Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel

by Leanna Ellis

  “Her,” the angel repeated, tasting the word as if it was new, then he looked past Jacob toward the farmhouse, as if he could penetrate the walls with one look. “Hannah? This woman you loved?”

  Jacob’s throat contracted.

  “Come.” Remiel placed a hand around Jacob’s upper arm and drew him toward the farmhouse, not giving him a choice or chance to flee, and as they approached, their speed increased. Jacob couldn’t have stopped the momentum or escaped if he’d tried. The inhuman grip was solid and stern. Had this been the plan all along? Was this his eternal torment, the torture for all his sins?

  All of a sudden, they entered a room, a bedroom it seemed, the furniture simple and functional. The shades were pulled low, the light, provided by a gas-powered lamp, dim. Levi, his older brother, was there.

  Jacob’s chest swelled with an overwhelming love. He ached to rush forward and throw his arms around Levi.

  But something wasn’t right. Levi lay upon a bed, propped in a sitting position by thick pillows. He wore no shirt, only his regular pants, the suspenders looped over his broad shoulders, and a bandage wrapped around his ribs.

  What was wrong? What had happened? Jacob searched for an answer through Remiel, but the angel’s features were like stone. It didn’t matter if he knew any answers or not, Remiel wasn’t about to divulge secrets from either world.

  If only Jacob could talk to Levi, to explain the mistakes he’d made, and yet he could not get through this filmy barrier that seemed to come between the world of reality his brother knew and the world of eternity that he was becoming acquainted with.

  A puttering cry jerked Jacob’s gaze to Levi’s side, where a blanketed bundle was protected by pillows and Levi’s arm. A tiny fist pushed out of the covering. Levi jostled the baby, wincing as he moved too much. “Gabriel’s hungry.”

  “He’ll have to wait another minute.”

  That voice he knew. Yet it took a long, drawn-out moment for Jacob to shift his gaze away from his brother, as if he would never again have the chance to behold Levi. Then he saw Hannah.

  A crack began to open in his heart. She sat in a rocking chair, a contented smile on her face. She wore a white nightdress that was unbuttoned, the fabric folded back, and she stared down at another baby suckling her breast. “Gideon is hungry too.”

  Who can find a virtuous woman, for her price is far above rubies?

  The love he’d harbored for Hannah was still there, like a safe haven. It had survived the transition from his old world to this new one. Yet the anger and resentment had burned away like chaff. For what else mattered? She was happy. She was well taken care of. She was blessed. That’s all he could have ever asked for. He held no animosity for his brother either. Could Levi help that Hannah loved him? Could Hannah do anything but love his brother? Levi was a good man, always had been. He was the older brother Jacob had looked up to, resented at times, and strove to emulate. Yet, it had all been wasted effort, an impossibility. Forgiveness that he never could have found while alive pulsed through him.

  Surprisingly, Remiel had been right. It was good to see Levi and Hannah and know they were living the kind of life they had always wanted. Glancing around the perimeter of the room, he was also relieved to know they were well guarded, whether they knew it or not, for there were other angels milling about, soaring toward the ceiling, slipping out through walls and windows as if no barrier existed.

  “Not as horrible as you imagined, is it?” Remiel spoke to him.

  “How did you know?”

  He blinked slowly. “I’ve seen it before.”

  Jacob thought of those feelings, once so real and palpable, now only a wisp of a memory. “But how is it possible?”

  Remiel turned his attention back to Levi and, of course, did not answer.

  “Are they”—Jacob indicated the other angels—“here to protect Hannah and Levi?”

  Remiel nodded. “No harm will come here—not of the supernatural kind—unless they themselves open the door to evil.”

  Jacob’s thoughts veered sharply toward his younger brother, Samuel, and he stiffened. Caught in a tide and swept from the room, Jacob hollered, “Wait!” He tried to hold on to Hannah, then Levi, but it was too late. He was whisked into a hallway and through another wall.

