Jacob's Return

by Annette Blair

  Throwing off the covers, Rachel rose and came around to Jacob’s side, offering her hand. “Come.”

  Jacob followed her to his room, a quiet haven with no babies to disturb. He watched her light the lamp and shut the door. “I want to make love,” she said. “I want to feel you against and within me and I want to hear your love words and speak or shout my own, If I wish.”

  Jacob groaned and pulled her into his arms, opening his mouth over hers like a man starved. This kissing with the mouth open was new to her, but wanting to learn, Rachel eagerly followed his lead.

  And learn she did.

  She learned of hard muscle against warm, wet lips and of shuddering pleasure. She learned to make her love cry with wanting, while at the same time he begged her to stop. She learned to make him feel more than he said he could — and for far longer — until he threatened to explode, and then she let him rest and made him ready again.

  She acquired a taste for his flesh against her tongue.

  And she let him do the same for her.

  He described what he would do to her before he did it, and Rachel did not know which aroused more, words or touch.

  She did know that together the two could be explosive.

  Jacob Sauder became the master of her body and Rachel Sauder gloried in his mastery. When she thought she could climb no higher, feel no more whole, no more a part of him, he showed her she could.

  Together they soared beyond the cares of the world, where only two people who loved with their souls could go.

  Their night passed in a blaze of passion so intense, they fell into a sated sleep, only to be awakened by loud demands for midnight feedings.

  Jacob chuckled when he entered Rachel’s room behind her, because Aaron and Emma sat in the babies’ crib, each four-year-old holding and bouncing a four-month-old.

  “Annamary hungry,” Emma said.

  Aaron nodded. “Squeaky too. Me too.”

  Jacob took the older two downstairs for a glass of milk while Rachel nursed the girls. When their children slept again, Jacob and Rachel stood by the cribs watching them.

  “What will become of them?” Rachel whispered.

  “They will be so loved, they will grow up happy.”

  “Love is no assurance of happiness.”

  “It can never hurt.”

  They lay in her bed like two spoons, watching their sleeping children until slumber took them too.

  But morning and stark reality slipped upon them unaware and only the memory of their night together kept Rachel beyond fear and anguish … but not far enough beyond it.

  When they finished breakfast, Esther came to watch the children while Rachel and Jacob went to meeting. “I will never stop speaking to you,” Es said airily as she poured herself a glass of milk.

  “Then Pop will have to excommunicate you too.”

  Esther lowered the glass and tilted her head. “What would happen, Rachel, do you think, if everyone decided they would not shun you and we all kept speaking to you? Then Pop would have to ban everyone, and no one would have anyone to talk to. Some families would need fifteen tables so no one would eat at the same table with anyone else!”

  Rachel’s smile came despite her fear. “Leave it to you, Es.”

  “If that happened ...” Esther grinned. “Pop would have to remove everyone’s ban, yours too, and everything would be back to normal.”

  Rachel shook her head. “Have you told Pop your theory?”

  “I’m saving it for later, after I know what happens. Like in a war? They save the big guns for when they have no other choice?”

  “What do you know of war, Esther Zook?”

  “I have been reading Ruben’s heathen books.”

  “What heathen books?”

  Esther’s eyes widened and she lowered her voice to a whisper of conspiracy. “History books.”

  Rachel kissed her sister’s cheek and hugged her. “I think living with Ruben is beginning to pickle your brain.”

  Es finished her milk and smiled softly. “It’s probably little Ruben here,” she said, patting her flat stomach.

  Rachel went for a bigger hug. “Oh, Es. Does Ruben know?”

  Eyes wide with warning, Esther shook her head. “Lord, no. I don’t want to scare him too soon.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Es.” But sadness enveloped Rachel and her smile faltered. “I want to hold your baby in my arms, Es. I don’t want to be the aunt he will grow up never knowing because she isn’t spoken of.”

  “You won’t be, Rache. We won’t let that happen. No matter what.”

