Jacob's Return

by Annette Blair

  Though Aaron and Emma did not understand why she cried, they missed their father. Emma kept asking for Pa-pop, Aaron said nothing. At nap-times, she had to lie down with them, her arms over them, before they would give in to the rest they needed.

  If only Jacob would explain this foolish need of his to desert her and his children, for desertion it would plainly be, if he did not stay.

  Desertion. Again. By Jacob.

  The pain of his leaving four years before had nearly destroyed her. She did not think she could bear it again. And his children. Oh God, his children.

  True, if he stayed, she could not talk to him because of the ban, though she would never shun him inside the house where no one would see them. Levi would not care if she spoke to Jacob, even if he could not. Neither would Esther or Ruben. Of course if her father took it into his mind to enter their door unannounced, which he sometimes did, and she and Jacob were caught conversing, or even if he happened to be taking something from her hand, or she from his … Well perhaps they could not converse, strictly speaking. But they would at least be together, in a way. But to be together and not touch. Not love....

  If he stayed, though it would be difficult for them, Aaron and Emma would at least grow up with a father. Except, if they chose the Amish way as adults....

  Jacob would never make his children face such a decision.

  Rachel slapped her skirt as she paced. It could not be impossible. It could not.

  Their babies should know their father. Already Anna and Mary smiled when he spoke to them. How could they not, when half their lives he spent cuddling them before the fire? He surely gave them life in more than the usual way. If he had not shouted the house down at their birth....

  Rachel heard a noise. Stopped pacing.

  Past midnight, and someone besides her prowled?

  An outside door closed. Levi would never stir so late.

  She took her light cape from the door, put it on, and threw the hood over her head. Despite the warm night, a light drizzle fell. She followed the crunch of hurried steps. The children’s windows were open and she would hear them if she did not venture too far from the house.

  Her heart hurried even if her steps dared not. That same defiant heart clamored to run.

  It was Jacob.

  He stopped, hands in pockets, beside the greening field that bore the scar of an explosion in its center. He looked at the sky, searched the vast expanse. Praying for guidance, she expected. For answers. Answers they both knew would not come.

  She stepped close behind. Taken with his thoughts, he did not hear her. She touched his arm.

  He spun about.

  “If we talked,” she said, holding the arm he would pull from her grasp did she let him, “Perhaps we could find some of the answers you seek.”

  She felt his muscles under her hand tense. “You should not be speaking to me.”

  She shrugged her hood away, pulled off her kapp, and shook her hair free. “As if I could keep from it.”

  “Which is why I must go.”

  “That is not a good enough reason.”

  “How about this, then, for reason?” He caught her in a rough, possessive embrace, claiming her lips with a force she answered with as much frustration and desire as him.

  Warm rain bathed them. Rain and tears. Alive she was in his arms. Alive and wanting to live to another day, something she would not wish should he leave. “I won’t let you go,” she said between kisses. “I won’t.”

  Jacob combed his fingers through her hair. “There is no letting. I am leaving. Shush, now. No more words. Kisses only.”

  Rachel yielded. There in the rain, every kiss bore soul-deep yearning, as if each were their last.

  One would soon enough be.

  “Not to be Amish would be a choice for us,” she said above the clamoring of her heart. “We could be English; we would be fine, our little family.”

  Jacob pulled back and despite the hopelessness in his eyes, he laughed, the sound harsh. “Not to have arms and legs would be the same as being English for you, Rachel. Alone I could survive, but dragging you into the outside world with me would kill us both.” He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs as if he could erase the rain that continued to fall. “We would never be certain what tomorrow would bring.”

  “Whatever it did, we would face it together. Anything together, Jacob. For the rest of our lives, whatever tomorrow brought, together would be better than alone.”

  “And if we wandered the earth and never belonged anywhere, you would not be sorry?”

  “Together, where we go does not matter.”

  He stepped back and let his arms fall by his side. “You are wrong. And someday you will thank me, if only in your heart, for setting you free. I will be leaving on Monday.”

