Jacob's Return Page 6

  “Pick ‘em up,” Teacher yelled. “And throw ‘em outside.”

  No, Rachel thought. Don’t hurt ‘em. She wanted to cry.

  Jacob came back in looking sad, and got kept inside to wash the board at lunch recess.

  After school, Rachel followed him out behind the school house. She watched him bend down, push aside some dirt, and remove his handkerchief, which he unfolded.

  “How come they’re bald?” Rachel asked from over his shoulder.

  They examined the wiggling pink things together. “Cause they just come from inside their mother.”

  “Did you take them away from her?”

  “She was dead. My cat ran over and started lickin’ her chops is how I found ‘em.”

  “Poor things. Are they my surprise?”

  Jacob nodded. “Most girls wouldn’t like ‘em, but you’re different.”

  Rachel cupped her hands, glad she was different for Jacob. “Let me hold ‘em. I want to see why Teacher screamed.”

  Jacob placed the mice there.

  “Ach,” she gasped. “I’m not surprised she jumped like that. They feel skittery, but soft and nice. Maybe.” Their eyes were swollen and shut. Ugly. But they were tiny and dear. Living. “Where’d you find ‘em?”

  “Lapp’s wheat field, yesterday. Since they’re orphans, I thought you could be their mother.”

  Simon came running over and slammed into Jacob. “What you got the rats for?”

  “I’m going to take care of them. For Jacob.”

  With a laugh, Simon scooped them from her hand and tossed them into the field behind the school. “Let the snakes have ‘em for supper.”

  “Simon Sauder, you mean thing!” Rachel remembered crying, and Jacob beating the tar out of Simon for the first time.

  That was a long time ago, Rachel thought, shivering and huddling deeper into herself, wishing she’d remembered three years ago what a mean-spirited child Simon had been. Oh, Jacob, I need you, she cried silently.

  “Mudpie, it’s me. Where are you?” he called, as if he’d heard her.

  But Rachel stiffened and stopped breathing, afraid he’d see her.

  Jacob allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the loft while at the same time he hoped Rachel would adjust to his presence, perhaps even welcome it.

  “Listen, sweetheart, I just want to know you’re all right,” Jacob said. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to tell me what happened. Just let me hold you. You can cry if you want, and I’ll keep still while you do.”

  Oh, Lord, she wanted so badly for him to hold her.

  Jacob wondered why he couldn’t hear Rachel, if he could hear the sound of his own heart beating. “Please, Rache, you’re scaring me to death.”

  Hay crackled under him as he searched the loft on hands and knees, inch by careful inch.

  Maybe she wasn’t here. But if not, where? Then he heard the tiniest sound, like a newborn kitten, and moved toward it.

  To hold Rachel would crumble every barrier he’d tried to keep between them for the past weeks, but he had to hold her.

  He had to.

  A mound more substantial than hay hampered his progress and his fear increased. That Rachel buried herself caused him such pain, his throat tightened and he gasped aloud. It was all he could do not to tear at the hay and drag her into his arms. “Rache,” he said, “Let me hold you.”

  He began to remove pieces of loose straw. If she feared being touched, she wouldn’t want to be held, he tried to remember. “Rache, I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I’ll … sit with you … but I need to know if you’re hurt … if you need tending.”

  Lord, if she bled to death while he hesitated … but if she was hurt, he could cause worse harm. A fear of hesitating, and a greater one of rushing forth, stopped him.

  “Don’t,” came her voice, weak and tiny.

  And if such a word coming upon the heels of his silence did not implore him, what would?

  Jacob calmed. He took a breath. Rachel was well. Well enough and sensible enough to ask for help, whether she realized she was doing it or not. He placed his shaking hand upon the hay covering her, gathered strength from her presence, offered the same.

  Time ticked by at the pace of a garden snail climbing uphill and Rachel, buried in hay did not stir, neither did she speak.

  Jacob’s patience had never been so hard won.

  “I don’t want you to see me like this,” came her quivering plea. And his patience fled.

