Jacob's Return

by Annette Blair

  “That’s what Atlee says.”

  “But will he sell it? He never lets go of anything. I think he’s still got the first tooth he ever lost.”

  Rachel laughed. “He was pretty sick a while back. I brewed sassafras tea from Grossmutter’s recipe and made him Rivel soup, then I went every day to make certain he ate. When he got better he said he owed me. I said, ‘Sell me the press,’ and he agreed.

  “He should have given it to you.”

  “Jacob, this is Atlee Eicher we’re talking about.”

  “Ach, right. How much?”

  “Twenty five dollars. I don’t have near enough from my paper, and Simon won’t spend a dime from my teaching money on it. I don’t think there’s anything he wants more than for me to give up the paper.” Except maybe children, she thought.

  “How much do you make teaching?” Jacob asked.

  “One hundred dollars a year.”

  “I’ll pay you two hundred, double like I said, and I’ll buy Atlee’s press and keep something back each month toward its cost. I’ll charge you what I pay Atlee plus whatever it costs to fix. That way you’ll know you earned it fair and Simon won’t think I’m giving you something I shouldn’t.”

  Jacob’s generosity should not surprise her, but she had to swallow before she could speak. “I get the best deal.”

  “No, I do,” he said. “I get the best woman to care for my babies, and they love her plenty.”

  Rachel smiled, more pleased by the compliment than she supposed she should be. “I’ll walk to Abe’s later and give him my resignation. The school board can find somebody else to teach the last week before summer break. But, Jacob, Atlee said he’d sell me the press, not you. And you know how he can be.”

  “I can handle Atlee.”

  Rachel grinned. “This is a good plan, Jacob.”

  “If it makes you happy, it certainly is. I’ll talk to Ruben about helping me move and fix it. Bet Atlee’s got some hopping good cider left. After a jug, he’ll sell me the press, don’t worry.”

  Rachel pinched him.

  “Ouch! What was that for?”

  “Don’t come home singing that song about the woman on the dock and the sailor who—”

  “Rachel Zook, mind your tongue!”

  “I only ever heard you sing it. Fifteen years old you were, I think, and drunk from somebody’s cider.”

  Jacob chuckled. “Ah, yes. And bold from so much cider, I kissed you for the first time.” He drank her in just then and knew he would love her forever. “Wish I’d never stopped.”

  Birds chirped. Bees hummed. Leaves rustled.

  “You’re going to have to find yourself a wife soon.”

  Jacob wondered how long he could put it off. “Will you help me?”

  “Me? Sure. But why?”

  “I guess nobody knows what kind of woman I want for a wife better than you do, Rache.”

  “Why do I?”

  “We’re too far from the creek for you to be fishing, Rache.”

  Chapter 4

  Rachel remained silent while Jacob told Simon at supper that he’d asked her to quit teaching to care for the twins. “Emma and Aaron love her. They need her. She’s been so good for them.”

  But Simon sat, silent as her, until a lima bean Aaron tossed stuck in his beard. Then he growled.

  Aaron opened his arms. “Unk?”

  Simon sighed and lifted him — holding him at arms length, as if trying to identify the object he held — then he frowned and placed him in Jacob’s lap. “You take him. Rachel, I want to talk to you.”

  Rachel’s heart raced as she followed her angry husband to their bedroom.

  He rounded on her the minute the door closed. “You would give up teaching for Jacob, when you would not for me?”

  Rachel winced, despite facing the reaction she expected. “I gave my resignation to Abe Stoltzfus for the school board this afternoon. I want to care for those babies, Simon. I want to teach Emma things every little Amish girl should know. I want to show Aaron how to—”

  Simon grasped her arms. “And your newspaper? You will give up your foolish paper? For Jacob?”

  He hadn’t listened, much less understood. “No, not the newspaper.”

  “How can you not?”

  “Atlee Eicher has a printing press. Jacob is willing to fix it so I can print the newspaper here. That way, I can publish it weekly, instead of monthly, and get it to more people. I want to send it to other districts and invite them to send articles.”

  Simon’s fingers bit into her arms. “A printing press cannot be managed by a woman.”

  “Jacob will help me.”