  Green shades were drawn in this smaller room. Twin beds took up most of the space. Samuel lay sprawled across one, his feet hanging off the end, one arm flung wide. His duffel bag lay on the floor unzipped, his boots tossed near his clothes as if he’d shed everything in one fell swoop and collapsed on the bed.

  A chill entered the room, and yet Jacob suspected it was something more than the weather. It felt as if the air had thinned and something malevolent hovered nearby. Remiel gripped his sword, his expression never changing, but he looked battle ready. A dark form circled above Samuel, similar to one of the creatures that had grabbed Jacob’s ankle. Was it a demon, some supernatural creature, some evil force?

  Frantic to protect his sleeping brother, Jacob swung around and almost ran into Remiel. “Fight that thing off. Tell him to leave. Get him out of here!”

  “This is not my—”

  “You’ve said that before. What good are you?” Jacob whirled back toward his brother. “So, where is Samuel’s angel?”

  “He has none.” Remiel stared out the window, as if seeing what lay beyond the shade. Was that a shadow passing in the dark? “Samuel has made no decision.”

  The dark creature circled the bed, dropping lower and lower, swooping over Samuel’s sleeping form.

  Panic rose inside Jacob. “What can I do?”

  Remiel did not answer.

  Jacob rushed toward the bed. “Bah!” he shouted and flung his arms out wide. “Get out of here!”

  The creature jolted backward, tumbling through the air. Rather than arms or legs, the creature looked shapeless, like a black jellyfish, shifting shapes and sizes, its body fluid. Before Jacob could exult, the creature reared up. A cruel, distorted face rushed toward him, snarling and snapping sharp, gray teeth. Jacob fell back. But the creature did not fall upon him. It swerved sharply and shot toward the ceiling, then began circling above the bed, over the sleeping Samuel.

  A book lay open beside the bed. Jacob moved closer and recognized some of the books. Many were of the occult and dark forces, mysterious and secretive in nature.

  “Close the book,” Remiel said.

  Jacob startled at the sound of the angel’s voice. “What?”

  “Close the book,” he repeated.

  Jacob attempted to do just that, although he wasn’t sure why, but his hand slid right through the pages, hardcover, and table as if he didn’t exist, as if he had no form or substance or purpose. “How?”

  But the angel gave no answer.

  With a heavy sigh, Jacob searched the room, desperate for a way. Then he remembered he could whisper thoughts. Not that Samuel had listened before, but his girlfriend had. Still, he leaned close to Samuel. This time he didn’t fool around trying to inject his thoughts. “Samuel!”

  The young man flopped over, his long limbs wrestling the covers, and one arm swiped the books right off the table. They fell to the floor in a heap, pages crumpling, spines cracking, and out of them poured a fresh hoard of creatures.

  Black disfigured beasts plunged into the room with a rush and flutter. They swirled about but steered clear of Remiel, who never blinked at their appearance nor seemed afraid. He stood completely still, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword, blade pointed toward the floor.

  “Great!” Jacob exclaimed with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Now what?”

  “Close the books,” the angel repeated, without really offering any help at all.

  But how? Jacob couldn’t close the books himself. He’d have to force Samuel to do the task. Jacob hollered, “Samuel, wake up!”

  Eyes fluttered,
then his brother grunted and shifted.

  Before Samuel could settle back into sleep, Jacob whispered, in what he hoped was an imitation of his father’s voice, “Samuel, you are late.”

  Those eyes sprang open. The youngest Fisher brother sat bolt upright, rubbed his chest, and blinked against the darkness of the room. Jacob grinned at his success. But before he could congratulate himself, Samuel flopped back onto the pillow and rolled onto his side. He lay very still, staring at the side table for a moment.

  Once more, Samuel pushed himself upright. Swinging his long legs out of the bed, he scooped up the books, closing those lying open. Some of the creatures were sucked back into the pages from which they’d come, but a couple escaped through the walls of the house in a whoosh.

