern up, and without a word he walked down a passageway between two rows of stalls. Roc followed a few paces behind, peering over each doorway into the stalls, unsure if he was looking for something that might jump out at them or just curious about the different animals Schmidt kept. Slow, blinking eyes stared back at him—horses and cows, sheep and pigs. Some stood, others slept on their sides without a care.

It was at the end of the row that Levi stopped and held the lantern high to illuminate the stall. No animal was housed here. At least not anymore.

“This where you found it?”

Levi's face looked grim in the shifting light, the corners of his mouth pinched. “A young lamb.”

Roc stepped into the stall and reached for the lantern. “Do you mind?”

Levi handed him the lantern and stepped back.

“Has the hay been changed?”

“
Ja
. Of course.”

Roc frowned. “Did it look like there was a struggle?”

Levi's gaze shifted sideways as if he searched his mind for a picture of what he had found that day. Or was he uncomfortable with the topic? “Not at all. No struggle. At first, I thought the lamb had simply died in its sleep. But then I saw the blood on its neck.”

“No other wound?”

“No.”

Roc peered at the baseboards, shoved aside clumps of hay with the toe of his shoe. “The animal that killed your lamb didn't attempt to eat it?”

“No.”

“Do you think you scared the animal away by coming into the barn?”

Again, Levi paused, thought back, and shook his head. “No. I didn't hear any unusual sounds that morning. Other than Ash, one of the mares, was a bit skittish, is all. The lamb had been dead a while.”

Roc turned back toward Levi. “So why would a wild animal kill and not eat its kill?”

Levi shrugged one shoulder, but it was his eyes that shifted again and told Roc what he needed to know.

Giving the man a bit of space, Roc knelt down and searched beneath some hay, but there was nothing to see or find but dirt beneath. What Roc needed was inside Levi. He knew something. He knew more than he wanted to tell.

“An Amish girl died a horrible death. I've only seen something like that back in New Orleans.” He looked up at Levi who watched him. Slowly, Roc got to his feet, walked back to Levi, and handed him the lantern. “Maybe the wild animal got exactly what it wanted.”

“What do you mean?”

“The animal that killed your lamb.”

“Not mine. Daniel Schmidt's.”

“Sure. Yeah. All right. Maybe what it wanted was its blood.”

Levi blanched, his skin turning white in splotches, then the rest of the color drained from his face. But that stoic, strong face remained neutral.

“Maybe it's the kind of animal that feeds on blood. Have you heard of that?” Roc calculated the Amish man's facial muscles, noting each, measuring and gauging. Not one move, blink, or twitch; he was stony in his response. And yet his pale skin was a dead giveaway.