  Panic came like lightening. “Mein Gott, Rachel, let me tend you!”

  Chapter 5

  Jacob’s eyes adjusted to the darkness in the loft. As children they’d shared secrets here. Innocent, happy secrets. And now, Rachel was hurt, in spirit, at least … at worst....

  Jacob’s vision blurred and he swallowed. “Mudpie. You have to tell me. Are you cut or bleeding?” He was working very hard to stay calm.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Pain shot through Jacob, leaving him weak. “You don’t think! Ah, Rache. I need to know.”

  “Oh, Jacob.”

  Taking that as resignation, he pulled the hay away before she could change her mind or set him straight. But as soon as she was exposed, she curled into a tighter ball. “H … hold me,” she pleaded. “But don’t look.”

  Jacob didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He lay behind her and curled around her, gentling her with whispered words like he would a skittish colt. He ran his hand along Rachel’s side, her arm. She would not put weight on an injury, so he was reasonably certain the side she lay on was fine. When he got to her shoulder, she winced. “Is it broken, do you think?”

  She shook her head. “Sore.”

  He touched her face, slick with tears. When he attempted to smooth the hair from her brow, she grabbed his wrist to still it. In response to her unspoken request, he stopped. Satisfied, for the moment that she was not badly hurt, physically at least, Jacob sighed with relief and lay his cheek against her neck.

  Sliding his hand all the way down her arm, he found her fist clenched against her heart and laced his fingers with hers. “Now I’ll be still and hold you for however long you want,” he said, his eyes closing with relief, his mind easy for the first time since she had followed Simon upstairs.

  She squeezed his hand very, very tight, and her breathing calmed somewhat, but before long her tears began, and gained speed and substance, until her body shook with sobs.

  Jacob soothed her in German. “Your pain is mine. I am taking it into my soul to relieve you of its burden. Give it to me, Rachel. Share it. I will remove it if I can.”

  After a time, she calmed, except for an occasional hiccup.

  He offered her his handkerchief.

  She shook her head denying her need.

  “Like those babies,” Jacob said. “They never want to wipe their dripping noses either. Use my schnoopduff, Mudpie, and wipe your nose. Please.”

  “Schnoopduff is silly. Even in Penn Dutch it sounds so.”

  “Well use the silly thing, then.”

  Her moment of humor was gone; she shook her head.

  “Worse than those babies,” he said kneeling over her, and like he did for them, he wiped her nose and made her blow. “If you want, you can roll toward me and wipe your nose on my shirt. I won’t care.”

  Surprisingly, she complied, keeping her face hidden all the while. Then he held her in his arms the way he wanted, with her face tucked under his chin “Does it hurt to rest on that shoulder?”

  “Some.”

  “Turn over then and I’ll get on your other side, so you can be comfortable and still use my shirt for a schnoopduff.”

  She turned over and wiggled backward to make room for him. “Just don’t look at me.”

  “I already saw your dripping nose.”

  “That was the pretty part.”

  “I think every part of you is pretty.”

  Unannounced, her sobs came in great waves, heaving li
ke the crests he’d seen on Lake Michigan in a thunderstorm.

  It took a long time to calm her.

  “What has Simon said to make you think you’re not one of the most beautiful women in our district? Or should I ask what he has done? And before you answer, know that I’ve been in your room and seen your hair on the bed. Were you bald, I’d still think you beautiful. Now, answer my question.”

  “Where are the babies?”

  “Some answer. They’re crushing every cracker in the daudyhaus and Datt’s looking on as if the mess is the most brilliant thing he’s ever seen. He’s going to put them down for the night. I told him you’d gone to Esther’s and I’d pick you up on my way from Ruben’s. I told Simon if he went looking for you I’d give him what you gave him. Double. Any other questions?”

  “Ya. You lied to your Datt, Jacob?”

  “You want he should see what I saw in your room?”

  Rachel shook her head.

  If only he could get her to talk more.

  “You lied to protect me, Jacob?”

