by Leanna Ellis
She wasn’t the only person to ever lose their heart’s desire. There were widows in their district, parents who had lost children, all sorts of pain and loss embedded in the hardship of life. Others seemed to carry on. Why had she found it so difficult? And yet, she wanted to feel alive again, the way she once had when sheltered in Jacob’s arms.
Akiva stepped toward her, his body blocking out all the other images, even those in her head. “Are you all right?”
Staring into those dark eyes, she heard the whispers circle her and nodded.
“Have you ever danced?”
“Never.”
“I will teach you.”
She stepped back, uncertain and scared, her heart thundering louder than the music. “I should go home.”
“If that is what you want.” His gaze seemed to pierce right through her as his hand settled at her waist. “But is it? Really?”
Her insides swayed and shifted. “I’m uncomfortable.”
“You have nothing to fear. I will take you home if that is what you wish. But…”
She nodded but stopped abruptly. “But what?”
“Maybe Jacob would want you to dance. Just this once.”
“This is not about Jacob.” And yet she knew it was.
“Then your faith? How can you commit to your faith when you are blind to what else is in the world? Are they really doing something so wrong here? Or is it just that you have never experienced these things?”
“Drinking and smoking…it is not allowed.”
“What does it say in the Bible? Does it say not to drink? It says not to get drunk. You have not experienced many things, sweet Hannah. Hidden things. Secret things. The mysteries of life.” He touched her cheek, sliding his finger along her skin, leaving a trail of heat. “What would you have me do?”
Only one word came to mind, and it came out as a hoarse whisper. “Stay.”
A hint of a smile teased the corner of his mouth and her heart gave an extra beat. “Good. Now”—he braced his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to look directly into her eyes. His were dark, black as rich soil, and flickered back and forth as they studied and tried to read her every thought—“close your eyes.” At her hesitation, his smile broadened. “Do it.”
She did, and her world went dark, awakening her other senses. The steady, thrumming beat pulsed around them. Warming one side of her, the fire crackled. The cold night air caressed her exposed cheeks and neck and wrists. She trembled, but not from cold or fear but from awareness…his closeness. His scent shrouded her, seeming to touch her, cover her, and yet not. It was like no other scent she’d ever known, overwhelming and alluring, just out of bounds and yet all around her—teasing, tempting, enticing.
Then he touched her, his hands warm on her shoulders. He placed a slight amount of pressure with one hand then the other, her body swayed right then left and back and forth, a wavelike action.
“Just relax,” he spoke, his voice bathing her ear. “Feel the music flow over you. Let it tell you what to do, how to move.” His hands slid slowly down her arms to her stiff fingers, and he gave them a gentle shake, loosening her limbs, and then he pulled her hands outward, lifting up her arms. She squeezed her eyes closed, unwilling to look at him or anyone else who might see her foolishness. Feeling exposed, she focused on the strength in his touch, the smell of the fire, the wide expanse of sky above them. Suddenly, she felt open and free.
Then his hands embraced her waist and her eyes automatically opened. She lowered her arms, only to have them rest on Akiva’s shoulders because he was standing so close. So close, his breath washed over her. So close, his chest met hers. So close, his kiss was but a breath away.
She attempted a step back, but he held her fast, his arms folding around her, gentle yet solid. “Don’t be afraid, sweet Hannah. I will not harm you. Let me guide you.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Roc left his car back on Straight Edge Road and ran, following after the quiet but anxious, and now obviously panicked, Amish man, Levi Fisher.
Something made the younger man take off like a croc out of the swamp, and Roc had to find out what spooked him.
This man, Levi, had stamina. Roc’s side clamped down and his lungs burned but he kept going, keeping an eye on Levi who was a good twenty, okay fifty, feet ahead. The distance between them kept lengthening. Roc blamed it on the uneven ground, which seemed to reach out and grab at his feet, tripping and trapping him with snaking roots and deep ruts as they ran through a wooded area to an open field, then alongside a paved road to a dirt one, at the end of which they came to an open gate. Levi stopped and Roc limped up behind him. Beyond the gate in the stillness of the moonlight, a farmhouse loomed up out of the flat ground. All appeared dark and quiet. Was it an illusion?
Levi drew a couple of deep breaths, all the while training his gaze on that house, not seeming to care or notice that Roc had caught up to him. Then more cautiously, less recklessly, Levi moved forward, this time veering off the direct path, parallel to the road and yet set deep in the shadows, at a slower pace that gave Roc time to regain his breath and keep up. When they were opposite the side of the house, Levi came to another stop. This time, his breathing was labored, his breath frosting the air in puffs like exhaust fumes. The place looked different at night, spookier, but Roc had been here.
“This the Schmidt farm?”
With his hat tilted far back on his head, Levi gave a quick nod.
“There someone here that you’re worried about?”
He gave no response this time. Roc looked from Levi to the house and then back. “Look, man, if there is something going on here, you should tell me. Maybe I can help. Do you know something about the death of that Amish gal?”
“No.” His word was merely a whisper.
