Jacob's Return

by Annette Blair

  Without hesitation, she unhooked his suspenders, then his shirt, and he could no more stop her than he could a railroad train under full steam. Not only did he not stop her, he helped her. “I want to feel all of you against all of me,” he said.

  After he removed his trousers, she came back into his arms. Oh God. He had waited for this moment his whole life. “Are you close enough, love?” he asked. “Are you all right?” He kissed her forehead.

  Skin against skin, they lay, her breasts crushed gloriously against him, her foot sliding along his leg.

  “They are sloppy and ugly.”

  He smiled. “Rachel Zook, you have the most delightful breasts I have ever seen.”

  She pulled back. “How many have you seen?”

  “A few.”

  She hid her face in his neck. “I would wish you only ever saw mine. Then if you said they were beautiful, I would know you believed it.”

  He kissed his way to her nipples. When he could wait no longer, he closed his mouth around one. In adoring the beauty of her, he would reveal it to her.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, she loosened her hold, allowing him to kiss, to taste. When he made to draw away, she held him there and moved her legs to accommodate the length of him.

  Again, he gloried in her trust. A fragile blown-glass treasure was his Mudpie. In the wrong hands, she had come close to shattering. But he would love her into wholeness again.

  “I didn’t know,” she said breathlessly. “Your touch, it’s doing strange things inside me, Jacob.”

  “Inside me too, Mudpie.”

  “I want to be closer, please.”

  Jacob brought one of her legs over his so they fit together nearly as well as two pieces of a puzzle.

  Rachel realized, in a distant part of her mind, that she was in a place far away from her anguish, and that only Jacob could bring her there.

  When the evidence of his desire came within intimate contact of her own, she rejoiced. And because this was Jacob, her Jacob, Rachel dared explore the texture of him.

  Never had she known such intimacy or contentment, never the soul-deep warmth of being cherished. “Thank you for wanting me, Jacob,” she said sliding her hand tentatively along his length, awed and not a little curious. “You do want me, don’t you?”

  He shuddered, then stilled her hand. “You’ve pretty much had this effect on me since I was thirteen.”

  “I have?”

  “You can’t doubt my words, Rache. There is proof at hand.”

  That brought a giggle, a chuckle, and a long, slow kiss.

  He showed her how to pleasure him, and her ability to do so excited her. And he pleasured her, bringing her to heights she had never known existed. Such places along her skin never tingled so. Such ribbons of pleasure never unfurled within her.

  Her body was no longer ugly, but beautiful. Nothing mattered more than Jacob’s desire for her. Hers for him.

  “Ich liebe dich,” he whispered close to her ear as he loved her neck with kisses.

  Rachel sobbed, joy catching her unaware. “I love you, too. God help me, I never stopped.”

  Passion, pleasure … love … deepened their need, gave it an urgency shocking in its force. Yet no fear nipped at her, no panic nor urge to run overcame her. Rachel floated within a cocoon of pleasure. Protected. Cherished. No place would she choose to be, but here, now. With Jacob.

  When in the midst of their pleasure-laden journey, Jacob slipped inside of her, contentment swelled and happiness engulfed her. She was complete.

  And they became one. The notion filled her, carried her toward skies blue and sunny, where good reigned.

  And happiness.

  And joy.

  Heaven welcomed them with open arms.

  And they knew peace.

  * * * *

  Fast upon the wings of morning, earth beckoned.

  Milking time was little more than an hour away. Already the cows made their discomfort known.

  Rachel watched Jacob dress. Jacob. Hers undeniably now, if only in her heart, because more than ever before, his taste, his texture, his very essence, were a part of her.

  She could not seem to stop her tears. She needed to have him hold her for about fifty more years before she might have enough. And even then....

  But they both knew, though they did not discuss it, they could never be together in this way again.

  She understood.

  She grieved.

  She could not hide from him that she was crying. After he fastened his suspenders, he pulled her into his arms and put his chin on her head for a few silent moments.