  “That will not fool them for long,” Remiel said. “They will be back.”

  “Then what can send them running for good?”

  The first glint of a smile tugged at Remiel’s firm lips. “Someone like me.”

  “How can I get one of you for Samuel?”

  Remiel stared down the sharp slant of his nose. “You think you have this power?”

  “You do. You could do it!”

  “It is not for me to decide.”

  Jacob sighed and moved toward the bed. He peered down at his brother, blissfully asleep again. Leaning down, he whispered, “Samuel, you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hefting the wheelbarrow, Samuel steered it toward the stalls, the wheel wobbling and making the cart go catawampus. With a pitchfork, he tossed in fresh straw, and tiny bits and pieces fluttered in the air. His head felt muzzy from lack of sleep.

  Swiping a sleeve over his face, Samuel filled a bucket with feed, then reached up to put the scoop on the shelf. A square object snagged his attention. What was a book doing out here? Samuel dusted off the cover and felt his skin tighten. His hand splayed the cover and then he thumbed the pages.

  When some Beloveds, ’neath whose eyelids lay

  The sweet lights of my childhood, one by one

  He recognized the poem Levi had sent. Was this Jacob’s book, the one he’d given to Hannah? He flipped more pages.

  There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee;

  Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings!

  A wisp of a smile felt like a soft spring breeze drifting over his face. The poem made him remember a girl from his childhood. She sat in the wispy, dry grass along Hallelujah Creek, her face shaded by her bonnet. She was hunched so far inside her winter coat next to a hickory stump, Samuel had missed her until she spoke.

  “I heard them making fun of you.”

  He stood at water’s edge, his boots muddy, and Mamm would not be pleased. He shrugged and kicked a dirt clod. “Who cares? Book learnin’ is stupid.”

  When she didn’t respond, he looked back at her. She scribbled in a notebook. Ignoring her, he picked up a rock and chucked it in the water. It made a glump of a splash. Stupid as it was, it made him feel better, so he picked up another rock.

  “Here,” the girl said.

  Samuel tossed the rock in the air and caught it. “What?”

  “I wrote something for you. Wanna read it?”

  He huffed out a breath. What did this Wagler girl want from him? To torture him more because he couldn’t read as well as the rest of the kids his age? “Why would I wanna do that?”

  She gave him a slow, steady look, and he threw the rock as hard and as far as he could. But it broke apart midair and made tiny plops in the creek.

  “I’ll read it to you if you want.”

  “I don’t want.”

  “But I wrote it for you.”

  He scooped up another rock and tossed it impatiently. “I reckon then, go ahead. If you have to.”

  She studied the paper, her lips moving over the words as she read silently, then she gave a tiny nod. “Okay, here it goes. Words are like seeds. They help you to read. Plant them deep in your head, and you’ll be well read.” She raised those soft brown eyes toward him. “Was it dumb?”

  “Nah, it wasn’t too bad. You really wrote that?”

  She nodded. Then she tore out the page and held it out to him. “You can keep it.”

  With a scowl, he snatched it from her, folded it, and stuck it in his hip pocket.

  “You can learn to read.”

  He hurled the rock, and it crossed the creek and landed on the other side. “What if I can’t?”

  “Then we’ll just have to try harder.”

  Samuel leaned on the feed barrel, fond memories of sitting beside Hallelujah Creek on warm afternoons swimming around in his thoughts. That Wagler girl had helped him stumble through the fourth and fifth grade readers. She never laughed at him, never grew frustrated. And finally, he’d made progress.

  It had been a long while since he’d thought of those relaxing days, and remembering soothed a ruffled part of his soul. He set the book back on the shelf for when he had more time, finished feeding the livestock, and gathered eggs in the henhouse. He hoped breakfast was ready because he was starving.

  With the sun’s rays turning the horizon pink, Samuel carried the plastic bucket of eggs toward the house. No frost this morning, so maybe winter was finally behind them. But the influx of warmer air had brought wisps of fog that swirled and hovered over the fields. Pale light shone around the green shades in the windows along the side of the house where the kitchen was located. His stomach was already rumbling.

