Forsaken (25 page)

Akiva drove for a while, traveling down roads Hannah had never before seen. True to his word, he drove slowly and carefully, although she held one of his hands tightly. He grinned over at her, the corners of his eyes creasing. The streetlights and headlights crisscrossed his face with shadows, giving the planes of his cheeks a higher arch. His eyes were deep-set, shaded by the arc of his brow. His nose had a razor's edge, straight and sure. His driving was confident and capable, and she started to relax and gaze around at the other cars zipping past, stores on either side of the road, their signs glowing bright against the night sky.

A raw, earthy tone from the speakers drew her attention. “What kind of music is that?”

He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel and the volume soared, the music coming at her from all directions, vibrating in her soul. “It's jazz. Do you like it?”

She nodded, not quite sure of the rhythm, but it was pleasing to the ear.

“You like music?” he asked.

“I like singing in church.” But she kept to herself that she'd missed singing with her friends on Sunday nights. A part of her died with Jacob, the part that recognized beauty and found joy in it. Could she maybe find that joy again?

“That's nothing compared to what you're going to hear tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just wait. It's hard to describe.” His fingers flexed, then tightened on the steering wheel. “I grew up mostly without music and then when I discovered it…I couldn't get enough. It fed my soul. Still does.”

She smiled, not exactly sure she understood, and yet the notes were soothing and made her want to sway and move to their slow, seductive rhythm. She forced her feet to be still on the floorboard.

“You heard of David from the Bible, right?” Akiva's mention of a biblical character grabbed her attention and made her wonder what his religious background was and if he truly believed God would never forgive him for whatever he'd done. After all, God had forgiven King David of adultery and murder.

“Of course,” she said. “What about him?”

“King David wrote so many psalms, really just songs, and he played them on the harp. It's something I always wanted to pursue.”

She studied his profile as the flicker of lights from a shopping center drifted across his features, highlighting the contours and edges, reminding her of Jacob. “Playing the harp?”

“For me, it is the piano.” He flashed her another grin. “And I've been learning. Someday I hope to play for you.”

“I'd like that.”

Then he turned the wheel into a parking lot full of other automobiles. He parked, and she was glad to finally be sitting still. While she figured out how to unfasten the seatbelt, he came around the front of the car and opened the door for her. He held out a hand and helped her out of the low-slung car, then led her by the hand toward a building with a soaring roof made entirely of glass. The arch glimmered like diamonds against the night sky.

Akiva pulled her along, joining a tide of people dressed in fancy clothes and smelling of heavy perfume—a fast moving river of colors. Her stomach churned with uncertainty, and she pulled back on his hand. “Where are we going?”

“It's a surprise. You'll see.”

But she planted her practical black tennis shoes against the pavement and refused to move forward while the crowd parted around them and continued on.

Akiva squared his body with hers and peered deep into her eyes. Whispering like little insects chattered in her ears, and she felt disoriented, and her hesitations seemed to fade, loosening their grip. “Do you trust me, Hannah?”

The noise of the crowd waned, the brilliant lights from the street and buildings dulled, even the cold lost its potency. Her fears paled, and she finally nodded.

“Good, then come.”

He held the glass door for her as she entered the building. The ceiling arched heavenward and each light twinkled and sparkled with such clarity that she felt the need to shade her eyes. People crowded on either side of her like a surge of locusts, with all the talking bombarding her ears and making her skin recoil. The warmth of all those bodies and minted breaths made her cape feel as if it was strangling her. She started to remove it, but Akiva reached around her and plucked it off her shoulders then draped it over his bent arm.

Suddenly she sensed the stares of those around them, and she looked down at her plain blue dress, her bonnet ties, her simple black tennis shoes. Her stomach churned into a tight little knot.
Englishers
had been staring at her and her family for as long as she could remember, but usually it was easy to ignore. Usually
Englishers
were the visitors, not her, but now, out of her own environment, the intensity of their stares made her want to shrink into nothing.

Akiva seemed oblivious to the stares they were garnering. He put a hand to her elbow and led her through the crowd, which parted for them as if they were Moses incarnate, and those gawking eyes chased after them like the Egyptians. Hannah supposed they made an interesting pair in their conflicting clothes and obvious differences. Hushed whispers closed over her until Akiva swept her through a doorway and into a majestic auditorium that widened her eyes.

All the way down a long aisle, they walked toward the front, toward a wide, grand, and gleaming stage. She could only stare and take in the brightness, the cacophony of voices as the crowd gathering chatted like magpies. But it was the soaring ceiling and vast spaces that amazed her, as if she'd been swept up to the gates of heaven.

Akiva grinned at her and showed her to a plush-covered seat. The manufactured scent of flowers and musk tickled her nose. Men wore dark suits, the ladies sparkly dresses with plunging necklines, which showed off much of their bodies and bare shoulders and kept Hannah's gaze glued in her lap. What was she doing here? She didn't belong.

“Excuse me.” A woman nudged Hannah's leg, then slid past her. The woman wore a dress like a second skin, black and sleek, the fabric shimmering beneath the overhead lights. Her hair was long, the color of a black waterfall, and Hannah recognized her as the woman who had come into the bakery. She wiggled her backside as she scooted past, then turned, bobbling in front of Akiva, and leaned down toward him. Her dress gaped open and revealed the full swell of her breasts and a necklace that undulated back and forth in a mesmerizing fashion, never even attempting to cover herself. Hannah felt her own face flush hot with embarrassment even though the woman didn't seem to suffer modesty.

Akiva stood so she could pass more easily, and his jaw tightened. But the woman didn't seem to be in a hurry or to notice his irritation…or was it attraction? Sweeping lashes accented her dark eyes, which were outlined with heavy lines and swaths of purple on the lids. She laughed and smiled, her shiny, white teeth flashing at him, her lips blood red. “Pardon me.” Her voice was as thick and luxurious as the dark fur draped over her arm. “It's a tight squeeze in here. But I'm sure we'll all manage.”

