Jacob's Return (35 page)

Jacob took the long route, thinking about what Rachel might be suffering right now, and considered returning to rescue her like some knight of old. But when the idea sounded good, he knew he would be of no use to her. Keeping from turning back toward Sam Yoder’s farm, he laughed harshly at himself.

What should he do now?

If Rachel were not forgiven, his decision would be easier, though Rache’s pain would be so much worse. They would face life together in the English world, because they would be banned together. And their babies would go with them.

But the English world would kill Rachel. He knew it as well as he knew her. Like losing your soul, but not being able to die, she’d said.

If the Bishop did as Jacob hoped, he would see his daughter forgiven.

If Rachel were forgiven while he was banned, no hope existed for them. None. Their lives must follow different courses, and the best thing for Rachel — God help him in this — would be for him to leave her.

If he stayed he would be playing Satan. He would tempt her to break the ban with every word she wished to speak to him, and with every word she would know he wished to speak to her.

He would become the snake in the garden of Eden with every look he gave her, because he could never keep the want from his eyes. And even if he succeeded, Rachel would not believe it, for she knew him soul-deep.

Jacob pulled over to the side of the road by Mill Creek. Down into the valley the creek’s ribbon of water meandered to and fro as if in a slow, plodding journey. Along with Caliope’s snuffling and side-stepping, Jacob heard the raspy, buzzing music of grasshoppers. The hotter the days, the louder they played.

Hell must be hotter than today.

And if he stayed, he’d bring Rachel there with him.

And Datt. It would about kill his Datt to have him in the same house and not be able to take anything from his hand, nor sit at table with him. In silence they would live and in silence they would work. There were good silences and painful ones.

These would be so painful.

If Rachel and his Datt shunned him, what would Aaron and Emma think, and later, Anna and Mary? What would they learn? That their father is no good?

And when they grew up, his four babies? What would they be forced to? Even if he stayed and raised them Amish while keeping himself from fellowship, there would come a day when they would have to choose their own course. Should they become Amish adults — which is what he would wish for them with every beat of his heart — once baptized, they would be made to shun him.

It was not cruel. It was just their way.

How could he put his children through that?

Better they should forget him.

A cottontail hopped by, a mother followed by three little ones. She stopped, raised her head and perked her ears. Then she swiftly led her family to safety, scooting between a juneberry and a hickory.

Ach, a smart one that mother rabbit. Scurry from the dangerous creature. A beast to be avoided, run from, and shunned. Ya, smart she was.

And smart his family would be to avoid him too. But they would not, if he stayed.

So he must go.

But his babies needed a mother’s love. They needed Rachel. Aaron and Emma needed the Amish home and family he’d brought them to. He had been right to bring them here.

Anna and Mary needed their mother. With them, there was no question. They would stay with Rachel.

Even though Rachel was not, strictly speaking, Aaron and Emma’s mother, none of them cared about such a thing. Their hearts were entwined.

Where would his children best be raised? he should ask himself. Among the English, where the language was foreign, the dress odd? In a world where material value mattered more than the value of God and family? Where almost everything mattered more than their eternal souls?

Jacob laughed, the sound of his own voice mocking him. Almost English, so rude and callous he sounded. Well, he’d best get used to it.

But his babies did not belong in that world.

He knew where they belonged. They thrived under Rachel’s care like new butterflies, wings spread, colors vibrant. It was Rachel who’d brought them from their cocoons, who taught them to laugh and make mischief, and to speak Pennsylvania Dutch.

Rachel Zook taught his quiet babies how to play and sing. And now they loved and needed her. They belonged with her

And he did not.

The older ones would forget him. That would be better than tearing out their hearts later. The little ones would not remember him, which was best.

And as soon as he figured out how to tear his soul from his body, he would begin.

Jacob urged Caliope on, startling a family of bobwhites.

Like them, he must take flight.

