Into the Light (22 page)

“Did you deserve your husband’s punishment?”

I nodded.

“Sister?” Brother Timothy said.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Her interrogation continued.

“Because I questioned Father Gabriel.”

“Will you do that again?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to embarrass my husband again.”

“Is that the only reason?”

I took a ragged breath. “I don’t want to be punished.”

“What form of punishment did Brother Jacob choose to implement, to help you reach this decision?” Brother Timothy asked.

My heavy chest heaved as I fought with myself, not wanting this conversation. “He used his belt.”

“After his correction was complete, did you remember it?”

“Yes.”

How could I forget?

“How?”

“I don’t understand”—I hiccupped a breath—“why we’re having this . . .”

“Sister, what did Brother Jacob say about the evidence he left on your skin from his correction?”

“He said . . . it was my reminder.”

“Sister,” Brother Timothy’s deep voice echoed. “Calm yourself.”

Though I nodded, calming myself wouldn’t happen as long as their interrogation continued.

“Do you believe his reminder was useful?” Sister Lilith asked.

“I won’t forget.”

“Very good. Now this correction that you and Brother Jacob are currently enduring,” Brother Timothy said, joining the cross-examination. “What will help you remember—be your reminder—not to lie to a Commissioner again?”

My breaths stuttered, as panic infiltrated my reply. “I-I didn’t lie.”

“What will be your reminder, Sister?”

“I-I don’t know . . . memories?”

“But you said you’re having difficulty remembering.” Sister Lilith’s condescending tone twisted my already knotted stomach.

I shook my head. “Sister, I have difficulty remembering before my accident. I recall everything since.”

“Isn’t that convenient?” Brother Timothy asked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I should say anything else.” I tried unsuccessfully to fill my lungs.

“Very well,” Sister Lilith said, her chair moving.

Thank Father Gabriel, they are leaving.

“Sister, stand,” she demanded.

My body stilled. “What?”

“Is the ability to hear another of your medical problems, or is it only obeying?” Brother Timothy asked.

I scooted back my chair and reached for the table. With shaky knees I stood. The movement of Brother Timothy’s chair let me know that we were all standing.

“As we told you, we’re here on behalf of the Commission. While Father Gabriel’s decree has far-reaching implications, The Light believes that retribution of sin cleanses the soul. Playing house out here alone is hardly severe enough punishment for lying to my husband.”

“Sister, I didn’t lie. I was confused, and this punishment was Father Gabriel’s ruling.”

“Yes, and we’re here today to deliver your reminder, to help you not commit this sin again.”

“M-my reminder? What . . . why are you . . . ?”

“Rest assured,” Brother Timothy said. “I’ll discuss your continued questioning with your husband.”

My body trembled as I contemplated Jacob’s response. I tightened my grip on the table, and then a strange sound caught my attention.

“Hair,” Brother Timothy explained in a tone that reminded me of Jacob’s eerie calm, “is a woman’s crowning glory. The reminder you’ll receive today will help you to remember to be truthful. This reminder won’t only be for you, but also for your husband. Each time he sees your short hair—”

What the hell is he saying?

“—he’ll remember the shame you brought to him. Sister, the entire community will see your reminder and know of your punishment.”

“My hair? What do you mean?”

“Sister, expect your husband to be informed of your continued disobedience.”

The next few seconds occurred in a blur. The sounds I heard, the snip and clip, suddenly made sense. It was as though my darkened world moved in slow motion; nevertheless I couldn’t catch it. As I reached for my hair, Sister Lilith lifted my ponytail and cut.

“No!” I screamed, my ponytail sagging in my grip. “Why?!”

Sister Lilith’s hand connected with my cheek. “That is enough questioning. You’re in the presence of a Commissioner. Apparently the reminders you’ve been given require reapplication.”

Stumbling to the table, I found that my knees no longer held my weight. I fell into the chair I’d recently vacated, still gripping my detached ponytail.

Oh my God. What did they do? What will Jacob say? Will he punish me for this?

Though their voices were close, I couldn’t distinguish them with any clarity. Their phrases faded into my internal mayhem.