Frustrated that he ran all this way for a lovesick fool, he grabbed Levi’s shoulder and shoved him against the barn wall. Levi blinked as if coming out of a dream. “What do you know? Tell me about that animal of yours that died? Where is it?”
“I buried it.”
“But where did it die?”
“The barn.”
“Will you show me?”
His shoulders sagging slightly, Levi nodded and waited for Roc to release him, then walked toward the end of the barn. He unbolted the door and slid it sideways. The smell of hay and dung immediately hit Roc, and he heard the snuffling and shifting of animals inside, cozy and comfortable in the quiet warmth. Levi entered first, and Roc felt his Glock against his side, steady and solid.
A flair of light brought a warm glow. Levi held a lantern up, and without a word he walked down a passageway between two rows of stalls. Roc followed a few paces behind, peering over each doorway into the stalls, unsure if he was looking for something that might jump out at them or just curious about the different animals Schmidt kept. Slow, blinking eyes stared back at him—horses and cows, sheep and pigs. Some stood, others slept on their sides without a care.
It was at the end of the row that Levi stopped and held the lantern high to illuminate the stall. No animal was housed here. At least not anymore.
“This where you found it?”
Levi’s face looked grim in the shifting light, the corners of his mouth pinched. “A young lamb.”
Roc stepped into the stall and reached for the lantern. “Do you mind?”
Levi handed him the lantern and stepped back.
“Has the hay been changed?”
“Ja. Of course.”
Roc frowned. “Did it look like there was a struggle?”
Levi’s gaze shifted sideways as if he searched his mind for a picture of what he had found that day. Or was he uncomfortable with the topic? “Not at all. No struggle. At first, I thought the lamb had simply died in its sleep. But then I saw the blood on its neck.”
“No other wound?”
“No.”
Roc peered at the baseboards, shoved aside clumps of hay with the toe of his shoe. “The animal that killed your lamb didn’t attempt to eat it?”
“No.”
“Do you think you scared the animal away by coming into the barn?”
Again, Levi paused, thought back, and shook his head. “No. I didn’t hear any unusual sounds that morning. Other than Ash, one of the mares, was a bit skittish, is all. The lamb had been dead a while.”
Roc turned back toward Levi. “So why would a wild animal kill and not eat its kill?”
Levi shrugged one shoulder, but it was his eyes that shifted again and told Roc what he needed to know.
Giving the man a bit of space, Roc knelt down and searched beneath some hay, but there was nothing to see or find but dirt beneath. What Roc needed was inside Levi. He knew something. He knew more than he wanted to tell.
“An Amish girl died a horrible death. I’ve only seen something like that back in New Orleans.” He looked up at Levi who watched him. Slowly, Roc got to his feet, walked back to Levi, and handed him the lantern. “Maybe the wild animal got exactly what it wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“The animal that killed your lamb.”
“Not mine. Daniel Schmidt’s.”
“Sure. Yeah. All right. Maybe what it wanted was its blood.”
Levi blanched, his skin turning white in splotches, then the rest of the color drained from his face. But that stoic, strong face remained neutral.
“Maybe it’s the kind of animal that feeds on blood. Have you heard of that?” Roc calculated the Amish man’s facial muscles, noting each, measuring and gauging. Not one move, blink, or twitch; he was stony in his response. And yet his pale skin was a dead giveaway.
Chapter Thirty-six
Akiva stared at Hannah’s luminous eyes, full of hope and possibilities, and traced the contours of her upturned face—beautiful, innocent, and trusting—following the delicate moonlight as it illuminated her tender skin. For so long he’d dreamt of this moment, to be close to her again, to hold her, to touch her. His hand shook with emotion and the willpower to control himself. Not now. Not yet.
He would not take her without her consent.
But she would be willing.
He would make sure of that.
Love, so said Emily Dickinson, is anterior to life. Akiva had loved Hannah for so long he couldn’t remember when he had not felt his heart kick up a notch at her presence, had not searched her out in a crowd. It was always as if his heart echoed her beat. Or maybe the other way around. He was never quite sure.
It is all right, he whispered into her mind. This is what you want. What you need.
He lowered his mouth, aiming for hers, hovering, anticipating, and yet holding back. Her lips parted only a fraction but enough to prove her willingness, her acceptance, her hunger for what she too had been missing. But again, he hesitated, teasing her with his breath. She watched, waited…hoped? It was all there in her brown eyes. His hands at her waist pulled her toward him and he began to move his hips against hers, slowly in the rhythm of the music that pulsed the air around them.
As the poet extraordinaire wrote: love is posterior to death. And he could surely testify to that because his love had never abated, never dimmed, never faded. If anything, it burned more fiercely and threatened to overpower him.
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath.
With that one thought, he blocked out everything around them, covered her mouth with his, and kissed her the way he’d dreamt for years, their flesh melding, their breath mingling, their minds merging, and then he drew her breath right out of her, as if it contained her essence, and filled his lungs with her until his heart thudded and his resolve to wait swayed. She arched her neck, gave him access. Kissing along her jawline, he pressed his mouth to that sensitive flesh and felt her pulse fluttering beneath his lips. He could almost taste the sweet blood coursing through her veins, and his teeth glided over the surface of her skin, teasing her and himself, and she shuddered with a need that reflected his own.
