Jacob's Return (7 page)

“I will tame something of you I can,” Simon said, as if through a tunnel. “Then you will follow willingly enough.” Before the scream left her lips, he slashed. Once. Twice. Three quick cuts.

Rachel struggled for breath and consciousness as she stared, dazed, at the swirled clusters of her hair marring their wedding quilt.

Simon looked … victorious, and this she understood. Her severed curls proclaimed his mastery.

But to Rachel, they represented her marriage. No hope now, for growth or change. Lifeless. Slain.

Severed. Her hair. His hold. Their marriage.

Simon had just destroyed every thread of hope she’d foolishly held for a better future. And oddly enough, with the knowledge, energy infused her.

She jumped from the bed and dashed to the door, but Simon caught and wrenched her arm behind her. Pain shot up to her burning shoulder. He jammed her against the door, his face close. “A woman must submit to her husband, or be punished. You forced me to punish you, Rachel.”

He let go of her arm to release the placket on his trousers.

“No!” Rachel screamed, “Not that.” And she slammed her knee between his legs.

Simon fell cupping himself.

“Lying still for you has been
my
choice. But you will never force me against my will.” With trembling hands, Rachel closed her torn bodice, and as he had done to her, she took the knife and danced it before his eyes. “Do they hurt, Simon?” she asked, not recognizing her own voice. “I could cut them off to relieve you of the burden?”

When the color left Simon’s face, Rachel’s bravado faltered, but she held her stance. “If you ever touch me again, I will reveal everything you have done to me since the day of our marriage. I never wanted to shame our families, but give me one excuse, Deacon Sauder, and I will be silent no more.” Rachel smiled, surprised she could. “And you will be deacon no more.”

Hate, she saw in his eyes, fierce and deep, but she no longer cared, and she stepped over him as if he were cow dung.

She took up her small mirror to see how she looked and gasped at the red-eyed scarecrow with chunks of hair sticking out in odd places. She swallowed hard, knowing she needed to be strong, and tried to think of a place to hide.

Wherever she went, she couldn’t go looking like this. But she couldn’t get this mess under her kapp without braids, and she didn’t have time to braid it. So she tossed the kapp aside, put on her big black winter bonnet, and holding her dress together, climbed out her bedroom window.

* * * *

Jacob dared not leave, not even to see Ruben about helping with Atlee’s press. Instead, he worried. After he’d told Simon that Rachel quit teaching to care for the twins, Simon became agitated. And when Simon took Rachel upstairs to ‘talk,’ Jacob knew he couldn’t leave.

Hades, he could hardly sit still.

He tried to read Rachel’s newspaper, but couldn’t concentrate. Every sound had him ready to bolt. He almost ran upstairs a dozen times, with no more provocation than a heavy tread. He paced. Distracted. Tense.

Again, he tried to relax, and succeeded for all of a minute. Then a thumping, grating sound propelled him from his chair, his heart quickening as he imagined Simon tossing Rachel out a window.

His imagination getting the best of him, he decided to check on the twins.

At the
daudyhaus
, Datt was trying to teach them to make cracker pudding … well to crush the crackers, anyway.

They were fine. Happy. All three of them. So Jacob headed up the stairs wishing he’d realized how angry Simon would be about Rache keeping the babies.

She’d tried to tell him. He should have listened.

At the top, a panic not to be dismissed accompanied the eerie silence. “Rachel!” he shouted.

Nothing.

He took a breath, ran his hand through his hair. “Rachel?” he called more calmly.

A moan, a whimper came from inside.

“Rachel?” He tried the door. Locked. Lord if he charged in and they were … He threw his hands in the air. Games he played, now of all times. But something was wrong. Very wrong.

Jacob lay his forehead against the door. “Rachel, if you don’t want me to break down this door, you’d better tell me so. Right now.”

Silence.

Terror lending him strength, Jacob hit the door, shoulder first. Hinges groaned, wood splintered. Good thing Datt and the babies were next door.

Jacob battered the door and himself again. The door gave and he sailed inside, the bed halting his journey. And the sight froze his blood. Clusters of blackberry curls scarred the rose-on-white quilt.

Harsh reality meets blushing innocence.

Simon lay on the floor, his hands between his legs.