“. . . when you think about this, remember that it was done for your own good. It seems as though Brother Jacob has more work ahead of him.”
What am I going to do?
“Your willfulness needs continued correction.”
Why are they doing this?
“Remember this reminder was your doing and, as always, avoiding future reminders is your choice.”
My hair! Jacob!
“Prepare yourself for your husband’s additional correction when he returns.”
Oh, please. This can’t be happening.
“As you yourself said, you are his responsibility; only he can truly correct your behavior.”

Perhaps I was in shock, but I didn’t respond. There was nothing I could say as their accusations and warnings swirled through the air and my mind. The meanings of their words, the shock at my loss, and the promise of impending punishment paralyzed me. The weight of it all held me captive until their footsteps disappeared behind the closing door and the garage door went up and down.

Finally freed, I moved and took a ragged breath.

When I did, my entire body revolted. Shock waves swept through me from my head to my toes. The knotting in my stomach painfully twisted, propelling the remnants of my long-ago-eaten lunch upward. With perspiration dotting my brow, I hurried toward the bathroom. Falling to my knees, I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Over and over I retched until nothing but heaves racked my body. My clammy and trembling body, as well as the reality of what had happened and would happen, pinned me to the floor.

As the fog lifted, I remembered my ponytail. Panic erupted when I realized that in my desperation I’d dropped it. “No . . . no . . .” I cried, making it shakily to my knees and desperately searching the darkness. The strands were scattered, like the shards of my heart. With painstaking determination I gathered the pieces together. Once I had them in one place, I hugged them close. The uneven tips of my hair brushed my wet cheeks as I held my detached ponytail, pulled my knees to my chest, and cried.

Time lost its meaning.

Finally I made my way to my feet and the sink. After carefully placing my hair on the vanity, I cupped water in my hands, rinsed the awful taste from my mouth, and washed my tearstained cheeks. Slowly thoughts began to surface, reminding me of my choices. Brother Timothy had said it was my choice, and so had Jacob.

What if I chose to leave?

Obviously there wasn’t a lock on the door. I could leave. Tears resumed as sobs resonated from deep within. Instead of fear, sorrow overwhelmed me as my thoughts went to my husband. I recalled how he’d helped me wash my hair and the way he’d run his fingers through its length. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself reach for the hair now dangling near my cheeks.
My haircut of disgrace.
Though my trembling had stopped, my rapid pulse remained.

Did I want to leave? If I did, where would I go? Would I take Jacob’s truck again? Was this why I’d taken it last time? Had it been because of fear? Had the fear been of Jacob or others? Driving wasn’t an option. I couldn’t see, much less drive, but I could walk . . . to where, to whom? Wouldn’t I have had the same questions before? Where had I been going then?

As I remembered the polar bears I heard the distinct sound of the garage door opening. With a heavy heart I knew . . . I knew with clarity that this time it was Jacob.

Clutching the remnants of my long hair, I debated my options. Go to the door, confess my questioning of Brother Timothy, and receive punishment, or stay in the bathroom, close the door, hide, and, of course, receive punishment. As I caressed the length of hair, I knew there weren’t options. Jacob might have said I had choices, even Brother Timothy had said the choice was mine, but it wasn’t. Like everything since I’d awoken, my fate would be determined by Jacob.

For the first time since Sister Lilith had taken the scissors and cut my hair, I dared to touch what remained. Placing the neatly gathered strands back on the vanity, I raised my fingers to the ends that skirted my cheeks. My empty stomach knotted as I followed them toward the back of my head. They were even shorter there than in the front. The tears and trembling I’d finally stilled bubbled, clogging my throat with an erupting sob. My sorrow wasn’t as much for what I was about to receive, as for what I’d lost.

Everything was happening in slow motion, even the closing of the garage door, but finally the sound stopped. With my chin to my chest, arms tightly wrapped around my midsection, and lip secured between my teeth, I willed my feet forward, through the kitchen, around the table where I’d been uncrowned of the glory Brother Timothy had determined I no longer deserved, and toward the door. Shame from my loss left a gaping hole as I stopped exactly where Jacob had told me to be. As the knob turned, my memories went to that afternoon when he’d reminded me where to greet him: even then he’d given me a choice.