  As Levi drove Rachel to meeting, it was Esther’s ‘no matter what’ that frightened Rachel most. “It’s foolish, Levi, that Jacob has to go in a separate buggy. What do people think we can do in a buggy on the way to meeting, already?”

  “Hush, Leibchen. Talk like that will not go well for you.”

  She sighed. “I know, Levi.”

  When they got to meeting, Annie Yoder silently led Rachel to an upstairs bedroom and shut her inside like a naughty child. For hours, she paced, not knowing what transpired, or how Jacob fared.

  Minute by slow minute, Rachel died a little more.

  * * * *

  Jacob looked for Rachel as Saul Yoder led him in. She wasn’t there and panic almost brought him to his knees. Had she already had her turn and left? Or did she wait still in one of the rooms upstairs?

  He needed to know. Then he caught Ruben’s eye. He’d told him this morning how much he wanted to be first.

  Ruben pointed at him and held up one finger. Jacob sighed in relief and Ruben smiled, nodding.

  Jacob had what he wanted. They would hear him first. Now, he could make a difference. He knew he could.

  As Jacob expected, the Bishop’s obvious anger toward him infused many who watched. He understood the Bishop more than the he might imagine, at least he hoped he did. A father first, was Ezra Zook.

  If Anna, Mary or Emma — Lord and if they were ever in this position, would he even be there?

  What would become of them?

  The Bishop Stood. “Jacob Sauder did you lead another into adultery with full knowledge of your sin, while knowing yourself to be the only one capable of right thinking in an emotional situation?”

  He wouldn’t miss any beehives with that slingshot, Jacob thought. “I did. Exactly as you said. Let the sin be mine.”

  If he could make them understand he deserved all the blame, it would go easier for Rachel later. He’d already lived apart and survived, but he knew living under the ban, apart from her family, her community, would destroy Rachel in slow measure.

  “Jacob Sauder do you know any reason why you should not be banned from this congregation?”

  “None. I was aware of the danger, but continued. I sinned with full knowledge of my actions.”

  “Are you sorry you led another into adultery.”

  “I am sorry my actions resulted in my brother’s needless death, and in Rachel being called here today.”

  “Did you feel any compulsion to … protect or defend Rachel, which might have given you occasion for the sin to be committed?”

  Jacob had not expected the Bishop to offer him an opportunity to shift some of the blame to Simon, but he would not take it. He could never destroy Aaron’s respect and love for his Unkabear. “I felt no such compulsion.”

  “Have you any other sorrow?”

  “I am more sorry than you will ever know that my actions have hurt Rachel and put her in jeopardy of losing the support of her community. I love Rachel Sauder. I always have and I always will. Am I sorry I love her? No. Am I sorry that because of our love, we have two daughters? No, I am not. But I tell you, Bishop Zook, and all of you, Rachel was like a wounded fawn when I set out to comfort her. ‘Twas I who betrayed her trust.

  “You forced her?”

  “Trust from the heart needs no force.”

  “What would be your wish were you granted one?”

  “My greatest wis
h would be that forgiveness be granted Rachel and me, that we be allowed to marry and remain here as a part of this community.”

  “You expect to be rewarded for your sin?”

  “No.”

  “If you expect no reward, give me your next choice.”

  Jacob looked sharply at the Bishop, understanding his offer. “I ask that Rachel Sauder be forgiven and allowed to live in harmony and union with all.”

  The Bishop gave no indication by word or action, not even by the blink of an eye, that a bargain between them had been struck. “Jacob Sauder, for your sin you are excommunicated from this congregation. Go out from among us for all time.”

  It was a blow. He’d seen it coming, and still it was a blow. His limbs shook. His soul cried.

  Holding his head high, Jacob walked from among his people for the last time.

  As he climbed into his buggy, he knew that if the Bishop did not keep his end of their silent pact, he would lose all respect for the man. If he kept it, however, it would be good to know that a father’s love can even soften a stern Bishop’s heart.

  “Yup, Caliope. Take me home,” Jacob told the fidgety horse, his voice cracking. Home. Did he have one still? Could he be so selfish?

