Out of Heaven's Grasp

by V. J. Chambers

  So, I closed my eyes and thought about her long hair, about her bare neck and her flushed cheeks. I hadn’t touched her, so I touched myself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jesse

  After I got home, I did my best to put Abby out of my head. We’d both decided that it would be better if we didn’t see each other, and I knew that was the right thing. I tried to concentrate entirely on my responsibilities. I threw myself into my work.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  I tried to concentrate on watering the crops or on planting seeds, but the task became repetitive too quickly, and my mind was free. All I could think about was Abby’s smile, or the way she blushed. Now that I’d spent so much time with her, it was worse than it had ever been before. I had too much memory of her in my head. I could remember watching her close her eyes and chew the forbidden food in the restaurant, a look of sheer bliss on her face. I could remember the hint of wistful yearning in her voice when she talked about going on the road with her guitar.

  And too much of the time, I thought of what she’d said. We won’t get married at all, but we’ll stay in the same hotel rooms, and we’ll be amazingly wicked. The idea of sharing a hotel room with Abby, well, that was a pretty distracting thought. No one had ever exactly explained to me what went on between men and women after they were married, but the younger guys in the community talked about it constantly in private, when we knew no one would hear us. Between all of us, I was fairly sure that we had the gist.

  Most of the other guys my age were incredibly excited at the prospect of getting married, and sex was basically what was motivating them.

  Until the meeting with Abby, I was exactly where they were.

  But now… and it was a sort of weird thing to realize… but when I thought about having to marry someone besides Abby, about doing that with another woman, it seemed… like I’d be getting cheated in some way.

  But I still tried to keep from thinking about her.

  On Sunday, I watched her at the worship meeting, up in the front with the rest of the worship team, who played the music and led the gathering in singing. Our Sunday worship meetings consisted of an hour of singing and worship, sometimes more. The singing generally began with songs that everyone knew, sometimes some Keith Green or Randy Stonehill, songs that came from the Jesus Movement of the late 1960s and early 1970s, which was where our beliefs had started. Our founder Robert Morris had been one of the Jesus People in California at that time. He’d moved us out here and established other communities throughout the U.S. when he had a revelation that California was going to fall off into the ocean.

  The singing began in a somewhat orderly fashion, one song followed by another one. But as all of the congregation got more and more into the worship, some raising their hands in the air, everything became more loose. We considered this being filled by the spirit, who would inspire us to sing our own lyrics or even to sing in another language—speaking in tongues. Though it might seem as if this would become a jumbled mess rather quickly, the truth was that it was usually very beautiful and organic. When the spirit was among the people, they all sang together as if they were of one mind.

  That Sunday, I tried to lose myself in the worship, but instead, I found myself watching Abby strum the guitar.

  All I could think about was how beautiful she was.

  I was still thinking about her when we got home for Sunday dinner. This was generally our biggest meal of the week, and my mothers and sisters worked hard preparing things the night before and early in the morning.

  I went out on the back porch with my younger brothers and sisters, who were all running around and playing. For them, the meetings were a kind of prison sentence, where they were required to sit still and pay attention. They were allowed to participate in the singing, but they had to stay put, or it looked bad for the entire family.

  From inside, in the kitchen, I heard my father’s raised voice. He sounded angry.

  I turned back to the house, straining to hear.

  “What were you doing while Leah was running around crazy like that?” he shouted. “Candace, you know it’s your responsibility to discipline those children.”

  Great. This was the perfect way to begin Sunday dinner. I eased open the door and stepped back into the house.

  My mother, Candace, was cringing away from my father by the sink. My father stood over her, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.

  Mother Miriam stood off to one side, staring down at the floor. My other sisters also had their heads bowed.

  I cleared my throat.

  My father turned to look at me, drawing his eyebrows together. “What are you looking at?”

  I folded my arms over my chest.

  My father went back to my mother. “No daughter of mine is going to act like that in the meeting.”

  “I’m sorry,” my mother whispered. “I must have been too caught up in the worship to notice.”

  And I must have been too caught up in looking at Abby to notice. Usually, I tried to help my mother keep an eye on some of the younger children. It was hard for them to stay still for so long, but they looked up to me, and I could often get them in line with just a look or a gentle nudge.

  “You show your truest worship by raising obedient children,” said my father. “How am I ever to get another wife if it looks as though I can’t control the ones I have?”

  My mother chewed on her lip. “It won’t happen again, Nick, I prom—”

  My father interrupted her with a loud slap across her face.

  I was across the kitchen in two seconds, standing right next to my mother. I glared at my father.

  He looked me over.

  I didn’t say anything. I only stared him down. He knew better than this. Though it was permissible for men to discipline their wives, it was always to be done in private, never in front of other wives and children, and it was never permitted for men to hit their wives in the face.

  All corporal correction of both wives and children was to be done with a hand only—never an implement like a belt or a paddle—and to be administered through clothes to the buttocks. Those were the rules.