Jacob judged him. Found him guilty. “Rachel do that to you?”

Simon nodded, the movement bringing a groan.

“Good. Where is she?”

Simon said nothing.

Jacob knelt, his heart pounding with rage. And fear. “Rachel could not swat a fly without regret,” he said. “Desperation, only, would cause her to hurt a human being, even so lowly a one as you.”

Grasping Simon’s shirt, Jacob hauled him up. “Tell me where she is, or so help me, I’ll … tell me.”

“The window,” Simon said, his face green.

“Sick to your stomach?” Jacob asked.

When Simon nodded, Jacob smiled, then he brought his fist back and punched him in the belly. “There,” he said over Simon’s groans. “Like you do to Rachel. No bruise to show for that hit.” He punched him again. “That was for the bruises that did show. Don’t come after her. You hear me? You go looking for Rachel, I’ll come looking for you.” He let go of Simon’s shirt and Simon’s head hit the floor.

Jacob made his way to his father’s, taking deep breaths and rubbing his sore fist.

When he got there Datt and his children were still cracker-crushing. Lots of cracker-crushing going on in this house tonight, Jacob thought, and he smiled. “Datt, can you put the babies to bed? Rachel’s gone to Esther’s for a while and I need to see Ruben Miller about the printing press.”

“Sure. My grandbabies be good for
Grossdaudy
.”

Aaron tugged his bushy white beard, and Jacob’s father laughed.

Emma showed Jacob the bowl. “Cwacker puddin.”

He kissed each small head. ‘Night, chickens.”

“‘Night, Pa-pop.”

“Don’t wait up, all right?” he told his father. “I’ll get Rache on my way back.”

“Too old to be waiting up for my children. But, I’ll sleep in your bed so I can hear them. Use mine tonight.”

“Thanks, Datt. ‘Night.”

Jacob went outside and kept himself from running in case his father could see. He checked the ground below Simon’s window, measured the distance from porch to porch and looked for crushed grass or flowers. He found Simon’s knife and his heart trebled.

The barn door stood open.

* * * *

Rachel escaped from her body into her mind and her memories.

It was her sixth birthday and she could hardly wait to get to school, because Jacob said he would have a surprise for her today.

Spring lambs frolicked in the meadow as she passed. Full of ‘spit and vinegar’ Pop would say. Rachel didn’t think vinegar tasted so good and she hoped the lambs swallowed their own spit.

She got to school same time as Teacher; Jacob too, the teacher surprised to see him before the bell. “Why Jacob Sauder, you are early of late. Here, help me pass out these books. You too, Rachel.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. They wouldn’t have a chance to talk till lunch now. Waiting would be hard.

The day began same as always. “All rise now and sing,” teacher said. “Ever glorious and free, Pennsylvania, hail to thee.”

When Jacob’s class stood to read, Jacob kept getting called to attention which made Rachel stop doing letters in her copybook.

He pulled his hand from his pocket and looked at something in it.

Teacher raised her ruler. “Jacob Sauder, you come here.”

His brother Simon snickered.

“Jacob, you put what you got in that pocket in my hand, or your Datt will know why.”

Jacob stepped back. “Ach, and all right, but you’ll be sorry.”

“You make no never mind.” Teacher curled her fingers. “Give it me.”

Jacob drew forth his treasure and placed it in teacher’s open hand.”

Teacher shrieked — and shook her hand like it burned. Squirmy pink things hit the floor. Mouse babies?

“You hurt them!” Jacob said.

“Pick ‘em up,” Teacher yelled. “And throw ‘em outside.”

No, Rachel thought. Don’t hurt ‘em. She wanted to cry.

Jacob came back in looking sad, and got kept inside to wash the board at lunch recess.

After school, Rachel followed him out behind the school house. She watched him bend down, push aside some dirt, and remove his handkerchief, which he unfolded.

“How come they’re bald?” Rachel asked from over his shoulder.

They examined the wiggling pink things together. “Cause they just come from inside their mother.”

“Did you take them away from her?”

“She was dead. My cat ran over and started lickin’ her chops is how I found ‘em.”

“Poor things. Are they my surprise?”

Jacob nodded. “Most girls wouldn’t like ‘em, but you’re different.”

