Jacob's Return

by Annette Blair

  Jacob kissed her brow, the tears from her eyes. He slid his hand to her abdomen with a sleek trail from her face, to her neck, across her breasts and down. His touch spoke more of comfort than desire, and yet, she ached.

  She looked at the man she loved. Hold this child in your hands and in your heart. Love him as I do. He will need you, so he can grow up to be a good man. Like you. He absorbed her with his look, his pain her own, and she reveled in the oneness.

  “This child beneath my hand and your heart,” Jacob said. “Was he conceived in love, Rachel?” His voice broke with the question.

  Her answer could change his life — many lives. Lord forgive her, she wanted to give him what he sought, no matter the consequences. But she could not, she must think of her child.

  She pulled from his arms. “Take me home. No. Take me to get Aaron and Emma. I don’t want them stuffed with raisin pie.”

  As he silently urged the horse forward, disappointment etched Jacob’s face to sharp angles, and Rachel wanted to weep for hurting him.

  He sighed. “They won’t vote against your newspaper, Mudpie. Ruben and Atlee did a wonderful job of defending you.”

  “Which cannot be said for how I defended myself.”

  “Simon gained nothing by taking you before the Elders, except to bar himself from respect over his impending fatherhood. Only a self-centered man would not notice the changes in his wife’s cycle or her body. He has, in all but deed, shot himself in the foot. Would that I could shoot the other.”

  Jacob had not been so vengeful before he left, she thought. “Did you know, without being told, that your wife was carrying?” Rachel asked, surprised at how her question seemed to affect Jacob.

  “No, Mudpie. Because I never had a wife. I only found out about Emma and Aaron eight months ago, and only then, by accident.”

  “Jacob. They are nearly three years old.”

  “Yes,” he said with regret. “They are, and since their mother died at their birth, that makes me her killer.”

  Rachel was too stunned to speak.

  Jacob shook his head. “For the life of me, I don’t understand why God saw fit to give me Emma and Aaron. For I do not deserve such a reward.”

  “Are … are they your only children?”

  “I think so. I tried to find out after I knew about them.”

  “How many women did you … did you … see, to find out?”

  “Several.”

  “Several is three, Jacob.”

  “More than several, then.”

  “Twenty? A hundred?”

  Jacob took her hand. God help her, she needed his touch so badly, she brought it to her heart.

  “Hush, love,” he whispered. “Are you angry that I am such a sinner? Or that I have known, in the biblical sense, a dozen women?”

  “A dozen! You made love to a dozen women—”

  “No! I have only ever made love to one. And if you do not know who she is, then I do not know you.”

  Rachel bowed her head and swallowed. “Thank you,” she said. “I have only ever made love with you, too.”

  “I know,” he said. “But do you forgive me?”

  “It is not for me to forgive, Jacob.”

  “There is more chance of your forgiveness, Rachel. Think about it. Please.”

  She nodded, but her heart was breaking. “Let’s go get the children.”

  Caliope had stopped to munch grass and neither of them had noticed. Jacob snapped the reins and the horse trotted on.

  As they neared Fannie’s house, a chill ran up Rachel’s spine and it had nothing to do with Jacob’s revelation. At the sound of Emma’s crying, she pulled her shawl tight.

  Fannie came out to the porch, Aaron clutching her skirt, Emma shrieking in her arms. Before Jacob could stop, Rachel made to jump from the buggy.

  “Rachel!” he shouted.

  The word conveyed such command, she sat.

  “Mein Gott. Have a care for such foolishness. You could fall. ‘Tis not only yourself you would injure if you did.”

  His words surprised her. She’d forgotten about the baby just then, and she was ashamed. “I wanted to get Emma. Her crying is … different.”

  “I know. I will drive you to the porch, and when I stop, you may get down. Safely.”

  “Yes, Jacob.”

  “Thank you for thinking of Emma before yourself. ‘Twas not selfish. I know. But if you do not take proper care of yourself, I will have to see that you do. We’ve another babe to consider now, along with the two of them.”

