by Leanna Ellis
She continued walking toward the grouping of cars, their headlights blasting beams of light into the darkness, which created a glow over a small field where young men and women, Amish from what she could see, which was confirmed by the occasional buggy, were having a party. Would she know kids here from her own district?
A horn blasted. She was yanked sideways against Akiva. A burst of hot air fanned her, and Akiva turned his body, tucking Hannah securely against his side.
A sudden numbness folded over her as she stared at the truck rumbling past them. As it bumped over the field, two teens stood in the truck’s back end, their arms out to their sides as they balanced and swayed and laughed. Akiva joined in their laughter and loosened his grip on her arm.
“They’re truck surfing,” he told her, leaning close to her ear.
She nodded, remembering Jacob had told her about truck surfing once. It had been hard to imagine then but had sounded dangerous; now it looked even more so.
“Come on.” His hand linked with hers. “This should be fun.”
He tugged her toward a group of trucks and cars that formed a wide circle, even a couple of buggies were included, the horses looking uneasy and out of place. Inside the disorganized formation, a bonfire raged, the flames licking the darkness and sparks popping and spraying straight up toward the canopy of stars. Recognizable faces glowed warmly—Rosalie, Elmina, Sadie—some nodded toward her, calling her name in greeting, but others were too busy drinking from brown bottles or red plastic cups to even notice her. Her friends wore English-styled clothes—jeans and sweaters, rather than the Amish clothes she wore. Jonathan Yoder smoked a little cigarette, the smell a sickly sweet odor that embraced her momentarily until a breeze shifted it away. But then a wave of hickory smoke hit her full in the face, burned her eyes, made her cough.
As if she were a child in need of sheltering, Akiva moved her in a different direction, his hand at her elbow, guiding her. “You okay?”
She gave a nod as her eyes quit watering, and she drew in the clean night air. Then her gaze met a familiar one.
Grace hopped off a truck’s tailgate and came to give her a quick hug. “Hannah! I can’t believe you’re here.” She gave Akiva a long, curious glance, then leaned toward Hannah. “Where did you meet him? He’s hot.”
Hannah’s face warmed and suddenly she was too aware of Akiva’s fingers wrapped about hers. He was handsome, his features smooth and refined, but they also had strength and boldness.
Ethan Ebersol walked up behind Grace and hooked his arms around her shoulders, resting his forearms across her chest. “Hannah. About time you came out.”
Grace wiggled her backside against Ethan’s legs and laughed.
A deep burn spread through Hannah, and her gaze kept sliding toward Ethan’s hand, which seemed so casual and yet so close to Grace’s breast. Didn’t her friend care? Did she even notice? Grace hadn’t told her she was seeing Ethan, but then Hannah had been keeping her own secrets.
“If you want a beer,” Ethan said, glancing at Hannah, his eyelids heavy, “there’s some in the back of my truck. And punch”—he winked—“in the jug. Help yourself.” Then he gave a nod to Akiva. “Hey, I’m Ethan.”
“This is”—Hannah shifted back a step—“Akiva.”
“Help yourself.” Ethan didn’t wait for a reply but pulled Grace away, and hand-in-hand they teetered and tottered toward the darkness, laughing and grinning at each other. Grace leaned against Ethan’s shoulder and lifted her lips toward his just as they disappeared outside the circle of light.
It felt strange being here, seeing her friends as she had never seen them before. Distracted by a couple dancing, their bodies so close that their shadows melded together, their pelvises moving together as one, she lost track of everything for a moment. The pulsing music, the fiery heat, the smoky odor swirled around her, filled her head and made it spin.
Then something cold was placed in her hand, and she glanced down at a brown bottle, similar to the one she’d seen others drinking. Akiva stood next to her, holding one for himself. He tapped his against hers and said something but it was impossible to hear over the loud music.
“What?”
He leaned close, his chest grazing her shoulder, and whispered, his breath bathing her ear and causing a rippling sensation low in her belly, “To you.”