Her turn. Rachel began the overlong walk into meeting, shatteringly aware that everyone watched. The air began to hum, silence speaking louder than words or foot-shuffles, and the gravity of the situation hit her like a blade in the center of her back.

Her knees nearly buckled and she faltered.

The culmination of Simon’s disapproval was about to take place … without him … and for a heart-breaking moment, Rachel mourned her husband’s death. She’d never meant to hurt him. Oh she’d never loved him — feared him more than anything — but she’d never wished him harm.

This, her darkest moment, became his moment of triumph — and she was strangely sorry he was not here to glory in it.

This trek into service while everyone watched, altered Rachel’s view of her neighbors. The blur of unmoving, white kapps on one side and bearded, sober-faced men on the other, made a different impression on her than it usually did.

Today their looks were forbidding, grim, all minds set upon punishment. Of a sudden, these were a people to fear rather than embrace. A welling of emotion filled her, one akin to the panic she experienced at her mother’s passing — as if she vainly willed time to turn back.

Rachel swallowed rather than allow the cry hell-bent upon release.

Neighbors and friends did not become enemies overnight, she reminded herself. But they might as well be, were she to be excommunicated this morning, for not a one of them would smile upon her again.

She knelt as told to do, seeing for the first time, just before she bowed her head, two dear smiling faces, friends’ faces. Ruben and Atlee. But she knew, when she closed her eyes for her father’s blessing, that on this occasion of her chastisement, they could not help her as they had on the last. Their smiles consoled her. They had not given up on her, despite everything.

Would they do so when this day’s work was done?

Rachel shuddered, cold within and without.

When the blessing and the prayer for divine guidance ended, she prepared herself for the onslaught of questions that would be directed toward her in her father’s sternest Bishop’s voice. Now, would be the most perfect time under heaven for his look that said, ‘nothing you ever do would disappoint me,’ but Rachel knew she had leapt beyond ever receiving it again.

Quiet reigned too long. She opened her eyes, raised her head, and questioned her father with her look.

But his look held no answers.

Whispers began and grew and she turned to see Levi coming toward her.

Her father must have known beforehand, before service even, that Levi planned something, because, without doubt, he’d waited.

Levi knelt beside her, reached for her hand, then thought better of it and lowered his to his side. “I wish to make a confession,” he said to the room at large. “Before these proceedings go any further.” Sorrow seeming to age him, he looked about and took a deep breath.

Rachel wanted to put her arms around her father-in-law, to comfort him, but she held herself in check.

“A man in his life has choices,” he said. “And I made choices that have brought us to this pass. I saw many times, and refused to believe even more times, when my conscience questioned me, that my son, Simon Sauder, hurt his wife in ways for which he should have been ashamed, both as a husband and as a man of God.

No one in the congregation seemed surprised. And why they should be, Rachel did not know, especially after Simon dynamited the press before their eyes?

“It took a better man than me,” Levi said. “It took my son, Jacob, to acknowledge the terrible facts and put a stop to Simon’s abuse of Rachel. Had I done so long before now — and I had such power, you must all know — I believe none of this would have happened.”

Levi gazed about examining the face of each neighbor, his own begging an open heart. “We, all of us, have just heard Jacob speak,” Levi continued. “Of Simon’s abuse, he refused to tell. But Jacob going to Rachel’s defense put them in a position that led to their downfall. I am going against Jacob’s particular wishes in saying this now, because he would have no memory taint Aaron’s love for the uncle who saved his life.

“I have chosen to reveal the treachery of one son, and the sacrifice of the other, to save a woman who should be held blameless. Rachel Zook Sauder. On all of us now rests the responsibility to see that this will never be spoken of again. Levi turned to the Bishop and bowed his head. “For the broken bones, cuts and bruises, I did not question; for the humiliating words Simon spoke and I let pass, I beg forgiveness of you, Bishop Zook, and of this congregation. Rachel would not have sought aid elsewhere, if she could have come to me for it. Let the sin be mine to bear.”