No longer strong enough to face my husband, ashamed that once again he was about to suffer embarrassment at my hands, I chose the option that less than a week ago had seemed impossible. As the door opened, I sank to my knees.

CHAPTER 22

Jacob

With the doorknob still in my hand, I heard Sara’s sobs echoing throughout the dimmed room.

What the hell happened?

“Sara?” I called, flipping the light switch. The relief of being back to the Northern Light and having Father Gabriel back in time for service was gone. My wife was on the floor, her body quaking with shuddering breaths.

Reaching for her shoulders, I lifted her from the ground and stifled a gasp. What I saw was unquestionably the cause of her anguish. Her beautiful hair was cut—not cut, butchered. The sight ignited a fire inside me, detonating rage such as I hadn’t known in years, not since I was a young man in the heat of a war I willingly fought but never wanted. Clenching my jaw, I made the same vow I had then.

This will not beat
. . . us.

It wasn’t the same vow; this time one word was different.

Sara’s body trembled as my grip upon her petite frame tightened. I pulled her close, unaware of my cool leather coat. Though its temperature undoubtedly added to her shaking, all I could think about was holding her, wrapping my arms around her, and sheltering her from whoever had done this.

Who did this?

“I-I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Her apology tore my heart to shreds. “Shhh, you’re all right.”

“No, I’m not.”

Her words came out muffled against my embrace. As I cradled her in my arms, her body sagged. “You’re OK; I’m here now,” I tried to soothe as I carried her to the sofa. When I sat her down, she reached out and clung to me, burying her face in the crook of my neck. Her tears dampened my skin.

“Sara, let me take off my coat. It’ll be all right. I don’t know what happened, but I promise, it’ll be all right.”

She gripped me tighter. “N-no, my hair . . . it’ll never be all right.”

I kissed the top of her head. I’d only partially seen what had happened, but now, in the brightness of the room, I clearly saw the tattered tips of her once-long hair. Caressing her back, I waited until she took a deep breath and her grip lessened. Easing my arms out of my coat, I let it fall to the sofa. Once again I pulled her close, and asked, “Tell me what happened. You didn’t do this, did you?”

Her head moved from side to side against my chest.

“Who?” I asked again.

She didn’t answer as hiccups sabotaged her quest for air. I lifted her chin. “Sara, tell me.” My voice was harsher than I’d intended. “Tell me who did this to you.”

“They said it was my fault, my reminder of what I did.” With each word she tried unsuccessfully to lower her chin. Stubbornly, with the return of my fury, I refused to loosen my hold.

They?

I knew. I knew whom she meant, but I needed to hear it from her.

“They? Who
they
? And what did you do?”

Like liquid, her body freed itself from my grasp, flowing from my lap and pooling on the floor. As she clung to my legs, her sobs returned. At first her murmurings were unintelligible, but soon I understood.

“. . . said I lied, o-or you lied. They wouldn’t let me wait for you. I-I tried.” Her head dropped lower. “I told them I couldn’t discuss it . . . y-you hadn’t given me permission. I’m sorry, I know what you’re going to do. I-I know I was wrong. I didn’t . . . I don’t . . . understand why they did this . . . I questioned . . .” She shook her head with her forehead near the floor. “You never said I could . . . I tried . . . he said I
presumed
. . . I didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . . but she said I needed more correction . . .” Her volume fluctuated, as did the speed of her words, some coming fast and low while others came slow and loud. With each of her phrases the muscles of my neck tightened. “I’m so sorry . . .”

When I reached again for her shoulders, she wordlessly resisted, her body going limp in her effort to remain prone.

“Sara, stop apologizing.” My heart broke, shattering at her desperation. “Please, let me hold you. You don’t belong on the floor.”

Her face snapped up toward mine. Blotches of red covered her cheeks, neck, and chest. “I do,” she declared with conviction. “I don’t deserve you. You deserve a wife who isn’t a disgrace. I’m an embarrass—”

“Stop now.” I waited as her words floated away, replaced with more tears. Again I demanded, “Sara, stand up.” Her body obeyed. “I’ve asked you before. No more apologies. I want names. Don’t make me remind you that I should be answered the first time.”