  “I’d do just about anything for you, Mudpie. You should know that by now.”

  “But you left me.”

  Her words sliced like a knife. He only wished his pain could atone for his leaving, for his being so foolish as to doubt her love. He would have saved so much suffering if he had stayed, and yet … he had his children.

  “I wanted to die tonight.”

  “If you had,” he said in renewed panic, “you would take my heart with you. And Aaron’s and Emma’s, and Esther’s, and your mother’s and father’s. So many hearts you would take, Mudpie. I’m glad you changed your mind. You did, didn’t you?”

  “Just hold me.”

  He held her tight and tried not to give into the raw fear her words provoked.

  After a time, she slept.

  Barn sounds quieted.

  Datt and the babies would be asleep by now, Jacob thought. Must be near nine. And if justice were served, Simon would still be writhing on the floor.

  Yet, despite the circumstances, Jacob savored the feel of Rachel’s breath upon his neck, the knowledge that she was safe in his arms.

  * * * *

  Judging from the stiffness of his body, Jacob thought he must have slept for some time.

  Then his senses came alive.

  Rachel lay in his arms, her hand against his heart, her knees against his thighs. He cursed himself once more for leaving her four years before … which gave Simon the opportunity to humiliate and bruise her, body, heart and soul. Simon’s cutting her hair was nothing in comparison to the rest, yet it seemed to signify a great deal more.

  How could anyone mar such beauty? He slipped Rachel’s heavy bonnet from her head. As he examined a newly-cropped area with a gentle touch, his love rushed forth, shocking even him with its intensity. She sighed and snuggled closer, and he closed his eyes and savored the moment. Reveling in her trust, he kissed her forehead.

  “Jacob?”

  “Yes, Mudpie. You all right?”

  “I knew it must be you. After you left, only Grossmutter ever held me.”

  He kissed a tear as it trickled down her cheek. “Want to talk about it?”

  “About Grandmother?”

  “Ach, Rachel, even now, you joke. Simon. Want to talk about Simon? And what happened tonight.”

  “No.” She raised her mouth, inviting his kiss.

  The rhythm of his heart made Jacob light-headed, as if within him beat the wings of a hundred birds making their swift way south. And their flapping echoed in his head as he slanted his lips over hers. He was drowning and she was air. He was parched and she was water.

  But when pleasure clouded judgment, Jacob broke the kiss.

  “It’s all right,” Rachel said on a sob. “I know what I am. You don’t have to.”

  “Ach, Rache,” he said. “If only you knew.” Then he really kissed her, the touch of their lips sparking fire and memory, as if they’d kissed a thousand times before. Except it had only happened twice — young they were, and testing new ground.

  But this … This was a homecoming.

  Mouth to mouth. Heart to heart.

  A reunion of souls.

  Pleasure surged again for Jacob, fast and shocking, pounding in his temples, everywhere, and he began to pull away.

  “No,” she cried. “Oh, Jacob, hold me. Please. Don’t let me go.”

  “Oh, Lord,” he said. “As if I could. As if I could.”

  He kissed her then with the longing of years, the desperation of a man finding a love perceived forever lost.

  After a while, he pulled back to look into her eyes.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t look at me. Just hold me. Closer, I need to be. I’m afraid, Jacob. Don’t let go.”

  “I never will,” he said, somehow certain at this moment that he could find a way to keep such an impossible promise.

  Rachel tried to adjust her position, so he eased his hold. “Am I hurting you?”

  “I need to get closer,” she said, moving as if she wanted to climb inside of him.

  Jacob chuckled. “I don’t think we can get any closer.” He joked to lighten the mood and calm his body. Her torn dress revealed breasts soft and white, nipples rose-kissed and swollen.

  And Jacob realized it was too late, there would be no calming for him. He ignored his reaction, however, to hold her. She was his Mudpie, and she needed him.

  God help him, he needed her as much.

  Within the safety of his embrace, and unaware of Jacob’s utter, mind-stopping shock, Rachel slipped from her dress and reached for him once more.