  He turned and walked away, the slump of his shoulders speaking of burdens too heavy to bear.

  Stubborn, stubborn fool. “You deserted me once, Jacob Sauder. This time, I will not forgive you!” she shouted to his retreating back.

  * * * *

  Monday morning.

  An hour till dawn.

  Jacob shoved the last of his clothes into the cloth bag before him on the bed. He had not spoken to Rachel again after that night in the rain.

  He’d gone into the main house after that, upstairs. She’d followed him. He stood at his children’s cribs, for hours it seemed, before he turned to leave. He preferred thinking it was rain dripping down her face when he closed her bedroom door for the last time … her on the inside, him on the outside.

  He’d touched the door with the palm of his hand. “Better you should hate me,” he whispered, “than be cast into hell beside me.”

  More than a year ago, he’d returned home to stay a lifetime, but as often happened in this world, his intention — to raise Aaron and Emma among his family — had been thwarted. They would be here, but he would not be raising them. Rachel’s purpose, to print her newspaper and help her community, had been destroyed in the same ghastly sweep.

  Yes, Simon had his revenge.

  But he’d left them a precious, incredible gift. Aaron.

  He and Rachel were blessed with the lives of their children. Yet, they could never give them the greatest gift, to be raised in a family whole. For their father would be gone.

  But they would always have their mother.

  For the rest of his life, Jacob would remember the beauty of Rachel’s soul. His children would grow up knowing such beauty, learning it at her knee. With her, they would have the best life he could give them.

  Before cock-crow he would be gone. There would be no last minute good-byes, no last-ditch effort at making him change his mind. He could imagine her plan to be in the barn come dawn with her arguments.

  He lifted his carpetbag from the bed and left without looking back. He went quietly down the stairs and outside.

  He’d packed his buggy last night. He did not need much. Without lighting a lamp, and as quietly as he could, he backed Caliope into her place between the traces to hitch her up. Before long, his eyes adjusted to the dark and he had no trouble finishing his task.

  He opened both barn doors wide and then climbed onto the plank seat. He did not flick the reins. He could not seem to raise his arms; they were too heavy. His chest ached with heaviness also, as if some great beast sat there, keeping him from moving.

  Rivulets — not rain — ran down his face and he let it go. Better he should mourn here in the dark than out there in the harsh light of day.

  Today would be more cruel than most, he knew — a first of many such days.

  As he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, a strangled sob caught him and he was angry at himself for releasing the sound. He cleared his throat and raised the reins.

  “Don’t cry, Pa-pop,” a tiny voice said as a small hand patted his back.

  Jacob whipped around in his seat. “Emma? What?” And then he saw, only too clearly, all he carried. “Rachel Zook Sauder, get out of this carriag
e right now!”

  “No. I’m coming.”

  “No. You’re not. You’ve not even packed what you need for heaven’s sakes.”

  “Everything I value is here.” She held Anna over her shoulder. Squeaky slept belly-down inside a wooden cracker box, her little bum in the air. Aaron slept on a quilt. Had his son grown taller in the last week?

  Jacob could feel Emma’s arm tighten around his neck, as if she would never let him go. He bowed his head and gathered the strength he needed to thrust them from him and rip out his heart in the process. “Get out,” he said. “Now.”

  Before she looked up at him, Rachel placed Anna beside Squeaky and tucked the blankets around them. “I will not. Not of my own accord.”

  “Then I will help.” Jacob got down from the buggy and lifted the box with his baby girls in it. Without allowing the animal-like howl building within to escape, he set the precious cargo gently on the old desk in the corner. He placed a hand on each little back, felt the rise and fall of their breaths, stroked a pink ear, a dark curl.

  So keen was his pain, he almost wished he could die of it.

  He took a breath, firmed his resolve and turned to lift Aaron, still sleeping, from the back. The feel of his boy in his arms stabbed deeper.

  Hell, it was called.