  Jacob would love this child as much as he loved Emma and Aaron, no matter the father, which made Rachel realize that he must have been driven by deep pain to commit such transgressions.

  “Whoa, Caliope. Shh. Whoa.” Caliope slowed and raised his head, once, twice, before he settled to a stop.

  Jacob came around to help her. “You may get down now.”

  “It is not your fault their mother died,” Rachel said, as he swung her down. “She forgives you. I do too.”

  Jacob nodded once and turned to hide the sheen that had come to his eyes.

  Up close, the red of Emma’s cheeks were as frightening as her sobs. She raised her arms to Rachel, but once in her arms, she was restless and uncomfortable. After Jacob hitched Caliope and came up the steps, she wanted Pa-pop. No sooner did she settle with him, than she wanted Momly again.

  Fannie was beside-herself upset. “She has been like this all morning. Nothing I gave her helped. She vomited everything, even clover-honey water.”

  Rachel fought the squirming girl to press her lips to Emma’s small forehead to test its temperature. “She has fever.”

  Jacob lifted Aaron when Rachel took Emma back again.

  “Emma sick,” he said, in a worried tone.

  “We’ll make her better, son.”

  “Let’s take her home where I can brew a tea for her,” Rachel said. “You did good, Fannie.”

  She had Emma in the buggy, before Jacob left the porch.

  “Thank you, Fan,” Jacob said. “Emma will be fine. Better they stayed with you.”

  “Is Rachel all right? Will she keep her newspaper?”

  “Rachel will be fine. We do not know yet about the newspaper. Right now, it is Emma we must worry about.”

  An hour later, Emma’s fever had climbed higher, but Emma, to Rachel and Jacob’s concern, became more quiet.

  When Rachel went down to make sweetened oatmeal water and consult her grandmother Sarah’s book of remedies, her father and Simon came into the kitchen.

  “Rachel, can we talk?” her father asked.

  “I don’t have time, Pop, Emma is sick.”

  Aaron came down the stairs. “Momly, Emma sick. Emma cry.” He pushed his face into her skirt. Emma’s crying was distressing them all.

  “Rachel? You have Aaron?” Jacob called from the top of the stairs.

  “Yes, Jacob.”

  “Can you come up here? Emma’s all-over-red now, some kind of rash, I think.”

  Rachel took the oatmeal water off the burner, looked about the kitchen, picked up the yarrow tea she’d made earlier, then Grossmutter’s remedy book. But Aaron was still clinging to her, so she put everything down to lift him.

  Her father placed his hand on her arm. “A rash could be catching. No need for the both of them to be sick. We’ll take him. You go up. Don’t worry about Aaron until Emma is well. He will be fine.”

  Her father lifted Aaron into his arms and kissed his cheek. “Shh, little one. Come, Simon, drive me.”

  Rachel knew it was a measure of Aaron’s distress just then, that he did not seek his Unkabear’s arms.

  Simon gave her a searching look. “Datt has gone to visit his sister down Briar Patch Road. He won’t be back for a few days. Jacob and I will have to do the chores by ourselves.”

  Her father swore, a rare occurrence “You will do the chores by yourself for as long as need be.”

  Ruddy color stained Simon’s cheeks.


  “Tell Jacob to tend his daughter and not to worry about the farm,” her father said. “The English doctor is in Philadelphia for another week, or I would fetch him for you. I will send Esther tomorrow to see if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Pop.” She started up the stairs but her father’s call stopped her.

  “I almost forgot. The Elders are praying over their decision about your newspaper. We will meet tomorrow to discuss it.”

  Rachel sighed. “Right now, the only thing that matters is getting Emma well.”

  * * * *

  Simon pondered his wife’s words as he climbed into his buggy to bring the Bishop home. So gentle to her father. So tender to the girl. Little did she care for his anguish. He wanted a decision about the press. Now. Today. A decision calling for its destruction. It was the only way.

  But none of the Elders liked the idea. They could not even come to a lesser decision among them. His father-in-law had decided to wait and pray over it. Foolish man.