The Bishop cleared his throat.

Rachel looked up to see tears in her father’s eyes. “Levi, your Bishop is as guilty as you in this.” He turned to his people. “Before we proceed, together with Levi Sauder, I, Ezra Zook, beg the forgiveness of all.” He looked at her. “Especially yours, Rachel.”

She nodded, humbled, embarrassed. Those faces about her, both men and women, no longer held such fearful looks, but ones of compassion and understanding. They were nodding. No one seemed disinclined to forgive. She sighed, relieved Levi and her father would not be hurt by her weakness like Simon.

“We are forgiven, Levi,” her father said. “Go and be one among us.”

Levi let everyone know of her abuse without her having to tell the sad details. But she worried about what Jacob would say to his father for going against his wishes in this. Would their people respect Levi’s request for secrecy about Simon’s treachery? Or would his good intentions eventually tarnish Aaron’s memory of his uncle?

She hoped Jacob could forgive his father as he forgave his brother.

When Levi sat, her father faced her again.

Rachel’s heart began to pound, her head to throb. She clasped her fingers together to still their shaking. The scent of warm schnitz pies waiting for their fellowship meal became an oasis of comfort in a desert of uncertainty.

Memories of Pop’s gentleness flooded her mind.

Her first monthly. After service, everyone rose for the fellowship meal, and still she sat, afraid everyone would know. Then Pop came and sat beside her. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “It is natural,” he said and kissed her forehead. “A gift from God. But, woman or no, you will always be my little girl.”

Rachel looked into her father’s eyes now, in what seemed an altogether different world, wondering if he still thought of her as his little girl. And for a wink in time, that crinkle of skin beside his eye gave his inner smile away, and she knew he did.

Hope it was called.

“Rachel Sauder, did your husband hurt and abuse you?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you marry him?”

“He did not hurt me until after we married. I did not know him capable. I married Simon because I had come to care for him. I chose to marry him.”

“You know marriage is forever, good or bad.”

“I know.”

“Have you anything for which to ask forgiveness?”

“I beg forgiveness for the pain I caused my husband, and I ask that we pray Simon will find peace, finally, in heaven.”

Her father called for that prayer and Rachel breathed easier for the pause, a respite she’d unwittingly invited, yet appreciated all the same. It gave her time to reflect on the possibility of forgiveness, but her reflection gave her no peace. Her father could be so much more pointed in his questioning than he had been, and it was not over yet.

Rachel swallowed her apprehension.

He turned back to her when the prayer for Simon ended. “And did you keep yourself only unto your husband, as the marriage ceremony calls for?”

The directness she had wanted came with a vengeance. She sighed. “No, I did not.”

Her father’s face seemed carved from stone at her answer, as if he expected a different one. “Are you sorry for that sin, Rachel Sauder, and are you ready to ask the Lord’s forgiveness?”

She faced the people of her community chin raised. “I have my girls, Jacob’s daughters, and I am grateful for the gift of them.” Her next words would bring her destruction she knew, still she could not be silent. “For the gentle love that brought them into the world I am not sorry.”

She waited for her father’s condemning words.

Silence held. Remained. Stretched.

“Rachel.” Her father spoke her name softly, startling her nonetheless.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Rachel, had you borne your husband children, would you be able to say they had been conceived in love and gentleness?”

She could not mask her surprise at the question and she thought very carefully of her father’s words before she answered. “In ...” She cleared her throat. “In no aspect of my marriage did I experience gentleness from my husband. Because of that, in time, the caring I felt for him withered and died. Had there been children of our union, they would have been loved, but they would not have been conceived in love.”

Her father indicated she should kneel. He placed his hands on her head. She tried uselessly to read some sign from him, but with gentle prodding, he urged her to lower her head. “Our God is an all-forgiving Father,” he intoned in his song-prayer voice. “Go forth, my daughter, and sin no more.”