With her arms wrapped around her midsection, her entire body shuddered. Even her long skirt fluttered with movement. Finally she replied, “Brother Timothy and Sister Lilith.”

I gripped the arm of the sofa. Every cell in my body desired to drive to the community and confront the cowards who’d done this in my absence. I didn’t understand their problem with me, but whatever it was, it was with
me
, not Sara. Yet I couldn’t drive to the community, not now, not with my shattered wife standing before me, holding herself and shivering as if the she were outside in the Alaska cold instead of inside in a warmed building. Taking a deep breath, I willed my anger away. Sara needed something different.

As I stood, Sara took a step back. Her trepidation of me twisted the proverbial knife in my heart.

“Sara, do you think you can get away from me?”

Her breathing hitched as she shook her head. The severed ends of her hair swung about her face. “No.”

“Do you want to?”

Her lip disappeared between her teeth before she whispered, “No, but I’m afraid.”

Watching her stand in front of me, I wondered about Brother Timothy and Sister Lilith’s intent. Was it to break her, to break us, to assure my failure? If that was their intention, they’d never win. Despite it all, Sara had the strength to answer me honestly.

“You’re afraid of me, your husband?”

She shook her head. “No, not of
you
, of what you’re going to do.”

I ran my hands up and down her arms, barely touching, yet warming my palms on the sleeves of her sweater. “What is it that I’m going to do?”

Releasing her lip, she replied, “I know I was wrong. I deserve your correction.”

My hands reached for hers. “Let me hear your transgressions, and then I’ll make that decision.”

“But Sister Lilith told me you would, that I deserved and needed . . .”

The temperature of the room rose a degree with each mention of their names. Nevertheless I couldn’t let Sara sense that anger. If correction was coming, it wasn’t to be done out of anger, but out of responsibility. “Your correction isn’t up to Sister Lilith or Brother Timothy; it’s at my discretion. Do you want me to ask again for your transgressions?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “I spoke to them without your permission, and after . . . my hair . . . I questioned . . . them both. Brother Timothy said I
presumed discernment
.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to, but he’s a Commissioner, so I must have.”

“Is there anything else?”

Her lip blanched as she concentrated. “I think I fell asleep during Father Gabriel’s teaching. I didn’t mean to,” she added quickly. “It’s that we woke early.”

I couldn’t stop the smile that crept across my face at her childlike honesty. I kissed the top of her head. “That would make four, unless you have more to add.”

Her hand flinched in mine at the number four. I knew what she was thinking: four transgressions equaled twenty lashes. Releasing one hand, I led her toward the stairs. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She didn’t fight or beg; instead her shoulders sagged and she willingly walked toward our room. As we reached the top step, Sara said, “Jacob . . .”

“Yes?”

“I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing. I’m not asking for leniency, but I want you to know how truly sorry I am.”

The redness on her cheeks and neck had nearly faded.

“Sara, it’s time to prepare.”

Nodding, she sat on the bed and removed her boot. When she stood and her black-and-white-striped skirt fell to the floor, I marveled at her calm. It was as Father Gabriel taught: once she’d given her transgressions to me, they were no longer her concern. As she pulled her sweater over her head, my pretense disappeared.

My gaze roamed her beautiful body, covered only by her bra and panties. The last remaining evidence of her accident was her cast. Other than that, her flawless skin glowed under our bedroom lights. I stepped closer, wanting to brush her arms as I had her sleeves, needing to touch her.

This time she didn’t step away; instead her face inclined as my chest met hers.

“Though your answer won’t change my decision, I want to know”—my arms ached to hold her, yet remained still as I completed my question—“do you believe you deserve correction?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, she replied, “I love and trust you. If it’s your wish, I accept it. If you choose otherwise, I’ll accept that too.”

My arms no longer obeyed. They wrapped around her and pulled her to me. With my lips against her hair, I said, “I had no intention of punishing you.” She melted into me. Lifting the tips of her hair, I continued, “This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t Father Gabriel’s decree. You’ve had enough reminding for one day. My dearest wife, I don’t think you need any more. Do you?”

Moving her head from side to side against my chest, she said, “Thank you. I’m still very sorry.”