  Each Elder had a different idea of what should be done. Things did not look good. Preacher Swartzentruber thought Rachel should keep the press and continue to print her foolish newspaper. Preacher King thought the printing of the newspaper should be given over to a man. The Bishop, clearly torn, did not want to look as if he sided with his daughter. But to give him his due, neither did he wish to make a decision harmful to the people of his district.

  Simon sighed. He would like to speak to the Preachers alone. But such a move would be seen as going against his Bishop. He must be careful, if he wished to be Bishop himself one day.

  Once his father-in-law and nephew were settled, Simon flicked Gadfly’s reins. At least he had made his point today. Everyone in the district knew Rachel’s failings now. Despite the way things looked after the hearing, she would no longer be so highly valued in the community. Soon perhaps, they would no longer wish to read her newspaper.

  Now that Rachel expected a baby, she would not have time for such foolishness as a newspaper. Simon shook his head. A baby. He was not certain how he felt about that now. He’d always wanted children. It was God’s plan that man bring forth children to glorify His name.

  But children bothered him sometimes. Even this nephew of his, who sat quietly on the Bishop’s knee, disturbed him. Simon didn’t imagine there was much to raising a boy. Rachel would handle most of it, as was her duty. As father, and head of the house, he would be required to influence and mold a son in his image.

  Simon nodded. Put that way, fatherhood sounded agreeable enough.

  Perhaps Rachel would want more children. Once Jacob had a wife to give his attention to, Rachel would be free to return to his bed where she belonged. He would give her more babies. Then her time would be limited, and if something happened to the press....

  Simon smiled. With a large family to tend, for Rachel to hand copy her paper would be impossible.

  When the Bishop cleared his throat, Simon was almost surprised to find him there. The man frowned. “Mrs. Zook is having a bad day. This morning did not help.”

  Simon did not understand his exasperation.

  “I need to get home quickly,” the Bishop snapped.

  With a flick of the reins, Gadfly clip-clopped toward the Zook farm with new vigor.

  Simon imagined that Esther would likely care for the boy until the girl got better and Rachel was free to tend both of them again.

  At the Zook farm, Bishop Zook got out of the buggy and turned away without as much as a good-day. Simon thought he was rude, then Aaron tugged on his beard. “Wait,” Simon called. “You forgot the boy.”

  The Bishop turned with a frown and marched back. “That boy is your nephew. His name is Aaron. Take care of him until his sister is better. Your skill as a husband leaves much to be desired; see if you can learn to be a father before it is too late.”

  “My skill ...” Simon stopped, speechless.

  “As your Bishop, Deacon Sauder, I remind you we are told to, ‘Preach the gospel always, and if necessary, use words.’ Your actions and words in the past, and especially today, have brought forth pain and bitterness — neither the intent of the gospel. See if you can do better with the task before you. Remember, what you do today, you sleep with tonight.”

  Simon sat, stunned for the second time that day. He looked at his nephew. “The least he could have done was invite us to the noon meal.”

  The boy looked back wide-eyed. His nephew. His. Smiling. Not alarming at all. Aaron.

  Aaron climbed into his lap and took the reins from his hand. “Unkabear?”

  Simon put his arm around the boy and pulled him close.

  Aaron hugged him hard.

  Simon did not know what to make of it. No one, that he could remember, had ever embraced him before.

  Uncomfortable, Simon pulled away.

  Aaron’s smile, his hands on the reins, said he anticipated learning buggy driving. How long, Simon wondered, since anyone looked at him with trust?

  How long before this one turned on him too? He shrugged. No matter. It would happen. Eventually.

  What was different about this child, this small person, that he should want his uncle’s company, when most people seemed to dislike him?

  Simon frowned, because there was no answer to be had. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Play?”

  “I don’t play.”

  Aaron giggled. “Yup!” He flicked the reins to get Gadfly going.

  And go Gadfly did.

  * * * *

  Emma lay unmoving in her crib.

  “Where’s Aaron,” Jacob asked, looking up from his perusal of Emma’s tummy, with a similar concerned look over his son’s absence.

