by Lynn Burke
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2017 Lynn Burke
ISBN: 978-1-77339-404-6
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: CA Clauson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For everyone who has sought TRUTH outside of what they were taught as a child.
ABEL’S OBSESSION
Lynn Burke
Copyright © 2017
Chapter One
The first time I saw her was the first time I gave a thought to what life outside of our community might be like.
I had turned sixteen the week before and finally gotten my own open buggy just in time for Rumspringa. My sister Naomi sat on the seat beside me in her plain dress and apron as we trailed along behind my parents to Sunday worship, the black lacquer around us shining in the rising sun, bringing a not-so-humble grin to my face.
While I had a few acquaintances who were already sixteen and running around out in the world with the English, I planned to adhere to traditional behavior—for the most part. One freedom I had looked forward to for years was cutting my thick, black hair. Like other Amish men, my hair hung long enough to cover my ears, and I hated how it curled and caught my sweat on warmer days. The morning before, I had turned sixteen and rode my bike to the nearest barber shop to have him cut my hair shorter like an Englisher.
My parents frowned upon seeing my hair cut, but didn’t say a word. I had entered the time of life where I was free to make my own choices. Free to spend time with my peers, free to date, free to finally experience what I wished before making the decision to be baptized into the church.
I pulled up behind my father’s buggy at a four-way stop, and the blaring of a radio and racing engine drew my attention to the left. A red convertible topped the hill and rolled toward us. My father started on through the intersection, and I pulled ahead to the stop sign as the car downshifted and drew closer.
Although filled with pride over my own new ride, a shot of envy knifed my gut as the car slowed to a stop. Sleek, shiny, and faster than anything I had the privilege of riding in. Such cars called attention to their drivers, something people of the Old Order didn’t believe in doing.
Father forgive me—
The thought cut clear off as a toss of springing red curls drew my stare to the back seat of the car and the tight ringlets framing a perfectly heart-shaped face. Her green eyes flashed as our gazes collided, and her singing along with the other three girls in the car stopped mid-sentence.
Want.
I leaned forward, elbows on knees to hide the sudden tenting of my broadfall trousers from my sister beside me. Heat swept over my face, but I couldn’t look away as the car started through the intersection, the thumping bass from its speakers pounding in my ears.
The redhead fluttered her fingers at me in a little wave, her bright smile sending jitters clear to my toes as she angled on the seat to keep eye contact with me.
The reins hung slack in my hands as I sat unable to think—to move.
“Abel Beiler.”
Naomi’s stern voice jerked my gaze from the riot of red curls. “Ya?”
Blue eyes fringed by black lashes, the same I also had inherited from our mother, narrowed, but she bit back a smile and cleared her throat, motioning onward with her chin. “Your eyes don’t belong on the things of this world.”
“Yes, Mamm,” I said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
One last glance at the curls disappearing in the distance and I flicked the reins. If only one of the plain girls from our community had caught my eye as the redhead in the convertible had.
For the first time, longing for more beyond the simple life of an Amish man filled my mind. I imagined myself on the leather seat beside Red, my arm draped across her shoulders, her petite body snuggled against mine. Of course, I would be wearing English clothing—jeans, a pullover shirt, and sneakers...
A slippery slope, I reminded myself of my father’s words the previous month when discussing Rumspringa. One step in the wrong direction could very well pave the way to eternal damnation.
Focusing on the day ahead of us—the three-hour Gmay, luncheon, and my first youth group gathering afterward—I hurried the horse along after my parents toward the Fisher’s farm where that Sunday’s worship was being held.
“I’m envious of you today,” Naomi said, her voice quiet but still heard over the clip-clop of my horse’s shoes on the pavement.
“You’ll be running around in less than three years,” I said, glancing over at her.
Ever the rebellious one, she huffed, crossed her arms, and stared out over the freshly turned fields smelling of manure. “Three years too long.”
“Is it freedom from Daed and Mamm or the prospect of dating that most appeals to you?”
“Both.” She turned to face me. “What about you?”
I shrugged, keeping my gaze on the back of the buggy in front of us as the image of Red’s flashing eyes burned my mind. “I have every intention of being baptized into the church.”
“You’re going to adhere to traditional behavior then as you always do?”
“Ya.”
“Not me.” Naomi faced forward once more. “I’m going to wear a bikini, get my navel pierced, and wear makeup every day.”
Unable to help myself, I smiled. “I’m sure you will.”
“I’m going to date an English boy and get my license, too.”
“Just be sensible and not do … well, anything that you’ll regret for the rest of your life,” I said, thinking about a boy touching my sister in a way he shouldn’t.
“You mean pre-marital sex?”
My back grew rigid as I turned toward her, my eyes wide as an owl’s. “What do you know about such things?”
She shrugged. “I’ve seen enough animals on the farm to know how procreation works.”