“Me?”
“It’s a toast.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Just try it.”
She lifted the bottle to her lips, and the liquid bubbled into her mouth. Before she could swallow, her nose wrinkled, and the bitter taste had her handing the bottle back to Akiva.
He laughed and brushed his thumb against her bottom lip. “Don’t worry. It’s an acquired taste.”
Shaking her head, she pursed her lips, and said, “I don’t believe I will ever acquire a taste for that.”
Akiva laughed.
Beth Ann walked past, glanced once then twice in Hannah’s direction, and veered closer. “Hannah?” She touched her hand and smiled, then her gaze shifted toward Akiva, her smile vanishing, replaced by a tiny crease between her brows. “Where’s Levi?”
She felt Akiva stiffen but his features remained the same: a stony, impenetrable hardness. “How should I know? Does he usually come to these things?”
“Not anymore.” Beth Ann shook her head. Even though she wore a sweater that embraced her neck and fitted snuggly over her curves, she also wore her prayer kapp. “Not since he was baptized anyway.”
“Hello, Beth Ann.” Akiva’s voice was low and enticing.
Her frown deepened. “Do I know you?”
“I know of you.”
Hannah tipped her head in Akiva’s direction, not sure how he would know her friend, but she tried to explain. “He knew Jacob.”
Beth Ann’s eyebrows arced upward and her eyes widened.
Suddenly the music stopped, yet Hannah’s eardrums still vibrated. The fire crackled, one of the logs breaking apart, and sparks burst into the sky. Then a long, vibrating note filled the night air, and throbbing music began again as couples moved together and began rocking and rolling to the female voice that soared and crackled from the speakers.
Akiva gave both drinks to Beth Ann, then turned toward Hannah with an outstretched hand. “May I have this dance?”
Hannah stared at his hand, not knowing what to do or say, but he clasped her hand and pulled her toward those dancing. She tugged back. “I don’t know how.”
“I will show you.”
At first, Hannah felt frozen and stiff, unable to move the right way, the way the others were able to bend and sway their bodies in rhythm to the music. She didn’t know what to do, how to act or if she should run for home. She stared at her friends as they touched and moved in ways she’d never imagined. They seemed carefree and without regard to how they appeared, their arms flailing about them carelessly, their bodies gyrating against one another in unseemly ways. Smiling and kissing, they rubbed their bodies against each other, both shocking and intriguing her.
What would Mamm and Dat think? What would Bishop Stoltzfus say? Was this kind of behavior expected of her now? Not that she was ignorant of the ways of men and women but she and Jacob had never been so demonstrative in public.
Watching her friends now stirred something inside her, awakened a need, as she hadn’t been touched in such an intimate way since Jacob.
Four years ago, he had led her down to the creek, and they’d been surrounded by friends and family. Everyone had waded into the cool water, laughing and splashing each other, but when it was time for lunch, the others had wandered back to the picnic area. Jacob was too busy goofing around in the creek and still had his shoes off. At sixteen, he was bold and confident. He asked Hannah to stay and walk back with him. She was only fourteen, but already she loved him with all her heart.
After he had tied his shoes,
which seemed to take much longer than necessary, he pulled her down to the grass beside him. It started out with him tickling her sides, making her laugh and squirm. “Stop, Jacob.” She couldn’t breathe for laughing so hard. “Jacob!”
He had stilled, and she realized he was lying beside her, his leg thrown over hers, his face inches from hers. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and then she couldn’t breathe because of the anticipation building in her. With aching slowness, he had lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss was gentle, sweet, and then he playfully nipped at her bottom lip, making her gasp and laugh again.
Brushing a finger against her temple, he carefully picked bits of grass out of her hair, off her cheek, drawing a line along her jaw, and caressing the length of her neck. Laughter caught in the tightening of her throat, and she felt her insides contract and then melt beneath the heat of his touch. His gaze turned serious as he studied her.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
She felt her breath come in short, shallow gulps. “You have?”
