Eleazar smiled sadly as he thought of Council Elder Nicodamus and Caleb. Each boy had lost his family, leaving them the last surviving members of their line. Nico had been only seven while Caleb had been a brave but young fourteen years himself. In the wake of losing everyone they had ever loved, they had found a brother in one another. Eleazar remembered how Caleb would carry the young Nico when his legs were too weak to take another step. They had always looked out for each other, Caleb more of a fatherly figure than a brother at times. It was only fitting, one hundred and fifty years after their arrival in America, as Nico first held Caleb’s daughter, Mary, that he should feel the calling to his friend’s child.
Caleb had been furious when Nico told him what was happening. He had cut ties with the male who had been his only family before he created his own. It had taken fifteen years for Caleb to come to terms with his daughter’s fate. Eleazar supposed it was somewhere around time of Mary’s adolescence that he realized Nico would be able to look after his daughter’s virtue better than any father. He had approached Nico and asked if he still believed he was called to Mary. Not only did Nico admit the truth that yes, he was called to his friend’s daughter, he admitted to having shared dreams with the girl since she was a child. Caleb surrendered his daughter to God’s will on Mary’s eighteenth birthday. Almost one hundred years later now, and Mary and Nico are one of the happiest mated couples Eleazar had ever seen and Caleb and Nico are still as close as any two brothers could be.
It was a blessing, being called. Eleazar had never dreamed a single night of his life that he could recall. At this point in his existence, he doubted he ever would. He would not know how to care for a mate, having lived too long on his own. He was set in his ways. Perhaps he was crotchety. Life just seemed exhausting the longer it went on.
He worked his way away from the city and into a deeply wooded forest. Even the forests were not natural. There was not an acre of land left untouched by the English. As Eleazar hunted in the woods, he passed small kiosks and podiums that declared the woods to be a state park.
Standing very still, he shut his eyes and felt the breath of life all around him. His mind locked on that of a deer, its quick-leaping instincts giving its variety away. Yes, a white tail. Eleazar latched onto the animal’s cognitive process and compelled it to find him. Seconds later the doe was licking his fingertips. He soothed the animal as he fed, not wanting to pay the animal any harm. When he finished, his body was somewhat satisfied, yet his mind was not.
Recently it seemed that the blood of animals was not enough to sustain him. He felt depleted for most of the day, lethargic, and more tired than he had ever been in his life. He could not remember the last time he had awakened refreshed. His nights seemed interrupted by something, but he had no idea what. It was most likely the noise that came with being away from the farm.
A few miles away he found a neighborhood with spaced-out houses all of the same style. He left the woods to meander along the walks lit by electric lamp posts. Letting down his guard, he allowed the voices of the mortals to seep into his mind. He had traveled over forty miles in the past two hours. Men and women were now settling in for the night, the normally intolerable roar of English citizens quieting to a low hum. And still no sign of Larissa Hartzler.
Eleazar slowed his steps and turned onto a street named Denbign. He stilled outside of a brick home and allowed the emotions of love to wash over him. A family lived beyond those four walls, a male and female with three young sons to be proud of. How foreign a concept such a life was to Eleazar. Five centuries old and he did not know what it felt like to be loved.
His life suddenly felt completely meaningless.
Chapter 4
Abilene watched the blue moon shadows fan out from a tiny crack in the window covering, and blossom into a pool of silver over her bed. She lay beneath the covering of her wedding quilt utterly still, waiting for her husband to come home to her. Jonas had been summoned by the Elder’s Council to answer questions about their daughter Larissa’s whereabouts. Abilene’s father, Thaddeus Christner, also an elder on the council, had assured her not to worry. No one knew where Larissa had fled or why. The council simply wanted to search under every stone, her father had said.
Supper had been quiet. Quiet seemed to be the state of things in their home since Adam’s wedding. While Gracie, their youngest of only twenty-one years, was still living under their roof, the rest had left the nest. It had all come about so suddenly that Abilene was still acclimating to the silence that filled her home. She was not sure she would ever come to terms with its suppressing presence. Homes were intended to be filled with children, laughter, and love. Her home was turning into nothing more than a hollow house.
She did not blame her children. They were her babies and she knew that to love them was to let them go. They needed to fly into the world and spread their own wings. She was confident in her maternal abilities. She had loved them with every breath she had and nurtured all four of her children well past adulthood. She had armed them with wisdom and morals and a respect for love and family that would surely extend well past her children’s children’s children. She had done her part. So why did she feel so helpless, so sad?
Abilene struggled with the pride she felt for her family. Pride was viewed as a character flaw among most Amish orders. It was an emotion she could never fully embrace without a twinge of guilt for her conceit, but she was proud of her children. Perhaps if she had more babes, she would not feel so alone. But God had not blessed her with children since Gracie.
She wondered if she would ever hold a babe with Jonas’s ice-blue eyes and her own straight nose in her arms again. Beyond the grace of God was the distance that had invaded her marriage. Did no one want her anymore? Had she served her purpose? She felt as if she was a jar of jam being set on a shelf for the winter. Perhaps she was entering the winter of her own life. The moments of vibrant life, blossoming in every corner, were gone. It seemed a frost was setting in and although Abilene was seventy-eight, she was not ready to simply sit back while the others lived on.