As I lifted her chin, my body ached for her. “No more apologies. You were wronged; you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But—”

I brushed my lips against hers to stop her rebuttal. However, instead of stilling her words, the connection served as a release. The desire I’d kept corralled for too long raged like a wildfire. Its flames consumed any remaining semblance of willpower. My grasp moved to the back of her neck. Only briefly did I think about the long blonde locks that were no longer there. They didn’t matter. My only thought, my only need, was to get closer to Sara, to feel her warmth beneath me, to take what God and Father Gabriel had given to me. To please her in the way I’d never done.

Moans filled our room as she pressed her body toward mine and began undoing the buttons of my shirt.

Though I ached at the confinement of my jeans, I wouldn’t hurt her any more, not today, not after all she’d been through. “Sara, what about your ribs?”

Sliding my shirt over my shoulders, she reached for the hem of the thermal beneath. “Please, Jacob.” Once she’d stripped my chest, her petite hands roamed my shoulders, arms, and torso, seeing what her eyes couldn’t.

I unfastened her bra and gently pulled it away, freeing her small breasts. As I palmed one of them, her nipple beaded, and I decided their size was perfect. Holding her hips tightly against me, I bent down and sucked the hardened nipple. Her whimpers encouraged me as she wove her fingers through my hair.

It was as she reached for the buckle of my belt that I regained a small bit of control. Stopping her hands, I said, “Sara.”

“Please let me unbuckle it. I want to associate your belt with more than pain.”

Fuck!

I released her hands and watched as she unlatched it, pulled it from the loops, and dropped it to the floor. Her smile melted my heart while at the same time sending more blood to my already engorged erection. It wasn’t until she released the button and zipper of my jeans that I sprung from the confines of my boxer shorts.

“Oh, Jacob,” she purred as she grasped my width and ran her hand along my length. My heartbeat soared when she dropped to her knees.

“God, you’re amazing,” I remarked, “but I want you to stand.” Reaching for her hands, I helped her up. As she stood, our lips collided and our tongues danced. “Trust me, I’d love that, but I need to be inside of you. It’s been so long; I don’t think I could hold back.”

Her grin was the trigger to my explosion. I’d never make it in her sexy mouth. Taking her hand, I led her to the bed and removed my boots. In record time I littered the floor with my clothes.

“Now,” I said with a smirk as I turned toward Sara.

Her chest rose and fell in anticipation as she scooted back against the pillows.

Magical sounds escaped her lips as I looped my fingers in the waistband of her panties and slowly lowered them down her legs and over her cast. Beginning at her exposed ankle, I tenderly kissed the insides of her legs, alternating between them, each touch of my lips higher than the one before. Though her skin was covered in goose bumps and her muscles tightened, she willingly opened herself, allowing me full access.

“Oh, oh,” she panted, her hands clenching the sheets as my tongue lapped her essence.

With each taste, a war raged within me. My hardening erection demanded what my mouth was enjoying. Sara’s bucking hips and sexy moans encouraged my every move, prompting my tongue to delve deeper. Though I suspected she wasn’t a virgin, I’d also spent enough time around other men to know that I was large, larger than most, and I didn’t want to hurt her. She’d be able to handle my girth better after she’d released. Lapping and sucking, I continued tormenting her body until her muscles tensed and she called out my name.

“Oh, God, Jacob, that . . . that . . .”

Slowly, I worked my way up her beautiful body until she was completely surrounded.

Reaching for my face, she pulled my lips to hers and dove inside.

While our tongues intertwined, I positioned myself, ready to claim my wife. “If I’m too heavy, we can do what you . . .”

“Please, take me,” she breathlessly interrupted. “I need you inside of me.”

It wasn’t a request she needed to make twice. Back and forth, I moved as she shifted her hips. Once I was completely buried, I stilled and gazed down at my wife. She was so damn beautiful. In the light of our first time, I didn’t see her hair. I saw the contented smile on the face of the woman who was completely mine. I’d already claimed her mind; her answer when I’d asked if she deserved to be corrected told me that. Now I also had her body.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, her hands holding my shoulders.

“Nothing.” I kissed her grin. “I’m just watching the loveliest woman in the world and thinking how damn lucky I am.”