  Jacob took the long route, thinking about what Rachel might be suffering right now, and considered returning to rescue her like some knight of old. But when the idea sounded good, he knew he would be of no use to her. Keeping from turning back toward Sam Yoder’s farm, he laughed harshly at himself.

  What should he do now?

  If Rachel were not forgiven, his decision would be easier, though Rache’s pain would be so much worse. They would face life together in the English world, because they would be banned together. And their babies would go with them.

  But the English world would kill Rachel. He knew it as well as he knew her. Like losing your soul, but not being able to die, she’d said.

  If the Bishop did as Jacob hoped, he would see his daughter forgiven.

  If Rachel were forgiven while he was banned, no hope existed for them. None. Their lives must follow different courses, and the best thing for Rachel — God help him in this — would be for him to leave her.

  If he stayed he would be playing Satan. He would tempt her to break the ban with every word she wished to speak to him, and with every word she would know he wished to speak to her.

  He would become the snake in the garden of Eden with every look he gave her, because he could never keep the want from his eyes. And even if he succeeded, Rachel would not believe it, for she knew him soul-deep.

  Jacob pulled over to the side of the road by Mill Creek. Down into the valley the creek’s ribbon of water meandered to and fro as if in a slow, plodding journey. Along with Caliope’s snuffling and side-stepping, Jacob heard the raspy, buzzing music of grasshoppers. The hotter the days, the louder they played.

  Hell must be hotter than today.

  And if he stayed, he’d bring Rachel there with him.

  And Datt. It would about kill his Datt to have him in the same house and not be able to take anything from his hand, nor sit at table with him. In silence they would live and in silence they would work. There were good silences and painful ones.

  These would be so painful.

  If Rachel and his Datt shunned him, what would Aaron and Emma think, and later, Anna and Mary? What would they learn? That their father is no good?

  And when they grew up, his four babies? What would they be forced to? Even if he stayed and raised them Amish while keeping himself from fellowship, there would come a day when they would have to choose their own course. Should they become Amish adults — which is what he would wish for them with every beat of his heart — once baptized, they would be made to shun him.

  It was not cruel. It was just their way.

  How could he put his children through that?

  Better they should forget him.

  A cottontail hopped by, a mother followed by three little ones. She stopped, raised her head and perked her ears. Then she swiftly led her family to safety, scooting between a juneberry and a hickory.

  Ach, a smart one that mother rabbit. Scurry from the dangerous creature. A beast to be avoided, run from, and shunned. Ya, smart she was.

  And smart his family would be to avoid him too. But they would not, if he stayed.

  So he must go.

  But his babies needed a mother’s love. They needed Rachel. Aaron and Emma needed the Amish home and family he’d brought them to. He had been right to bring them here.

  Anna and Mary needed their mother. With them, there was no question. They would stay with Rachel.

  Even though Rachel was not, strictly speaking, Aaron and Emma’s mother, none of them cared about such a thing. Their hearts were entwined.

  Where would his children best be raised? he should ask himself. Among the English, where the language was foreign, the dress odd? In a world where material value mattered more than the value of God and family? Where almost everything mattered more than their eternal souls?

  Jacob laughed, the sound of his own voice mocking him. Almost English, so rude and callous he sounded. Well, he’d best get used to it.

  But his babies did not belong in that world.

  He knew where they belonged. They thrived under Rachel’s care like new butterflies, wings spread, colors vibrant. It was Rachel who’d brought them from their cocoons, who taught them to laugh and make mischief, and to speak Pennsylvania Dutch.

  Rachel Zook taught his quiet babies how to play and sing. And now they loved and needed her. They belonged with her

  And he did not.

  The older ones would forget him. That would be better than tearing out their hearts later. The little ones would not remember him, which was best.

  And as soon as he figured out how to tear his soul from his body, he would begin.

  Jacob urged Caliope on, startling a family of bobwhites.

  Like them, he must take flight.