She was more than happy for Adam and Annalise. They were true mates and come spring they would be giving birth to her first grandbaby. Anna was a beautiful woman with an even more enchanting soul. She was good for her Adam. The way her son looked at his mate often reminded Abilene of the way Jonas had always looked at her. He saw her as a precious gift, one he would battle a thousand men to protect, one he would not be able to breathe without.
Jonas had often referred to Abilene as his breath and sometimes the music to his soul. How long had it been since he had said such sweet words to her? She knew she was not imagining this distance between them. It was growing into a great yawning void neither of them could seem to reach across.
Abilene felt chilled. Pulling her quilt up to her shoulders, she stared into the empty bedroom filled with silver puddles of moonlight and black fingers of shadows. The silence was choking her. She shut her eyes and fought her tears. She would not break. Whatever her husband was going through, she would stand by his side and be there for him when he was ready to accept her help. He was her one and only true love. She was his helpmate. She had given him sixty years of love, honor, trust, and obedience without a single moment of hesitating. He was a remarkable male. He loved her with every cell of his being. She had never doubted his devotion to her or his children, so why was she suddenly questioning it now?
An idle mind is the devil’s playground, she thought, ashamed of where her thoughts had taken her. It was this godforsaken silence! She thought about going to wake Gracie to get her mind off this morose path of thinking. Gracie was always a wonderful distraction with her naturally charming optimism, so different from her older daughter, Larissa.
Larissa was a woman of duty. When the elders approached Jonas on behalf of Silus Hostetler’s request to wed Larissa, they had been surprised. While Jonas and Abilene had married rather than wait for God’s call, it was not a common occurrence among thei
r kind. And rarely did a marriage take place when both male and female did not seek it. Silus had never even courted Larissa. After Ezekiel told them of the young man’s request, Jonas had to point out Silus to their daughter at service that week. Larissa had watched the man, but made no expression to give away her emotions.
Her stoic daughter never voiced any objections. She had been raised to respect her elders and live obediently among The Order and had always done so without complaint. Their home had been a place of love and acceptance. If Larissa had objected to the union, Jonas would have demanded the elders rethink their edict. He had requested as much even without his daughter’s objections.
Jonas had told Abilene that Silus had used nepotism to gain the council’s permission to wed Larissa. While she and Jonas’s father both held positions on the elders’ bench, Silus had three family members on the bench. Majority had ruled in his favor, seven to two, and the union had taken place shortly after. Silus had become her son-in-law over a year ago, yet Abilene knew nothing of the man’s character. He was an incredibly private man and she found his presence in their life somewhat irritating. At the same time, she felt as if Annalise had been her daughter for years and she had only met the girl a couple of months ago.
Yes, Abilene always held a bit of pity for Larissa’s lot in life. She could not deny the spark of satisfaction she felt at knowing Larissa had finally made her objection loud and clear. While Abilene had raised her children to be obedient in all that was right in the eyes of God, she had also raised them to be shepherds rather than sheep. It pleased some indispensable feminine part of her to know that Larissa was perhaps finding her own way now.
The sound of the front door clicking shut had Abilene’s thoughts of her children scattering. Jonas was home. Would he come to her? Finally sleep in their bed beside her again? She turned as his shadow filled the door to their bedroom.
“You are awake.”
Abilene looked to her husband, still taken aback by his handsomeness at times. He was a large man, bold and strong, yet kind and always gentle. Like his father, he had long, dark hair, blacker than pitch, that managed to make his ice-blue eyes appear all the more piercing. His shoulders were broad and his muscled body was trim. She found his hands one of his most attractive traits. They showed his strength and stature, yet she had seen those hands cradle their children. Those hands held her through times of sadness, caressed her through moments of great passion, and supported her when she did not know how to move on. He was her everything.
“Yes, I waited for you. How was the meeting?”
He did not move to join her, only stood watching her from the door. Distance. “It was fine.” Silence. She made to sit up, but he halted her movements by saying, “Do not get up. I have other business to tend to.”
“Jonas?” She could not let him leave so quickly. Her marriage was becoming a scattered line of disjointed dismissals. He waited patiently for what she needed to ask him. What could she say? Why don’t you touch me anymore? Why does it seem to pain you to even look into my eyes? How are you surviving this ache between us? “I…I need to feed.”
“Did you not finish your glass at supper?”
She wanted to scream at him. She had finished her cup, but she ached for the intimacy of sharing her husband’s blood. She was growing starved for the warmth, the contact, the evidence that she still owned some part of him. In sixty years of marriage, never had he put her in the position to ask for his affection. It had always been freely given, yet now she feared she would have to beg for him to even hold her hand. “I feel my appetite is more than it usually is. I…I think I would sleep better if my belly was full.”
He hesitated on saying the words that caused his mouth to open slightly. He seemed to not even breathe as whatever argument he was having in his mind played with his emotions. “I…I will fetch you another glass,” he said and turned to leave before she could argue.