  “Safe,” Rachel replied hanging Emma’s dress and apron over the hook on the wall near her cape and bonnet. “Pop took him home. He said not to worry about Aaron or the farm.”

  “Look at her, Mudpie, red as a beet and hot as a bake-oven. So helpless. I don’t know which is worse, when she’s quiet like this or when she’s screaming.” He stroked Emma’s brow. “Does it hurt anywhere Pumpkin? Tell Pa-pop.”

  Emma looked pitifully up at him.

  Rachel handed Jacob the tea. “See if you can get her to sip this. I’ll go strain the oatmeal. Sweet oatmeal water is good for measles and such.”

  “You think that’s what this is?”

  Rachel sighed. “I wish I knew.” She bent over the crib-railing to kiss Emma’s cheek. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

  “Momly?” Emma whimpered.

  “Drink for Pa-pop, will you. I’ll be right back.”

  The tear that slipped down the little, parched cheek was like a knife to Rachel’s heart.

  Jacob looked up, his face a mask of fear.

  “What is it?” Rachel asked.

  “I just remembered that Anna was like this, before … before....”

  Rachel lowered herself to the chair, her legs shaking too much to hold her.

  Jacob stared at her for a minute, his eyes wide with terror, then he took Emma from her crib and held her as if he would never let her go.

  “Tell me everything you remember, Jacob.”

  “I have only a five-year-old’s memories.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  He nodded, almost relieved, and closed his eyes, patting Emma’s back. “Anna cried for long stretches, then she’d get so quiet. All the adults, even me … we waited and watched her, especially when she was quiet, for something to happen.”

  Jacob opened his eyes shaking his head. “It went on for hours. She had a rash like this one, though it seemed redder to me. I remember Mom wringing her hands and saying Anna was hotter. That didn’t make sense to me, because it was January, you know.”

  Rachel nodded. “What else?”

  Tears ran down his face. He kissed Emma’s forehead. “Get better for Pa-pop, will you,” he said. “Oh, Rache,” he sobbed. “Two years I didn’t know them and now....”

  He rocked Emma in his arms while he
walked. “Anna had … fits. I don’t know. Her whole body started jerking and Mom screamed something awful. I was so scared, I ran out to the barn and hid in the loft. I stayed three, maybe four hours, hardly feeling the cold. Then Datt came to tell me ...” Jacob swallowed. “God took Emma ...” He gasped. “I mean Anna!” He sobbed again, hugging Emma.

  “I remember Datt’s exact words,” he said after a long silence. “Jacob,” he said. “God has taken our Anna home to heaven.’”

  Soul-deep fear traced Jacob’s features. Rachel stood and put her arms around him.

  “Maybe girl twins in this family are not … as strong,” Jacob said. “Maybe....”

  Rachel stepped away, her mind working again. “No more warm tea,” she said, feeling a surge of hope. “Anna convulsed from the high fever, so we have to cool her down. Grossmutter wrote about it in her remedy book. People used to laugh at her, but she thought cooling a fevered body would bring down the fever. She was a smart woman, Jacob, Grandmother Sarah. I want to try cooling Emma. What do you—”

  “Anything, Rache. I’ll try anything. Make Emma better. Please.”

  Jacob’s trust frightened her. Lord, please help me live up to such confidence, Rachel prayed. “Bring the copper tub up here, Jacob, and fill it with cool water.” He searched her face for a minute, but he set off to comply.

  They gave Emma cool oatmeal-water, instead of warm. Over the next hours, they sponged her with cool water, then wrapped her in blankets against the chill. Still the fever kept rising.

  Toward evening, Emma’s eyes began to roll and her body to spasm, so they put her in the tub until her body calmed and she breathed more easily. They kept her there until she shuddered with cold, then they took her out and wrapped her in towels.

  Rachel took her to the rocker before the fire.

  Jacob knelt before them. “Which is best, do you think? The warmth from the fire, or the cold water?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Jacob put his lips to Emma’s forehead. “She’s cooler. Let’s keep her like this for now. If she starts to … shake … again, we’ll put her back in the water. She stopped shaking when we did it, Rache. It worked.”