  My father didn’t follow them, however. This wasn’t the first time he’d beaten my mother or my brothers or my sisters. Or me, for that matter.

  But lately, I’d gotten too big for him to try much with me, and he’d laid off. Ever since the first time I’d seen a hint of fear cross his features when I stood up to him, I’d been using my presence to stop him from doing it anymore.

  My father clenched and unclenched his fists, looking from me to my mother. Then he sneered. “Well, see that it doesn’t happen again, Candace.” And then he swept out of the kitchen.

  My mother bit down hard on her lip. She was shaking, and a tear slid down her cheek. It was red from the slap.

  I touched her shoulder. “Mother—”

  She shoved me off. “It’s none of your concern, Jesse. He is my husband, and he is your father. He’s the head of this family, and you shouldn’t disrespect him like that.”

  “No,” I said. “He shouldn’t do things like that to you. He knows that—”

  “You need to respect him. He is the head of the family.” Her voice shook. “Now, get out of here and let us cook.”

  * * *

  I saw Abby at the gospel meeting that night. On Sunday evenings, the elders took turns giving sermons to the congregation. That night, Jeremiah Allen was droning on about the blood of the lamb or something. He’d found every verse in the bible that mention the blood of the lamb, and he was talking about why it was so important that there be blood and why it was so important that it come from a lamb. He said that the blood made the point that our sins were serious. They led to death. And that only something as innocent as a lamb could wash these sins away. And, of course, all of this just pointed to Jesus, who was the most innocent being ever, who had to die to forgive our sins.

  None of what he was saying was new to me, s
o I mostly tuned him out and stared at the back of Abby’s head. She had her hair in two French braid pigtails and I stared at how perfect the braids were. Each piece of hair was the same thickness and the others. It was like a work of art, her hair. It was so glossy and pretty and perfect.

  To be on the safe side, I’d forced my little sister Leah to sit with me that night. After dinner, I managed to get out of her what she’d done during morning meeting. Apparently, she’d been so inspired by the music that she’d wanted to spin around. When she did that, her little dress had flared up, and my father thought that was immodest. Not to mention the fact that she shouldn’t be moving at all.

  I was annoyed by his anger. Leah was four years old. It was hardly the time to be worrying about her modesty. She was a little girl. Anyway, she sat next to me the whole gospel meeting. I gave her a piece of paper and a pencil, and she drew pictures all over the paper for the entire sermon.

  I didn’t think she was paying attention to me at all.

  But after the meeting was over, when we were all getting up to leave, she tugged on my clothes. “Hey, Jesse?”

  “What?” I said.

  “How come you keep staring at Abigail London?”

  Man. If Leah had noticed, did that mean everyone had?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said and nudged her to start heading for the door.

  I’d brought my truck to the meeting hall, and I usually gave some of my brothers and sisters a ride back home afterward. But this time, I stayed back and didn’t offer to shuttle anyone. Both my mother and Mother Miriam had driven vehicles, so there was enough room for everybody without me.

  Abby was in the parking area with her friend Susannah Davis. I wanted to wait for her to be alone, but I didn’t know if she would be.

  I knew that we’d decided to stay away from each other, but I’d been thinking about her every second of every day for too long.

  So, after my family pulled out of the parking lot, I wandered over to the two of them.

  When Abby saw me, she went pale.

  Susannah only smiled. “Jesse Wallace. Hi there.”

  “Hi,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. “It was a stirring sermon tonight, wasn’t it?”

  Susannah smirked. “Since when do you even pay attention the sermons?”

  “I pay attention,” I said.

  Abby wouldn’t look at me.

  I plowed on. I was standing next to her, wasn’t I? She could hear me. That was all I needed. “Yeah, after a sermon like that, sometimes I like to take a long walk, just to think it over. Just me out under the stars. Might do that tonight, in fact. Might be out walking in the fields, maybe even behind the London farm, around ten o’clock.”

  Abby raised her gaze sharply. She realized what I was doing. I was inviting her to meet me—alone—behind her house tonight.

  It was a dangerous play. But I had to try. I had to see her.

  “Well, if you were out there, and my father saw you, he probably wouldn’t be happy,” said Abby.

  “I’ll be careful,” I said. “Don’t you like taking walks, Abby?”

  She swallowed. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

  “Well,” I said. “I’ll be there whether you like walking or not.” I looked into her eyes, hoping for some kind of confirmation that she’d meet me.

  She only looked away.

  * * *

  Abby

  Susannah watched Jesse walk away, and then she turned back to me. “What was that about?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Abigail London, you’re sneaking around with Jesse Wallace, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, come on.” She lowered her voice, even though no one was close enough to hear us speak. “I see the way you look at him when he comes to deliver the fuel. You’re practically drooling over him.”