  He stepped back so he could see her face. “The Elders would see what we have done as wrong.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking into the loving depths of his eyes. Did he consider it such, deep in his heart?

  “But, God forgive me, I cannot accept such a notion, nor am I sorry.”

  “Nor I,” Rachel said, her eyes closed, her head spinning with relief.

  “Rachel.”

  She opened her eyes.

  “Did you feel the need to confess it, I would understand,” he said, unable to hide his worry.

  “We would both be shunned if either of us confessed,” she said. “And if we were, Aaron and Emma could not be raised here with Datt. It would be like putting them under the ban too. Because of them, we cannot.”

  Jacob released his breath, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingertips. “Thank you. Raising them with Datt, with you, is my greatest wish for them.”

  “I know.” She threw herself into his arms, rejoiced at his rough hold upon her, his lips on hers, his tongue plunging into the depths of her mouth.

  Not deep enough, not nearly enough time, nothing for them was enough. This kiss became a last grasp upon heaven, and because of it, her joy was dimmed.

  Wantonness, a need for Jacob so strong she nearly gasped, rushed in and seized Rachel. Simon was right about her.

  Poor Simon. He would never understand that hand in hand with love, abandon could be the most beautiful gift two people could give each other. It could even wash away ugliness and fear. This she knew for fact.

  “If you need my help with Simon,” Jacob said, as if reading her thoughts, I will defy the Church Elders until hell freezes over to help you. True, those babies need their family and the community to thrive, but they need you more. Don’t take any chances with him, Rache. Promise me, you won’t let him hurt you again. The next time, it could be worse.”

  “There will not be a next time, Jacob. Simon understands that the details of our marriage would not fare well laid bare for everyone in the district to examine.”

  Jacob nodded, his eyes bright. He cleared his throat. “I should never have left you. For that I will never forgive myself.”

  “But you have Aaron and Emma. You would not have them if you had stayed.”

  “And what have you but a husband who abuses you at every turn?”

  “I have your little monkeys to raise, do not forget. They are worth having.”

  “As are you.”

  Jacob spoke with so much love, she could float with the pleasure of it. “Since I am barren, had we married, we would not have them. Unbelievable as it may seem, perhaps our separation, everything, has all been part of a greater plan.”

  “Even last night?”

  Rachel bit her lip. She could not deny her worry over what they did, but as she looked into Jacob’s eyes, she could not help the love within her. “We will leave it to our Maker to judge us, shall we?”

  Jacob nodded. “Since He can see into our hearts, we will hope for mercy.”

  Chapter 6

  A rooster crowed.

  Cows heavy with milk shifted and lowed.

  His mind far from his task, Jacob milked.

  If his heart could be read, he thought, he would be damned. Perhaps almost from the first, he’d known in some tiny, distant part of his brain, though he was certain Rachel had not, the most likely conclus
ion to their night together.

  A sparrow with a broken wing she had been, and he, her self-appointed healer.

  She had believed herself ugly, within and without. And his need to reveal her beauty to her was strong, stronger than his sense. He soothed and comforted, and brought her from the depths of hell to the light of joy in the only way he knew. She needed and he gave. She begged and he answered. And in the answering, joy became his, too.

  For one quick second, when there was less than a fragment of a moment to stop, the depth of his sin had been revealed to him with a mountain-brook clarity. But for good or ill, it vanished in the silk of her skin and the opium of her scent.

  And to hell with him it would be.

  But not Rache. Not Mudpie.

  Jacob raised his face from the warmth of the cow’s side and gazed far beyond the chaff-dusted barn rafters above him. “It is all on my list of accounts,” he said to He who watched. “Not hers. You know this as well as I.”

  Simon stepped into the barn. “You talk to yourself, brother.”

  Jacob’s heart accelerated, his anger surging forth in the instant. “Do not call me brother. It sickens me. I was praying for the next bolt of lightening to strike you dead, preferably this very minute.”