  Rachel’s quiet tears were more heart-wrenching than Emma’s sobs. He lifted each down, thrusting away arms he wanted around him badly enough to die for.

  As Rachel tried, and failed, to soothe Emma, Jacob climbed into his buggy and slapped the reins so hard, the horse bolted.

  He did not look back.

  Emma’s cries consumed him, even when he could hear them no longer.

  The moon’s smile mocked him as it faded.

  And Jacob wept.

  Chapter 22

  Rachel watched Jacob’s buggy disappear from sight. She couldn’t let him go. She wouldn’t. She scooped Emma into her arms and raced for the house. In her haste, she tripped on the step, recovered herself and continued forward. She threw the kitchen door wide. “Levi!” she screamed. “Levi, I need you!”

  The kitchen was dark, silent as a graveyard.

  Finally she heard Levi’s tread. Hurried, panicked. He came running from the daudyhaus, true fear whitening his face. “Leibchen, Vat’s iss?”

  “Jacob’s gone. He’s gone Levi. I’m going after him—”

  “How? You cannot—”

  “Over the rise and down to the Pike.” She stopped to pant, shushed Emma, kissed her cheek. “Go to the barn, Levi. Aaron and the girls are sleeping. Here.” She tried to hand Emma over, but Emma screamed and kicked, crying, “Pa-pop,” with every breath. “I’ll take her,” Rachel said, relief over Emma’s presence filling her. “Go, watch the others.”

  Levi nodded.

  Out of the house and around back toward the rise, Rachel ran, faster than she ever thought she could. She crossed two fields carrying Emma sobbing all the while; it was difficult running with the extra weight.

  Fast as she ran, Rachel feared she was going too slow.

  When she topped the first rise, she saw Jacob’s buggy pass, knew she would miss him. She looked around, remembered the shortcut through Manny Smitt’s cow pasture. A messy trek, it would be. She took it.

  Running through it, she covered desperately needed distance on her journey. When she got to the top of Windy Hill, she watched Jacob’s buggy approach the last point at which she could catch him. Oh, no! Oh, no!

  “Jacob! Jacob,” she screamed. “Oh, Lord, please let me catch him. Please.”

  She pointed toward Jacob’s buggy. “See Pa-pop? I’m going for him.” She kissed Emma’s forehead and sat her in the grass. “Wait here.”

  Rachel knew from the near sound of Emma’s sobs that she didn’t wait, but ran right behind and it gave her a measure of relief to have her near.

  So much depended on her reaching Jacob, Rachel almost dropped from the weight of the burden.

  The stitch in her side was fierce.

  She thought her lungs would burst. She needed to run faster. She could see Caliope plodding forward, slow, but too fast.

  Too fast.

  She was going to miss him.

  Her soul was leaving with her love and she couldn’t seem to do anything to stop him.

  * * * *

  At Cornfield Corners, Jacob had turned right and right again, doubling around to get to the Philadelphia-Lancaster Pike.

  His heart was at the farm where Emma’s last, shrill, ‘Pa-pop!’ echoed in his head.

  “It’s best for them. It’s best,” he cried aloud. “This is best!

  “I can do this. I can.” He shook his head, wiped his face with his sleeve. “I cannot. Oh, God, I cannot.”

  Tears blinding him, Jacob stopped the buggy and looked toward He who watched. “I cannot leave them!” he screamed. “Please do not make me.”

  Then he saw them, Rachel and Emma, dawn stirring behind them, running down the hill and toward him.

  If he hadn’t stopped, he would have missed them.

  Oh, God! Oh, God!

  Rachel’s kapp flew off, her hair came undone. Emma’s kapp was already gone. He didn’t know how she managed to keep up with Rachel. But she did.

  He jumped from the buggy. Emma cried as she ran; her sobs worse, faster than when he left.

  “Jacob,” Rachel called. “Don’t go. Jacob!”

  Dawn’s blessing seemed to shower them with light.

  His heart expanded and his smile came.

  He ran, caught them in his arms, fell to the ground with them.