  Her turn. Rachel began the overlong walk into meeting, shatteringly aware that everyone watched. The air began to hum, silence speaking louder than words or foot-shuffles, and the gravity of the situation hit her like a blade in the center of her back.

  Her knees nearly buckled and she faltered.

  The culmination of Simon’s disapproval was about to take place … without him … and for a heart-breaking moment, Rachel mourned her husband’s death. She’d never meant to hurt him. Oh she’d never loved him — feared him more than anything — but she’d never wished him harm.

  This, her darkest moment, became his moment of triumph — and she was strangely sorry he was not here to glory in it.

  This trek into service while everyone watched, altered Rachel’s view of her neighbors. The blur of unmoving, white kapps on one side and bearded, sober-faced men on the other, made a different impression on her than it usually did.

  Today their looks were forbidding, grim, all minds set upon punishment. Of a sudden, these were a people to fear rather than embrace. A welling of emotion filled her, one akin to the panic she experienced at her mother’s passing — as if she vainly willed time to turn back.

  Rachel swallowed rather than allow the cry hell-bent upon release.

  Neighbors and friends did not become enemies overnight, she reminded herself. But they might as well be, were she to be excommunicated this morning, for not a one of them would smile upon her again.

  She knelt as told to do, seeing for the first time, just before she bowed her head, two dear smiling faces, friends’ faces. Ruben and Atlee. But she knew, when she closed her eyes for her father’s blessing, that on this occasion of her chastisement, they could not help her as they had on the last. Their smiles consoled her. They had not given up on her, despite everything.

  Would they do so when this day’s work was done?

  Rachel shuddered, cold within and without.

  When the blessing and the prayer for divine guidance ended, she prepared herself for the onsla
ught of questions that would be directed toward her in her father’s sternest Bishop’s voice. Now, would be the most perfect time under heaven for his look that said, ‘nothing you ever do would disappoint me,’ but Rachel knew she had leapt beyond ever receiving it again.

  Quiet reigned too long. She opened her eyes, raised her head, and questioned her father with her look.

  But his look held no answers.

  Whispers began and grew and she turned to see Levi coming toward her.

  Her father must have known beforehand, before service even, that Levi planned something, because, without doubt, he’d waited.

  Levi knelt beside her, reached for her hand, then thought better of it and lowered his to his side. “I wish to make a confession,” he said to the room at large. “Before these proceedings go any further.” Sorrow seeming to age him, he looked about and took a deep breath.

  Rachel wanted to put her arms around her father-in-law, to comfort him, but she held herself in check.

  “A man in his life has choices,” he said. “And I made choices that have brought us to this pass. I saw many times, and refused to believe even more times, when my conscience questioned me, that my son, Simon Sauder, hurt his wife in ways for which he should have been ashamed, both as a husband and as a man of God.

  No one in the congregation seemed surprised. And why they should be, Rachel did not know, especially after Simon dynamited the press before their eyes?

  “It took a better man than me,” Levi said. “It took my son, Jacob, to acknowledge the terrible facts and put a stop to Simon’s abuse of Rachel. Had I done so long before now — and I had such power, you must all know — I believe none of this would have happened.”

  Levi gazed about examining the face of each neighbor, his own begging an open heart. “We, all of us, have just heard Jacob speak,” Levi continued. “Of Simon’s abuse, he refused to tell. But Jacob going to Rachel’s defense put them in a position that led to their downfall. I am going against Jacob’s particular wishes in saying this now, because he would have no memory taint Aaron’s love for the uncle who saved his life.

  “I have chosen to reveal the treachery of one son, and the sacrifice of the other, to save a woman who should be held blameless. Rachel Zook Sauder. On all of us now rests the responsibility to see that this will never be spoken of again. Levi turned to the Bishop and bowed his head. “For the broken bones, cuts and bruises, I did not question; for the humiliating words Simon spoke and I let pass, I beg forgiveness of you, Bishop Zook, and of this congregation. Rachel would not have sought aid elsewhere, if she could have come to me for it. Let the sin be mine to bear.”