“Haven’t you?”
She’d felt shy and awkward. “Maybe once or twice.”
“Oh, ja? Is that all?” He traced the neckline of her plain dress, his finger slipping just inside to skim her collarbone, electrifying her nerve endings. “I’ve dreamt of you and me…”
“Me?”
He smiled. “Ja. You and me. Together.” He dipped his head again and tasted of her, his lips plucking at hers, and she felt her body hum with an inner vibration. “We will be one day, you know that, don’t you, Hannah?”
His words sank into her, strengthening her, and she gave a shy smile as her heart beat faster.
“Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon; your mouth is lovely.” He followed the curve of her bottom lip with his finger.
Feeling jittery and nervous, she had asked, “Is that a poem? Something you wrote?”
“It’s from the Bible.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?” Then she slapped his shoulder playfully. “You’re making fun.”
“No, no. Really. Song of Solomon.” His mouth pulled sideways in that mischievous smile of his that curled her insides.
She had dared to reach up and touch his jaw, and she could feel the fine hairs of his beard, which had begun and which he shaved like the other unmarried men. Because he was a man. Her thumb copied what his had done to her mouth, tracing the full curve. “Your mouth is lovely too.”
He laughed, the sound shocking her.
Had she said something stupid? Wanting to impress him, she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him back, but this time he surprised her by deepening the kiss. Stunned, she had pulled away from him. “Jacob Fisher!”
“Have you never kissed a boy like that before?”
“N-no!”
He chuckled, and his gaze flicked over her as if he could see all the way through her, beneath her plain clothes to her very plain soul. “I like being the first. And only.”
“But—”
“Everyone kisses like that. Yes, even your sister, Rachel.”
She jerked back. “How would you be knowing that?”
He watched her chest rise and fall, rise and fall. “I know.”
She narrowed her gaze suspiciously, jealousy flaring inside her. “Have you kissed my sister?”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Hannah, I only want to be with you. Only you.”
He had traced her lips with his finger again, his gaze trailing along, followed by his tongue. This time, when his lips pressed harder, she opened to him, luxuriated in the textures and sensations, relishing Jacob’s undivided attention. And yet, being his sole focus unsettled her. She touched his shoulder, applied pressure, and he looked at her, his eyes dilated, heavy-lidded, and she felt giddy that she’d made him look at her in such a way.
But being out there alone with Jacob, with his body nestled against hers, doubts and concerns had bobbed to the surface of her mind. “We should go back with the others.”
“We will. I promise.” He’d nudged her hand over his shoulder then, and her fingers combed his thick hair. He sighed like a contented barn cat. “That feels awful good.”
And so she continued, enjoying his deep moans as she ran her hands along his neck, through his hair, feeling the heat of the sun on her arms, a rippling breeze through the trees, and his hand sliding along her shoulder and down to her waist, his thumb grazing the edge of her breast, causing her stomach to flip, the pleasure silencing the warning sound in some distant corner of her mind.
Then he kissed her again, slow and easy, soft and gentle as if they had all the time they could ever want or need. His hand skimmed her waist, pressed against her hip, and she felt an awakening inside her, like a flower blooming, opening for the first time, the petals softly unfolding.
“Hannah!”
She’d heard her name as if from a faraway place, and before she could pull out of Jacob’s arms, Rachel had stood over them, hands on her hips.
“Hannah Schmidt! Wait until I tell Mamm what—”
But she hadn’t told Mamm. Or Dat. Or anyone else. Because Jacob had whispered to her during lunch some of the things Rachel had been doing late at night with Josef Nussbaum. And so Rachel and Hannah began covering for each other when Josef came to call or when Jacob shined a light in their bedroom window.