While I had seen the same and figured it out as well, the fact my younger sister thought of such things made the hairs on my neck stand on end. “Promise me you’ll stay away from forward young men when you turn sixteen.”
Her sly grin and narrowed gaze twisted my stomach. “I’ll promise no such thing—but, I will promise to be careful.”
“And when you’re done running around?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the truth of where her heart lay and if she would leave her family for the world.
Naomi heaved a sigh and deflated. “Get baptized and marry a gut, Gott-fearing Amish man like you.”
Shaky laughter lightened my spirit. “I’m not always gut.”
She huffed again. “Yes, you are—straight through to your little toe. You were a model student through school, you always lend a hand when needed, and you yield to the Ordnung when you aren’t even a member of the church yet. You have more self-control than any person I know—including adults. I’ll bet you’ve never even had to ask Gott for forgiveness for a single thing.”
My smile slowly faded.
Covetousness. The stirrings of lust.
“I suppose you’ll court Rebecca Lapp like everyone expects,” Naomi continued, “get baptized into the church and marry the day she turns eighteen.”
I made a non-committal noise beneath my breath as I considered the neighbor girl I had known since childhood, the yo
ung woman who was more like a fourth sister to me than a love interest. A robust girl, only a few inches shorter than my six-foot height, with mousy brown hair and eyes the color of rich soil. Strong, self-sacrificing, and kind, she would make any man a gut fraa.
“You’ll be the perfect mann.” Naomi smiled up at me. “Daed to a dozen children who will all follow in your footsteps and join the church when their running around ends.”
“And you’ll be a wonderful mamm someday.”
“I’m never having children.”
I whipped my head toward her to find her head shaking and a grimace twisting her lips. “What?”
“You weren’t home when Mamm gave birth to the twins two years ago.”
I shifted in my seat, my gaze flitting away. Like sex, pregnancy and birthing weren't subjects I had ever heard discussed in our home.
“It was awful.” Naomi’s voice lowered as she frowned. “Mamm is the strongest woman I know and she screamed and cried like a toddler. Just … awful.”
Not sure what to say, I kept my mouth shut.
“You know she’s with child again?”
“Mamm?” I glanced over to find Naomi’s nose wrinkled up.
She nodded. “Surely you’ve noticed her expanding waist.”
“Can’t say I know much about that kind of thing.”
“Well, you’ll need to someday. Probably sooner than later if Rebecca’s parents and ours have anything to say about it.”
“They don’t,” I grumbled, slouching on the seat.
“Well, I for one hope you find a girl from another community, one who you’ll love madly until the end of time.”
I thought of the red curls and bright smile. “I hope, too.”
“You deserve that kind of happiness, Abel. Gott will certainly bless you for the life you’ve lived—especially if you behave during Rumspringa like you intend to do.”
“You’re my favorite little sister, you know that, right?” I asked, turning down the lane leading to the Fisher’s farm.
“Ya.” She squeezed my forearm in a rare display of affection. “Enjoy this time. Explore the world just a little, though. Then, tell me all about it so I have something to look forward to.”
I pulled up on the reins as my buggy drew abreast of our parents. “Sure I will, Naomi. For you.”
****
Trying to focus on the two messages turned out to be near impossible, my lack of self-control keeping my brow furrowed. The words from both Bishop Stoltzfus and Deacon King buzzed in my ears like a thousand honey bees as my mind replayed that brief moment at the four-way intersection. I begged forgiveness and prayed for clarity of mind over a dozen times, but to no avail. Gott either didn’t hear my pleas, or He decided to allow the tribulation my soul wallowed in.
Once the final hymn finished, I breathed deep and stood, stomach grumbling and ready for the community meal.
As always, I sat beside my best friend and cousin Eli Fisher whose parents’ basement we had worshiped in. We passed the dishes, but not before loading our plates. Light chatter and quiet laughter rose from the tables as family and friends fellowshipped around the food. While I had dozens of first cousins, Eli was the only male close to my age. Being the oldest in both families, we had spent a lot of time together as our mothers continued trying to supply us with brothers. Lucky for me, I had gotten two—just a few years too late to be comrades. Eli had better luck. After one sister, he’d gotten five brothers.
Stomach full to near bursting with pork, potatoes, and cabbage, I turned down the pecan and snitz pies while Eli stuffed his face.
Most families left not long afterward, and the youth group spent the afternoon playing volleyball. There were two other sets of parents besides my aunt and uncle acting as chaperones, but I found that didn’t stop the louder laughter and ribbing not usually heard during typical Amish gatherings.
Eli had been running around for a few months, and like me didn’t have one particular girl he wanted to date. We sprawled beneath a tree, sweating from the final volleyball game, glasses of ice water in our hands.
“Are you driving anyone home tonight after the singalong?” he asked.
The cold of the ice water burned a pathway down my throat. “No,” I answered once the ice clinked back into the bottom of my glass.