He stared back at her, not blinking, not moving, not responding in any way. Finally she moved on, scooting down a couple of seats and tossing her fur carelessly onto the seat next to Akiva. She made a production of sitting, crossing her long legs, then fussed and shifted in her seat, arching her back, her dress rising up her thigh. Men took notice, their gazes magnetized to her.

But Akiva angled his shoulders toward Hannah, blocking her view of the woman, and he stretched an arm along the back of her seat in a protective way. “Are you all right?”

“Maybe it would be best if…I'm not dressed for…” Her hand rested against her own covered neckline, the tie of her prayer
kapp
brushing her wrist. Not that she would ever wear something as revealing as the woman who kept glancing in their direction.

“You”—Akiva cupped her chin and lifted it so her gaze reluctantly met his—“are perfect.” His eyes were as dark as coals. “And beautiful. Much more so than anyone else here. You don't need all that decoration to shine.”

Her cheeks warmed even though she couldn't imagine that a plain Amish girl was more beautiful than these women in their dazzling attire. Not that she wanted to dress like them or be like them, but they were dressed to attract men; she was dressed to please God. But she wasn't sure she was doing that anymore either.

Even though it seemed as if all the seats in the auditorium were filled, the seat next to Akiva and also next to Hannah remained empty. She whispered, “Did we not bathe? Do we smell funny?”

He tilted his head in question.

“No one is sitting around us,” she explained, “but the auditorium is full. Are they afraid of us?”

He laughed. “I bought the extra seats, so we would not be disturbed. I wanted you to have a full view of the orchestra.”

Surprised and thinking it was an unnecessary expense, she started to say so when something moved on stage, snagged her attention, distracted her from Akiva, and she watched as men and women all wearing shades of black and carrying a variety of instruments settled into chairs on the stage. Some of the instruments were shiny, like brass or silver, and others were made of gleaming wood.

“This is the Philadelphia Philharmonic. They're going to be playing Vivaldi.”

“Vivaldi?”

“He was a composer from the late sixteen hundreds, known as the Red Priest.”

“A religious man?”

“Yes. And he composed a piece called
The Four Seasons
.”

Several of the instruments sounded out into the great hall, the notes random and disjointed.

“They're just warming up. The conductor will come out in a moment and it will begin.”

Finally, the orchestra quieted and grew still, each musician seated, and a hush of expectancy fell over the audience as the lights dimmed. Only the stage lights remained bright. Then a man walked onto the stage, carrying his own instrument, and slid a long stick against the strings to make a sound like angel's wings. The long note continued and the orchestra echoed it with their different instruments, then all became still again. Anticipation hummed in the great hall, as if everyone waited as she did for what would happen next.

She felt Akiva's gaze on her, and she glanced in his direction and offered him a smile as she felt her own excitement build.

Finally, another man in a fancy suit like the one Akiva wore walked onto the stage and the audience erupted in applause. He smiled and acknowledged the audience with a slight bow, then turning away, he faced the orchestra. Everyone watched this man as if he was a savior of some kind.

Finally the man raised a thin stick, lifting both arms, and with a swoop of arm and stick, the violins came alive and the sweetest music Hannah had ever heard danced through the air. From the first note to the last, she sat spellbound, listening to each beat, note, and pause, imagining the seasons as they came and went, the budding spring to the full blossom of summer, the first frost of autumn to the chill of winter. She envisioned the crops growing and being cut back, the seasons of their lives, couples being wed, babies born, children raised, growing older until death arrived.

She thought of her grandmother, gone a year now, Jacob almost two. Grandma Ruth had lived a long, productive life. She married, had children, raised them to adulthood, and enjoyed her grandchildren and the fruits of her labors. But for Jacob, he was like a young, healthy tree snatched from the ground and tossed to the side, never allowed to fully bloom or produce anything of purpose or good.

To everything there is a season
…birthing, dying…killing, healing…weeping, laughing…mourning, dancing…gaining and losing…keeping and casting away…rending and sewing…loving and hating…warring and peace-keeping. The words from Ecclesiastes poured over her, flowing with the music.
What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth? I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it. He hath made every thing beautiful in His time: also He hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.

God's word promised trials, difficulties, and yet all was beautiful…in
his
time. Maybe she simply couldn't understand the beauty in Jacob's death, the reason or wherefore, but she trusted there was a reason…there would be a beauty. Someday. Somehow. Sadness crept into the music but then a joyfulness swept her from grief to promise.

She remembered the words of the psalmist:
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
Who was she to question the Almighty God?

When the music came to its climactic conclusion, all those around her applauded and the cacophony filled the hall. But she sat beside Akiva, whispering a prayer of forgiveness and praying for guidance. Maybe He had been guiding her all along, showing her a new way, a new path.

It was a glorious evening where understanding and discernment, which had eluded Hannah for so long, seemed to embrace her all at once. After the orchestra left the stage and the audience began to disperse, Akiva ushered her back to his car. They drove a long way in silence, the music still floating in her head, her heart keeping the steady beat, causing her toe to tap against the floorboard. Akiva drove to a secluded spot, surrounded by tree trunks and bare limbs that stretched skyward.

“Wait here.” He climbed out of the car, moving easily in a smooth motion. The car jerked and she turned to see the back window blackened by the raised back end of the car. Then it closed, and she saw Akiva carrying something in his arms. He walked away from the car into the darkness.

Alone, she began to worry about being there…wherever “there” was, with this man. What future could they have together? Maybe he was simply a transition to help her move on from Jacob. Or maybe—