  “Not a Christian thought.”

  “I believe a Christian’s actions count as well as his thoughts. I will look to my transgressions. You look to yours.”

  Simon sat by the next cow to be milked and took up the task. “Thank you for starting the milk—”

  “There will be no polite conversation, if you do not mind. Nor even if you do. You will listen instead. Move your things into another bedroom and leave Rachel’s.”

  “You dare—”

  “I will dare more if you challenge me on this,” Jacob said. “Challenge me. Please. My knuckles itch to connect with bone. Blood thirsty I am this morning, with no one to throttle, save you.”

  Simon frowned as he milked but he said nothing.

  To Jacob, hard streams of milk echoing in hollow buckets was a restful, earth-renewing hymn. But this morning — Rachel’s tormentor beside him, and his own torment within him — his soul refused to be soothed by the cadence.

  Today of all days, the peace he craved was not to be. Mother tabby and her kittens scurrying investigation interrupted his regret, their mews for nourishment calling simple pleasures to mind. Jacob smiled despite himself and aimed a squirt toward the five tail-straight felines.

  Such easy happiness. Lucky creatures.

  He watched pink tongues lap the rich morning treat and envied the simplicity of life for such as they. Would that he could understand the whys of the Creator’s plan for mankind. But he was supposed to accept, whether he understood or not.

  Faith, it was called.

  Jacob sighed. “As I said, you will change bedrooms.”

  “Everyone will know.”

  “No regret do you offer for your actions? No sorrow? Fear not, Deacon Sauder ...” He spoke the title as if a curse. “No one will know who matters.”

  “Datt—”

  “Will understand, if explanation there must be. Better him than the whole church district. It’s your choice.”

  Minutes ticked by, marked by the lowing of cows and the cackle of hens in the distance.

  Simon stared straight ahead, mouth taut.

  “Today,” Jacob said. “Now, while Rachel is preparing breakfast. I will finish milking.”

  Simon stood, knocked over his stool, gazed at it with disgust and kicked it before striding away.

  Chickens squawked. Bovine laments rose in timbre. Barn cats scattered.

  Jacob eyed the cow whose face was turned toward him, eyes begging him to finish, please. He shook his head. “You would think I’d feel some satisfaction in getting him away from her … instead, I could weep for what might have been.”

  * * * *

  Rachel cooked breakfast while Emma and Aaron, in side-by-side high chairs, played quietly with the spoons and spools she’d given them.

  The scent of apples and cinnamon, sizzling pork and fried potatoes gave the kitchen a warm, inviting quality. The sun streaming through the window cast squares of light on the wood floor worn smooth by generations of Sauders bringing a comfortable sense of peace and destiny.

  Rachel knew she had much that needed forgiving, though she could not be sorry that for a single beat of time, in all the time in the universe, she had experienced the exultation of physical communion with Jacob.

  This morning, for the first time since her marriage, she felt whole and undamaged, though she lamented deeply that her marriage itself was the cost. And yet, had Simon not begun its destruction from the first?

  No. She would not place blame, not on him or herself. She had chosen to marry him. Though it was a wrong choice, she had already paid the price, and a lifetime of self-reproach would serve no purpose. Also, she had chosen, if only at the very back of her mind, to make love with Jacob.

  It was done and it could not be undone. And it had been beautiful. And special.

  Jacob proved her worthy of love, worthy of life, and from this moment on, she would make wiser choices than she made in the past.

  Rachel scooped oatmeal and applesauce into the twins bowls to cool. Then she took the ham and the potato patties off the fire before she put the fassnachts in hot grease to fry.

  As often in the past as Simon said she’d seduced him — though she hadn’t understood how — she knew now that he was wrong, because last night she had gotten as close to seduction as she ever thought she could. With Jacob.