Abilene felt a tightness seize her chest that was becoming more and more familiar. Dismissed again. The unbearable pain of feeling unnecessary to her husband was becoming too much to bear in silence. Her fist clenched in the bedding as she fought a rage building inside of her. She wanted to pierce the silence with her own cries of injustice. This never-ending silence was suffocating her! She felt trapped in her head, screaming in the silence, yet her lips remained obediently closed. Perhaps Larissa was more like her mother than Abilene realized.
The sound of Jonas returning caused Abilene to shut her eyes. She would not turn to face him. Let him see her displeasure in his solution to her hunger, let him know that his disregard for her has gone too far, force him to face what his neglect has wrought and step past more than just their doorway, she thought angrily! He would see he had hurt her. Her Jonas would never abide her heartache. He would cross this distance stretching between them and repair the bridges that connect husband and wife.
She waited for him to approach and then apologize to her for hurting her so. She was not a jar of jam to be ignored on a shelf. She shut her eyes and waited for the press of his palm onto her back, the caress of his fingers across her cheek. She waited for any sign that he saw her. She had no doubt he could feel her sadness and pain rolling off of her in waves.
The sound of the pewter goblet clicking down on the nightstand interrupted the silence. He was right behind her. She could sense him watching her. He had seen she was upset. He would touch her now.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
As if swallowing her whole, a wave of pain caused by his rejection washed over her so completely that with the sound of the front door closing her mouth gaped open in a soundless cry. The silence finally gave way to her gasping breath as she choked on the cold air tripping into her lungs. The pressure in her chest was too tight. There was no room for breath.
Turning into her fists still clenching the bedding, she pressed her face into the pillows and began to sob. Nothing should hurt this much. What had she done? Why was he punishing her with such indifference?
A dam had broken around her frayed emotions. She sobbed into her pillows until her cheeks grew chilled and damp from her tears. Sobbing to a point of hyperventilation and disillusion, until hours later, energy depleted, her cries waned into shuddering breaths paced perhaps only one every minute. She watched, body numb, eyes unblinking, as the silver reflections of the moon heated to shades of gold then pink as dawn peeked over the horizon.
He had not returned to her. The goblet remained untouched on her nightstand. She was exhausted, but knew she would not sleep. She heard Gracie emerge from the room down the hall, heard the sound of pots being heated over the stove. By the time the scent of sausage and eggs filtered up to the second floor of the house, Abilene decided she should rise for the day. However, that thought was followed by her treacherous mind’s snide question. For what? Would anyone really miss her if she did not attend breakfast?
Gracie had been spending her mornings tending to the baby calves in the barn. She would no doubt head that way as soon as breakfast was finished and the kitchen returned to sorts. Abilene waited.
Was Jonas eating beside his daughter? He seemed to barely touch his food anymore. Abilene thought of the months after her miscarriages and how her sadness had caused her appetite to lag. The idea that Jonas was perhaps that sad made her stomach clench with guilt. Was this her fault? Was he perhaps finally getting fed up with her inability to bear him more children? Inadequacy was now accompanying her insecurity and sorrow.
Once she heard Gracie leave for the morning, Abilene finally stood to dress. She meticulously pulled her shift on and pinned her apron extra tight, needing to feel as if something held her. She braided her hair until it pulled and pinched her scalp, hoping the pain would distract her from the ache in her heart. As she reached for her lace bonnet, she noticed her fingers were trembling. Shutting her eyes, she willed her body to settle. She would be a good wife and patiently wait for her husband to once again seek her company. If it took a century, she would
abide the pain and loneliness because she had complete faith in Jonas’s love.
For several minutes she told herself she was a good wife worthy of a husband’s love, but when she opened her eyes and saw the truth of her uncertainty in her still-trembling hand, she snapped. Without thought, she watched the backs of her trembling fingers lash out and smack the goblet off of the nightstand. The heavy pewter cup crashed against the plaster wall, spewing its crimson contents over the surface, and clattering heavily to the floor. She stood, mesmerized, as rivulets of red bled down her clean walls and onto the floor.
Somewhere in the distance a door opened and closed, but Abilene seemed to be struck dumb and deaf at the hypnotic way the blood seeped into the pores of the plaster and ran tiny rivers over the cracks of the wood-planked floor. Like a poison seeping into her life, she watched silently as the liquid collected into a small puddle and slowly crawled to her toes peeking out from beneath her dress.
The sound of Annalise’s voice in the hall had her eyes jerking to the door. What had she done? Quickly she scanned the room for something to clean up the mess. Galvanized into action by the sound of her daughter-in-law’s footsteps approaching, she pulled the pitcher from her dresser and doused the wall where the cup had crashed. Realizing the stupidity of her solution before the arc of water even touched the plaster wall she watched as crimson faded to pink and diluted, creating more of a mess. Her lace apron became speckled with dots of watered-down blood. She was utterly hopeless and in a matter of seconds her state would be humiliatingly exposed. She wanted to run and hide. Seventy-eight years old and she actually considered hiding under her bed. What was happening to her? She was losing her mind.
Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 5