  “I am not.” I twisted my hands together. “I don’t know why he did that. We agreed we were going to stay away from each other.”

  “Agreed!” She covered her mouth with one hand. “You two were together, then. You were alone together.”

  “Susannah.” I looked around, making sure that no one was listening in. The parking area was mostly empty at this point, but there were a few clusters of people talking. I was getting a ride home with Thomas and Carla, and they were chatting with another young couple on the other side of the area.

  “I can’t believe you,” she said.

  “Not so loud.”

  “I’m whispering.”

  She was not whispering, but she wasn’t yelling anymore. I glared at her.

  Susannah lowered her voice even more. “I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “What do you mean, there’s nothing to tell? When did you agree not to see each other?”

  “When I ran into him in Lebenet.”

  Her eyes widened. “No way.”

  I sighed. “Susannah, I don’t go around broadcasting that I’m a weak-willed sinner, okay? I’ve repented to God about it, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Sinner?” She looked delighted. “What did you do? Did you kiss him?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Did you hold hands?”

  “No.”

  She looked disappointed. “Well, what kind of sin could you even have done?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “You have to tell me,” she said. “I’m your best friend, and I don’t have any really attractive boys trying to entice me to sin.”

  “Good,” I said. “You’re lucky.”

  “Maybe from your perspective.”

  “Drop it, Susannah.” I started towards Thomas’s car.

  She caught me by the arm. “Seriously, Abby, you’re being careful, right? Because if you’re sneaking around with him, and you get caught…”

  “I’m not sneaking around with him.”

  “So, you’re not going to meet him tonight?”

  “Of course not,” I insisted.

  When I said it, I meant it. But as the hours wore on, and I thought more and more about Jesse, I remembered all of our discussions in Lebenet. And the truth was, it had been really hard to keep from seeing him all this time. I’d thought about him nonstop.

  I’d tried not to think about him, but it had almost seemed as if the harder I tried, the more I thought about him. He kept popping into my brain, and I kept thinking about how he’d said that he wanted to spend time with me, and that he thought about me a lot.

  I was weak. I could have fought it harder if I’d tried, but I didn’t.

  I surrendered to my sinful nature.

  By ten o’clock, everyone in the house was in bed, and I snuck through the darkness, down the stairs and through the kitchen. I eased open the back door, and I went running into the night, out to meet Jesse.

  Just the two of us. Alone. In the dark.

  It was wrong, and I knew that. But it was so delicious too.

  I cursed God for making sin feel so good.

  * * *

  He was leaning against a scraggly tree, and his hair was down. Usually, the men wore it back in a ponytail, but it was free and falling around his face, and he looked even more alluring than usual. In the distance, the mountains cut sharp angles into the starry sky. Behind me, the fields of my family’s farm stretched back to my house, just over a hill and barely out of sight.

  When he saw me, his face lit up.

  I ran to him.

  “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he said.

  “I shouldn’t have,” I said.

  He reached out and grabbed both of my hands.

  I shut my eyes. His hands were warm. Larger than mine. I liked the sensation of our skin touching. I liked how it felt to have my small hands encased in his. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me, and there was awe and wonder in his expression, and it tugged a
t me, like a strong current yanking me downstream.

  I told myself to pull away from him, but my body didn’t listen. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I know.” His voice was soft.

  We gazed into each other’s eyes. It felt so good to be close to him. My heart was beating fast, and there was a raw feeling of excitement, but there was also an undercurrent of belonging and rightness. I didn’t understand it. I knew this was wrong. I’d been taught my whole life that God would choose the man I fell in love with. So why did I feel like I was falling for Jesse? And why was it happening on its own, without the elders?

  Jesse rested his forehead against mine.

  I sighed. We were so close now. Close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek. I was giddy and keyed up, but there was something sweet and calm about being so near.

  “I really tried, Abby,” he whispered. “I wanted to stay away from you, but I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

  “I know,” I said. “Me too. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  We stayed like that for a few more minutes, our hands joined, our foreheads touching. I basked in our connectedness. It was lovely to be linked to him. I never wanted to let go of him.

  He moved his head back to look at me. “So, what are we going to do?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  He let go of one of my hands, and, tentatively, he brushed the back of his knuckles against my cheek.

  I closed my eyes, shivers traveling through my body.

  He drew in an audible breath.

  My eyes fluttered open. I never wanted to let go of him. I wanted him always touching me. I wanted us to touch more, touch… everywhere.

  Feeling bold, I reached up to caress his face, too. My fingers slid over his jaw, over the fine hairs of his beard, which I’d wanted to touch for so long. To my surprise, they were coarser than I’d imagined.

  He shut his eyes. He put his hand on top of mine, holding it there, against his skin. His voice was hoarse. “I want to marry you.”

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  He opened his eyes again, and we lost ourselves in each other’s gaze for several long, long minutes.

  “It’s impossible, isn’t it?” I murmured.