Rachel cupped her hands, glad she was different for Jacob. “Let me hold ‘em. I want to see why Teacher screamed.”

Jacob placed the mice there.

“Ach,” she gasped. “I’m not surprised she jumped like that. They feel skittery, but soft and nice. Maybe.” Their eyes were swollen and shut. Ugly. But they were tiny and dear. Living. “Where’d you find ‘em?”

“Lapp’s wheat field, yesterday. Since they’re orphans, I thought you could be their mother.”

Simon came running over and slammed into Jacob. “What you got the rats for?”

“I’m going to take care of them. For Jacob.”

With a laugh, Simon scooped them from her hand and tossed them into the field behind the school. “Let the snakes have ‘em for supper.”

“Simon Sauder, you mean thing!” Rachel remembered crying, and Jacob beating the tar out of Simon for the first time.

That was a long time ago, Rachel thought, shivering and huddling deeper into herself, wishing she’d remembered three years ago what a mean-spirited child Simon had been.
Oh, Jacob, I need you,
she cried silently.

“Mudpie, it’s me. Where are you?” he called, as if he’d heard her.

But Rachel stiffened and stopped breathing, afraid he’d see her.

Jacob allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the loft while at the same time he hoped Rachel would adjust to his presence, perhaps even welcome it.

“Listen, sweetheart, I just want to know you’re all right,” Jacob said. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to tell me what happened. Just let me hold you. You can cry if you want, and I’ll keep still while you do.”

Oh, Lord, she wanted so badly for him to hold her.

Jacob wondered why he couldn’t hear Rachel, if he could hear the sound of his own heart beating. “Please, Rache, you’re scaring me to death.”

Hay crackled under him as he searched the loft on hands and knees, inch by careful inch.

Maybe she wasn’t here. But if not, where? Then he heard the tiniest sound, like a newborn kitten, and moved toward it.

To hold Rachel would crumble every barrier he’d tried to keep between them for the past weeks, but he had to hold her.

He had to.

A mound more substantial than hay hampered his progress and his fear increased. That Rachel buried herself caused him such pain, his throat tightened and he gasped aloud. It was all he could do not to tear at the hay and drag her into his arms. “Rache,” he said, “Let me hold you.”

He began to remove pieces of loose straw. If she feared being touched, she wouldn’t want to be held, he tried to remember. “Rache, I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I’ll … sit with you … but I need to know if you’re hurt … if you need tending.”

Lord, if she bled to death while he hesitated … but if she was hurt, he could cause worse harm. A fear of hesitating, and a greater one of rushing forth, stopped him.

“Don’t,” came her voice, weak and tiny.

And if such a word coming upon the heels of his silence did not implore him, what would?

Jacob calmed. He took a breath. Rachel was well. Well enough and sensible enough to ask for help, whether she realized she was doing it or not. He placed his shaking hand upon the hay covering her, gathered strength from her presence, offered the same.

Time ticked by at the pace of a garden snail climbing uphill and Rachel, buried in hay did not stir, neither did she speak.

Jacob’s patience had never been so hard won.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” came her quivering plea. And his patience fled.

Panic came like lightening. “
Mein Gott
, Rachel, let me tend you!”

Chapter 5

Jacob’s eyes adjusted to the darkness in the loft. As children they’d shared secrets here. Innocent, happy secrets. And now, Rachel was hurt, in spirit, at least … at worst....

Jacob’s vision blurred and he swallowed. “Mudpie. You have to tell me. Are you cut or bleeding?” He was working very hard to stay calm.

“I don’t think so.”

Pain shot through Jacob, leaving him weak. “You don’t
think
! Ah, Rache. I need to know.”

“Oh, Jacob.”

Taking that as resignation, he pulled the hay away before she could change her mind or set him straight. But as soon as she was exposed, she curled into a tighter ball. “H … hold me,” she pleaded. “But don’t look.”

Jacob didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He lay behind her and curled around her, gentling her with whispered words like he would a skittish colt. He ran his hand along Rachel’s side, her arm. She would not put weight on an injury, so he was reasonably certain the side she lay on was fine. When he got to her shoulder, she winced. “Is it broken, do you think?”