Stolen kisses, forbidden touches, led to fabrications and deceptions about where she’d been. And yet, Jacob made Hannah feel alive in a way she never had before. Her skin tingled with anticipation of seeing him, being near him. But during church, guilt had crept into her heart.
“Maybe we shouldn’t…” she’d ventured when Jacob cupped her breast as they lay in the barn’s loft.
“Why?” His focus was on her chest, and his thumb skimmed over the peak. In spite of her clothes ultimately separating her from Jacob, her body flared to life like a struck match. “We’re going to be married.”
“I know but…”
Arguments and excuses were like a solitary thread holding a horse in check. And so Jacob probed her boundaries, made new ones, and stirred a fire within both of them, until Hannah thought the smoldering spark within might consume her like a stack of hay bales. But propriety and God’s laws were not what put a halt to their experimentation and exploration.
She was lying against Jacob in an empty stall late one night, his coat beneath them, her head resting in the cleft of his shoulder. His shirt had come lose from his trousers, the fabric wrinkled and mussed in their groping and kissing. Her apron had been removed so the pins wouldn’t prick him, and her skirt had scooched up over her knees.
He began to speak in a voice that resonated through her: “And still as ever the world went round, my mouth on her pulsing neck was found, and my breast to her beating breast was bound.”
The words tickled her ears and she marveled at his ability to speak in ways that made her heart flutter. “Did you write that?”
He chuckled. “I wish.”
She sat up, rested her forearm against his chest. “Who then?”
“D. H. Lawrence.”
She laid her cheek against his breast. “Tell me more.”
His hand slid along her spine and rested momentarily at the narrow indentation before slipping further downward to cup her backside. “But firm at the centre my heart was found; Her own to my perfect Heart-beat bound, like a magnet’s keeper closing the round.”
“Hmm,” she sighed as her insides melted beneath his touch and words. “Is that all?”
“For now…” He kissed the top of her head, shifting until he could press kisses against her temples and eyelids.
“Why?”
“You’re too much of a distraction. I have other things in mind.”
She smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Like what?”
He didn’t answer but let his
wandering hand turn her mind in the same direction.
A shiver passed through her as his explorations moved up the inside of her knee, and she clung to his shoulders. Jacob would be her husband soon. The summer was waning and at Sunday’s service the bishop had mentioned classes for the coming baptism. If they both went through it together, even though she was still only fifteen, they could be married before Christmas. And soon their bodies would be one.
His tongue explored the delicate curves of her ear, and she felt his body shift, pulling her beneath him. When his hand reached her thigh, sending swirling sensations through her abdomen and lower regions, she whispered his name on a sigh, “Jacob.”
“I know.” He took her hand and slid it down his abdomen.
“Did you hear what was said today?”
“About?”
“Bishop Stoltzfus.”
His hand stilled. “Are you kidding?” He glanced down at her exposed leg, his tanned, work-roughened hand against the delicate whiteness of her thigh. “I was thinking of you. Of this.”
“But he was talking about the upcoming baptism.” Her hand curled over his shoulder. “And I thought if we both were baptized together then—”
“Not yet.”
Hannah straightened her elbow and pushed him back. “Why?”
“I’m going on that trip. I told you.”
“But…I thought…when we started”—her gaze shifted sideways—“seeing each other that you wouldn’t want to go.”
“Not go?” He sat up, shoved a hand through his hair. “Are you serious? This is what I’ve been planning…saving for…for years. I’m going to Newark for the poetry festival in October then to New Orleans to visit where such amazing writers have lived—Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote—”
She’d heard that all before, and she slapped her skirt back into place, covering her exposed flesh and attempting the same with her hurt feelings. “Jacob Fisher—”
“What? You’ve known this.”
Tears sprang to her eyes then, as they did even still. Maybe it was the smoke from the bonfire. Maybe it was seeing her friends enjoying themselves the way she once had, the hope of promise in each kiss and caress. Or maybe it was because once she’d felt so alive and now she simply felt dead.