  Breathless.

  All of them.

  Emma’s sobs controlled her. She could barely breathe for crying. He lifted her, held her tight. “I love you. I will never leave you. I cannot. Shh, my little one, Shh. Pa-Pop’s here. He’s got you.”

  Rachel’s hair shimmered free, sweat dotted her brow, tears reddened her eyes, rolled down her chin. Cow dung clung to the hem of her dress, covered her shoes. She’d never looked more beautiful. He kissed her wet face, her mouth. Shaking still, gasping for breath, she kissed him back.

  They wept together.

  “I cannot. I can’t leave you. God help me, I cannot.” He sat back, took her shoulders in his hands, gazed into her eyes. “Forgive me, Rachel. Forgive me, please. For leaving you before. And for now. Can you? Ever?”

  “It’s done.” She looked at the morning sky. “If He can forgive us so much, we can forgive each other so little.”

  They kissed again.

  Catching breaths, holding on, the three of them sat in a heap in the middle of Windy Hill, dew-kissed meadow grass swaying about them.

  Beautiful.

  The world was beautiful just then.

  They were together.

  Emma’s sobs quieted. She clung to his neck.

  “You will take us.” Rachel said.

  “Either that or cut out my heart.”

  “As mine. Let’s get the rest of our children. Levi is with them.”

  “Ach, Rache, I didn’t want to say goodbye to Datt again.”

  When they pulled into the yard, Levi went silently back to the house. Aaron and the babies were still asleep where he left them.

  They re-packed the buggy and trailer. All the while, Jacob accused himself of being selfish, of putting his needs before his family, but he kept packing.

  Jacob lashed the cribs to the trailer. “I’m relieved, but sorry, I won’t have to say goodbye to Datt again.”

  “He’s in the window,” Rachel said. “Wave.”

  Jacob waved after he got Rachel and the children settled, but he didn’t look.

  Even as he sat reins in hand, Rachel beside him, Emma clutching his jacket, he doubted the wisdom of taking them. He understood his heartfelt need, and theirs, but hated tearing Rachel from a place and home she loved.

  “You may as well get going,” Rachel said. “We are ready. We said all our good-byes days ago.”

  Jacob sighed heavily. “
Ach, Mudpie, but you love this place so.”

  “Ach, Jacob. You foolish man. ‘Tis thee I love.”

  Emotion overwhelming him, Jacob sat silently for long moments, Rachel’s words filling his head, his heart. Thee I love. “Ich liebe dich,” he said.

  Rachel touched his face. “I love you, too. More than any place or way of life. Your children love you the same.”

  “Ach, Rache, what are we going to? What kind of life will we be giving them? I don’t even know. It can be ugly for Plain folks out there in the English world.”

  “We could become Quakers.”

  Silence rather than smiles came. It was difficult to make jokes in such circumstances.

  “You said goodbye to your father?”

  Rachel nodded. “Do not be surprised if he is waiting with a shotgun when we pass. Though I think his angry bluster the other night covered more sadness than anything.”

  Jacob nodded, understanding. “Esther and Ruben, little Daniel? To all of them you have said goodbye forever, Rache? Are you certain?”

  Rachel’s eyes filled. “Last Friday morning, to everyone did I go. even Atlee. He cried more than Esther. Levi’s understanding of my decision was marred by his sadness at our going.”

  Jacob cleared his throat. “To everything I have said since the hearing, you turned a deaf ear, Mudpie?”

  “To what you did not say,” Rachel said. “To the words in your heart, I listened.”

  “I should beat you.”

  “All right.”

  He shot her a grumpy look. “You could be a little frightened.”

  “Never again.”

  “God, Rache. Do you know how badly I want to drag you from your home into a hard, brutal world?” He reached for her hand. “It would be so selfish of me, if I did.”

  She squeezed his hand. “If you did not take us, I would make my way, babies and all, to find you. We are safer with you. Wherever we are together, Jacob, we are home. Without you, we are lost.”