  When he found her, she had curled deep within herself in a dark, cold place, terribly, terribly alone and frightened. She had looked to him to raise her from that chasm, had known in some obscure way, that only he could. And in his joyous, humble welcome of her, just as she was, her worth was revealed to her. He did not shun her, nor turn from her in disgust, he opened his arms and his heart … and she stepped eagerly in. He wanted her and showed her he did. He made love to her, in the purest, truest sense of the word.

  He proved Simon’s degradations false.

  How blessed to discover one was not so worthless and unlovable as one believed. Oh, she did not need to be seen as beautiful, but she did need to be treated with dignity and respect.

  Last night, Jacob taught her that was not too much to expect.

  Rachel supposed she had known quite early in her marriage that she did not truly love Simon, though she denied it for a long time, and tried very hard — as recently as last night — to make her marriage work. But from this day forth, though she and Simon would remain married, she was released from the fear of his judgment and abuse.

  Awed by the thought, Rachel gave the twins their oatmeal and ruffled each curly head as they dug in. She loved them as much as she loved their father, and she was grateful for the love they gave back to her. Though her caring for his children was the only life she and Jacob would ever have together, she would be forever grateful.

  Emma tugged her sleeve, and bending to see what she wanted, Rachel got a sticky kiss on her chin. Yes, grateful.

  When she went to put the fassnachts in a plate and sprinkle sugar on them, Aaron threw oatmeal at Emma, and faster than Rachel could stop her, Emma retaliated, hitting him square between the eyes with a sticky glob.

  Aaron howled and Emma laughed so much, she could hardly catch her breath. Rachel laughed too. Like a bird set free from its cage, she felt as if she could soar. She laughed so hard, she wiped tears from her eyes … until Simon stepped into the kitchen.

  Rachel stopped laughing. Fear froze her. Then, perhaps for the first time ever, she looked her husband straight in the eye … and saw that he was only a man, imperfect and flawed, just like her. And she remembered to breathe.

  The look on his face was different today, less pompous … uncertain. He no longer held her captive with the thin veneer of perfection he’d sported like a bright feather in an English lady’s bonnet. He knew that becaus
e she saw him at his weakest — and she didn’t mean when she kneed him — he had lost his hold on her.

  Her experience at his hands had reversed their positions.

  She need never cower before him again. And as if her fears floated up and off her shoulders, Rachel straightened her stance. “Where is Levi?”

  “Talking to Zeke Bieler down by the limekiln.”

  She nodded. “Good. You will move your things into the bedroom on the far side of Jacob.”

  “I can bring you before—”

  “No! No, you can’t.” Rachel held the back of Emma’s chair in a tight grip to keep her inner trembling from showing on the outside, but Simon’s shock at her bravado was a balm more healing than grandmother’s. He looked for all the world as if he had sucked the juice from a summer apple, small, hard and green. Wishing he had the bellyache to go with it, she chuckled, surprising him further. “Your threats are empty,” she said. “I’d have plenty to say myself.”

  Oblivious, spoons forgotten, the twins ate from each other’s bowls, communicating in gibberish.

  Simon sat and began to eat in the same heedless manner. “I have already moved my things,” he said. “I have no desire to be with a wanton.”

  As ever, the contradiction baffled Rachel. “You never succumbed to any lure of mine,” she said.

  Malignant hatred filled his look. “You seduced me into sin and betrayal. May you be consumed by the flames of hell for it!”

  Of any statement Simon might have made, none could have stunned her more. Often enough, he had implied that because of her barrenness, their coupling — those disturbing episodes were nothing more — was little better than fornication … sin. But who had she caused him to betray?

  Levi walked into the lengthening silence and looked from one of them to the other with a worried frown. Even the children, oatmeal fingers in mouths, seemed to be waiting, wide-eyed, for something to happen. They didn’t understand the tension, but for the life of her, Rachel did not know how to break it.

  “Simon?” Levi questioned, when the silence became so taut, it was ready to snap. “You went up early last night. Feeling all right?”