“Gut.” He shot me a grin. “I’ve got something you have to see after everyone else leaves. Something that just might finally corrupt you.”
“I’m sure I don’t want to see it, then.” I lifted my glass and jostled a piece of ice into my mouth.
“Trust me.” He nodded, his dark eyes promising trouble as I crunched the ice between my teeth. “You do.”
****
Much later and hoarse from singing for two hours, my curiosity overrode my better sense, and I followed Eli into the hayloft of their barn. While I held the kerosene lamp, he climbed high into the rafters and returned with a magazine clutched in his hand.
“Got this from my new English friend, Toby.” He sat on a bale, opened the magazine, and turned it toward me.
Lust kicked me in the gut, and I couldn’t speak.
A naked woman lay spread eagle and bound by ropes to a bed, a blindfold and some sort of ball gag in her mouth. A man loomed over her, whip in hand. Tear streaks lined the woman’s face. Red slashes marked her thighs. Wetness coated the pink folds of her sex, glistening, and set my mouth to watering.
The image burned into my brain—submission in an entirely different way than the Old Order’s definition of the word. Spirituality is submission, is what had been reiterated in my ears since childhood. Self-surrender. The willingness to give up oneself to the community and Gott’s chosen leaders.
I soaked in the sinful picture, and for the first time in my life wanted power. Wanted control. I wanted a woman’s submission like the man in leather beside her owned. Unable to tear my gaze off the image, I struggled to swallow.
“Didn’t know people actually did this shit.”
Eli’s curse, the first I had heard from him, barely registered past the blood rushing in my ears. My body tensed as longing to be the man standing over that woman, whip in hand, raced through me faster than any thoroughbred—or car.
The image of Red flashed in my mind, and suddenly it was her bound to the bed in the picture, breathing heavily, trembling, and begging for me…
“You okay, Abel?”
“I … ach, jah.” I blinked a few times and tore my attention off the glossy pages of Eli’s filthy magazine.
“You think that’s hot, wait until you see this one.” He turned the magazine around and flipped a few pages. “Up close and personal.” He chuckled and spun the magazine toward me once more.
The lamp trembled in my hand.
A woman lay on her back, knees pulled up, ankles bound to her thighs, and spread open, offering the up close and personal view Eli had promised. While the woman in the first picture didn’t have a single hair hiding her sex, the second had a riot of flaming red curls atop her pubic bone. A thick, white substance dripped from both holes of her body.
The desire to see Red like that brought a groan from deep in my gut that I couldn’t completely stifle.
“My thoughts exactly.” Eli laughed and turned the magazine toward him once more. “Toby set me up on a date next weekend with a girl he says is easy.”
I cleared my throat. “You’re going to have sex with her?”
“Sure hope so.” He continued to peer down at the magazine. “Can’t wait to find out if a woman’s body feels different than my hand and watch my semen drip out of her like that.”
I forced my attention away from the lewd picture. We’d been friends since childhood, and since Eli had begun running around, he’d started on a path to becoming a different person. “You … uh … you’ve masturbated?” I whispered.
“Lots of times.” He turned the magazine sideways and tilted his head as though hoping for a better view of what one couldn’t possibly get a better view of. “Haven�
��t you?”
My face heated. “No.”
Eli’s head jerked up. “No?” He laughed when I didn’t respond. “I thought every guy did.”
I shrugged, guilt over the magazine and our conversation making my feet itch. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Sure.” He hopped up and scampered back to the rafters to replace his magazine.
Without another word, we climbed down from the loft and made our way outside to join the peeping frogs beneath the stars. I handed him the lamp and climbed up onto my buggy I had hitched the horse to before following him into the barn.
“I’ll let you know how my date goes next weekend,” he said with a grin.
I turned on my buggy’s lamp. “I think I’d rather not know.”
Eli laughed. “One day, a woman will turn your head and make that obedient mind of yours go places you never dreamed of.”
If only he knew.
I called to my horse and we trotted away.
****
Every minute of the following week, the memory of the images I had seen filled my mind, leaving little space for prayer and reflection. Unable to help myself, my thoughts lingered on the ropes and markings … the dripping semen. I imagined binding Red in other ways, keeping her immobile for me to do with as I pleased. For touching, kissing, biting, marking her skin with my hands and a whip like the man had used on the woman in the picture.
I had the strength to refrain from taking myself in hand and releasing my sexual frustration, but while sleeping, I had no such control. Twice after sexual dreams, I woke to find I had ejaculated in my underwear. Horrified, I had dropped to my knees beside my bed and begged forgiveness, but the heavy yoke on my shoulders didn’t lighten.
What sort of man wanted to do such things to a woman? What sickness plagued me that I wanted to hurt the only girl I had ever been attracted to? I focused inward, ignorant and unsure of what had happened to my soul.