  He tossed her like a rag doll and she lost her balance. “Of course, Jacob. But we have no money for a printing press, so it is out of the question.” The truth of his statement pleased him and he smiled looking down at her on the floor.

  Rachel rose aware she was treading water. “The press is part of the price Jacob will pay me to care for the children.”

  Simon’s bark of laughter surprised her. “Your love for those children has a price, I see.”

  “Jacob is replacing my teaching salary, so you will have nothing to quibble about.”

  Simon jabbed her shoulder with his finger. Hard. “Did you speak of my quibbling, you and Jacob?” His next jab forced her to step back. “Did you?” He poked her, again. She stepped back again. And again. And when the backs of her knees hit the bed, Simon pushed on her shoulders to make her sit. “Have you been discussing our marriage with my brother?” he asked, face close, voice scary soft.

  “That would be a sad discussion, Simon.”

  He growled and whipped her kapp off and downward, catching it on the bodice of her dress, pins scattering.

  Rachel tried to get away from him but cried out when something stung her.

  Simon held a pin, resolve and maybe satisfaction, in his eyes, as if, as if … He’d pricked her on purpose?

  But Rachel had no time to ponder it before he grabbed a hank of her hair. “You are not happy in our marriage, Rachel?”

  “As happy as you are.”

  By her hair, he pulled her closer. “We will be married for the rest of our lives,” he whispered into her ear.

  “God help us both.”

  He raised his hand. Lowered it.

  Had she spoken aloud? Rachel released her breath when he turned away, but, like a cat, he turned back. “Jacob favors Esther. Let her take care of the twins so she can begin to know her children.”

  “Jacob and Esther have not even talked privately—”

  “Which cannot be said for Jacob and you!”

  Rachel inched back toward the headboard. “Do you think Esther should move in here? I could move home. You would like me out of your sight. Then you would not be repelled by me.”

  Simon’s rigid stance frightened and emboldened her at one and the same time. “Esther can conceive a child,” she said. “Perhaps you would like to have her in your bed, instead of me. Perhaps she could make you man enough to do the deed.”

  Her shock at those words was no less than Simon’s. His look — detached, feral — made her scoot off the opposite side of the bed, and for the thousandth time over the past years, she wondered why she married him.

  Any affection she’d ever had for him, he’d crushed, ruthlessly, day by day, night by night, beginning the day they married.

  He smiled his devil’s smile and examined her with interest. “Look at yourself, strumpet. With your sloppy breasts hanging from your dress and those harlot’s curls falling down your back. Has Jacob seen you like this? Is he man enough to want you? Has he had you? Even before we married?”

  Something in Rachel snapped, and the years of fear stretching before her were more than she could bear. “I will tell you this, Simon Sauder, no man has ever had me.”

  Like a jackrabbit, he leapt.

  She tried to run, but he caught her by her hair, wrapping it around his wrist, bringing her closer. And closer. The
n he shoved her against the wall. Pain made her eyes water.

  “Is Jacob the reason you have avoided our marriage bed these last weeks?”

  “I have stayed up late to make Emma dresses.” Rachel found her mouth pressed so hard against the wall, her foolish excuse became distorted. “And Aaron needs—”

  “Real women care for their children and still do their duty by their husbands.” Simon spoke so softly, so calmly, Rachel shivered.

  She tried to lessen the pressure of his hold on her hair by reaching up to pull it from his grip, but pain blurred her vision. “Sewing for children is difficult,” she added, wondering why she bothered. “And when I come to bed, you are already asleep.”

  “As is your plan.”

  “Yes, God help me! I did it to avoid the agony of your touch.”

  “Because of Jacob.”

  “Because of you!”

  Simon pulled a work-knife from his pocket and shoved her down on the bed, holding her there. “Look at these curls,” he sneered. “They cannot be tamed any more than you. But the Bible says, a woman must submit to her husband in all things. Here, now, we will begin anew,” he said, dancing the knife-blade before her eyes.

  Prickles ran along Rachel’s limbs, black dots clouded her vision, while she concentrated on every breath to keep from allowing the encroaching darkness to swallow her whole.

  “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 t
onight.”

  “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.