  He barreled through the side door, leading into the kitchen, and nearly mowed over someone standing in his way. His arms came around the slight form. The bucket swayed precariously, and he joggled around, holding on to what he now realized was a girl, as if they were dancing, but he simply tried to keep them from falling splat onto the floor and scrambling the eggs.

  “My goodness, Samuel,” Hannah said, laughing as she stirred something on the stove. “You must be awful hungry to be in such a hurry.”

  Samuel grinned, then looked down apologetically at the girl…woman, whose brown eyes instantly transported him back to another time, another season. Those upturned, solemn eyes had once upon a time captured his attention.

  Naomi’s face brightened with embarrassment. Once he was sure she wasn’t going to go sprawling across the floor, he released her and backed away, rubbing his damp palms on the back of his trousers. With her face scrubbed as clean as summer-dried linens, she looked far younger than someone like Andi. Back at Miller’s schoolhouse, she had captured his interest, and he had quietly (without anyone knowing) gone to see her in the middle of the night once they were of running around age. She was like a still water, quiet and reserved, but thoughts and truths ran through her like a deep undercurrent.

  “Samuel,” Hannah interrupted his thoughts, as she clinked a spoon against a pan, “do you remember Naomi?”

  He cleared his throat to dispel the emotional congestion. “Sure. Sure do. Yes.” But she was no longer the girl fixated in his mind from memory. She was a woman full grown. “It’s good…I mean, fine to…uh, see you again.”

  She gave a somber nod, her eyes wide and watchful. She offered no smile, but her expression held no malice either. So much had changed since those innocent days.

  “Welcome back to Promise, Samuel.”

  A steep barrier separated them now, whether she knew it or not, and that barrier was a knowledge that no one in this Amish district suspected. But a wider world existed, even if he didn’t value much in it. For a second, he wondered what would have happened if he’d never left Promise, if Jacob had never died, if his own innocence had remained intact. Would Naomi and he have taken the next steps in life together?

  He could never go back to being that boy again. Still, the fact remained that he’d left and never said good-bye to Naomi. He could have written her. Bu
t she was the writer, not him. What would he have said? Putting words on the page was sometimes as difficult as making sense of words stuck in books. How could he have explained all that had happened? Speaking of it, writing about it, probing it was like ripping a bandage off a wound and picking a scab until it oozed. It was better to forget the time they’d shared and stuff the experiences he’d had over the last few years. It was different now.

  “Did any eggs break?” she asked.

  “I hope not,” he said with a rush of uncertainty, feeling edgy and uncomfortable. “Here.”

  She acted calmer than he felt. Setting the bucket on the counter, she began to count the eggs. Was she angry at his silence over the years? Maybe she hadn’t cared as much as he had. Maybe she had moved on and was seeing someone else now—which somehow eased the pressure of guilt in his chest. Yet it also stirred something else. Or maybe she was here because he was, because she’d heard he was back.

  “I’ll need two extra eggs,” Hannah told Naomi, then she explained, “Naomi is here to help me with the babies and around the house.”

  “Of course.” He was a fool to think she was there for him. He felt as if he should say something. “And we’re very thankful for your help.” He breathed in the warm scents of eggs, bacon, and what he hoped to be biscuits in the oven. “And very grateful for your good cooking last night.”

  Her cheeks stained the color of summer strawberries. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  Their gazes locked and for a moment they were young teenagers sitting on the creek bank. Samuel cleared his throat. He needed out of the kitchen, something to do. “Where are my nephews?”

  “I’ll get them,” Naomi offered. She handed the extra eggs to Hannah and left.

  Samuel drew a deeper, more relaxed breath and peered over at the fluffy biscuits Hannah pulled out of the oven. She smiled. “Go ahead and take one.”

  As he bit into the fluffy, buttery richness, he groaned with pure pleasure.