It was then he pulled away, careful not to overindulge his senses and push beyond the extent of his restraint. He’d lost control before, with others who had meant nothing to him, others who had reminded him of Hannah but paled in comparison, but he would not take that chance with Hannah.
In New Orleans, he’d learned hospitals had what he needed—blood—in ample supply. But then he’d seen a woman one night…she’d looked so much like Hannah, with her hair pulled back, her features clean and pure, without all that stuff other women wore, and longing welled up inside him like a tsunami and overwhelmed him. He’d wanted to simply speak to her, hear her voice, be near her…but then another desire kicked in…overpowered him.
It had taken almost two years to gain a modicum of control, and then he’d seen an Amish woman walking along a deserted street. She’d twirled her prayer kapp carelessly as if it meant nothing. He’d attempted changing her, to see if he could, if it was truly possible, the way he would eventually change Hannah, but the woman had fought and a deeper instinct had clicked into full throttle.
But Hannah wouldn’t fight. She would want this new life. She would want him.
Reaching for her hand, he twirled her beneath his arm, and her eyes widened with wonder and shock as he coaxed laughter out of her. The song on somebody’s CD changer switched to something upbeat, but all he could see or hear was Hannah, twirling and dancing with him, moving her hips, her arms, her feet, her laughter ringing out into the night.
He showed her different dance moves, how they “got down” in New Orleans, some sleazy but exhilarating salsa and even a slow, unsteady waltz. He took her from fast to slow, smooth to frenzied, sensual to erotic. Her movements at first were stiff and jerky but endearing and sweet, and slowly, as the songs shifted from fast to slow again, she loosened up and began to relax, her body moving in a more womanly way.
When she became breathless, he led her away from the other dancers. He had taught her to follow him, and she did so effortlessly now. Akiva handed her a red plastic cup of punch and this time she drank more readily, thirstily gulping down the liquid, a sweeter concoction that made the alcohol more palatable but also more potent. Her eyes became dazed, and when she smiled at him, not as shy as before and now slightly lopsided, he became aware once more of everything around them, the glittering stars, the others dancing, some watching them, the swelling music, the scattered laughter.
“Come on.” He clasped her hand in his and led her out of the circle of cars and light, passing other couples making out and groping in the back seats of cars and inside buggies, and into the darkness.
“Where are we going?” She clung to his hand as if it was the only thing she knew or trusted.
With a confident smile, he walked into the night with her by his side, swinging their joined hands between them. She giggled, and he laughed with her—the first carefree moment he’d had in ages. He kept walking beyond the beat of the music.
He should have come for her sooner. Actually, he never should have left. But regrets were useless. He would make the best of what they now had, with forever stretched out before them like a rainbow of possibilities.
When they reached a safe distance, far from the others, he pulled her against him and kissed her again, whispering into her mind, and tasting the sweet alcoholic brew on her tongue. She held on to him as if her world was spinning out from under her.
Eventually, she placed an unsteady hand against his chest, and he drew back immediately.
A frown settled between her brows. “Are you all right? Did I hurt your wound?”
“My…?” He tucked her hand in his and then flattened it against his chest. So like her to be thinking of another’s pain or need. “No, sweet Hannah. I am fine. Come on.”
“Don
’t you want to dance some more?”
“Later.” He led her down a hill toward a forest, their hands linked, and her footsteps stayed close behind his. The music from the party had long since faded into the distance and the sounds of the woods took over, with the crackling of branches under foot and the fluttering and crunching of fallen leaves.
He took her to a secluded spot along a creek bank, near the spot where he had kissed her in another life. The water flowed in a concerto of rippling notes and trills, a composition no orchestra or maestro could emulate. The moon offered pale light to the sloping ground and wooded area, and seemed to safeguard them. Hannah held on to his hand as if reluctant to let go and gazed up at him.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said, feeling uncertain in their newfound relationship, wanting to tell her who he was and yet feeling fear hold him back. “I will always protect you.” He looked deep into her glazed eyes. Maybe with her senses slightly dulled by the alcoholic punch he could tell her and she could more easily accept him. Maybe she would agree to be with him—tonight—and their forever could finally begin. Now. Tonight.
“I’m not afraid.” She glanced down at the red cup in one hand, sipped from it, and then offered it to him. “Not with you here.”
He placed it beside a nearby rock. When he turned back to her, she stared at him with an odd look, a mixture of timidity and boldness, her hands twisting together.
“Akiva,” she bit her lip, “did I…” she hesitated, “do it wrong?”
Her question jarred him. He leaned toward her, thinking she meant the kiss and how he’d prove to her she was mistaken. “Do what?”
“Dancing. I just thought since maybe you didn’t want others to see…”
He smiled. “Did you enjoy it?”
A blush brightened her cheeks. “Yes.”
“Then you did it perfectly.” He took her hand in his again. “And I brought you here because I didn’t want to share you with anyone else.”