  He closed his arms around her, but he could not seem to get enough air. Or enough Rachel.

  The flare of her hips under his hand beckoned. He could not help explore. And when he did, the air in the loft became thinner; he became harder. “Rachel.” He used his most serious voice to bring her to reality, yet even to him, it sounded more a plea to continue, than an appeal to stop.

  She rubbed her cheek against his, her parted lips brushing his ear. She combed her fingers through his beard and, God help him, he found that more sexually arousing than anything he ever experienced.

  “They feel nice, your whiskers against my skin.”

  “All whiskers feel the same, Rache.”

  “Never have I felt any, in such a pleasant way, Jacob.”

  Oh Lord, he thought, and what did that mean? Was there no intimacy between her and Simon?

  “Your clothes,” he said. “You should put them—”

  “They smell of him, Jacob. And what happened was so....” She hid her face and her tears fell on his neck, scorching him as they trailed into nothingness. And when the air kissed where they had passed, he discerned their trail and knew he’d been branded.

  After a while, she looked at him. “Simon and I … we … tried for children, but he could not bear to look at me, or hold me. He never kissed me. Not once. The sight of me displeased him. No, it was worse than that, I disgusted him. He found it difficult to … I am too ugly for him to … want me.”

  Jacob was shaken by the fact that Simon had never ‘made love’ to Rachel in the truest sense of the words. “Simon is a fool,” he said, humbled because she trusted him enough to reveal that part of her marriage.

  He rocked her. “You are beautiful, Rachel Zook Sauder. Your hair,” he said as he nuzzled its silken depths, “whatever its length, is the most glorious I have ever beheld. And who could not melt at such a smile as yours, with your tip-tilted nose scrunched up and your maple-syrup eyes twinkling.”

  “I must look very silly when I smile then.”

  “Beautiful, just like the rest of you.”

  “I don’t need compliments, Jacob. I would not believe them, anyway.” She tucked her face back into his neck. “Besides it’s not so much my face that’s the problem.”

  “What then?”

  Slowly she pulled away from him, crossed her arms over her breasts and curled into the same k
ind of ball the twins tended to adopt in sleep.

  Jacob knew he could not ignore this new plea, not if he wanted her healed. Layers of hurt to peel away. Where to begin?

  He placed his finger beneath her chin and raised her face. “Rachel look at me.”

  After a stubborn moment, she complied.

  “Good,” he said. “Here before me I see a pleasing, womanly form, not plump, but not too thin either. God has graced you with some height, but not too much.” He let go of her chin and ran his hand down one of her legs. “You have shapely legs, as lovely as I have ever imagined them. And I have imagined them often.”

  He was pleased when Rachel’s eyes widened.

  Jacob lifted her foot. “No shoes?”

  “They fell off.”

  He nodded and began to remove her stockings. Warm, silky flesh he skimmed as he slipped them off. He took a breath and returned to his purpose. He lifted her foot, wiggled a toe, and smiled. “Your feet are not bigger than mine, which would be just too big to believe, but they hold you up well and convey you about with ease.”

  He kissed her fingers. “Your fingers are long and shapely, not big-knuckled and rough like Priscilla Gorilla’s.”

  A smile raised one side of her mouth.

  “Ach, finally,” he said. “Your hips flare just right. Perhaps you noticed me testing that theory with my hand a short while ago?”

  “Jacob!”

  “I won’t lie to you Rachel. I never would. I liked doing it. And I like how you look. You are a desirable woman, and perfectly normal, except for perhaps one thing.”

  Rachel crossed her arms more tightly over her breasts and her breathing became ragged. Jacob uncrossed them and placed them at her sides. “Except for your breasts,” he said.

  She closed her eyes and a tear slid down her cheek.

  “No, love.” He rocked her. “Oh, no. Don’t cry. They’re beautiful breasts. They make me ache with longing just to gaze at them.”

  “No,” she said into his chest. “They’re too big.”

  He pulled away to look very seriously at her. “Breasts can never be too big, Rache.”

  He could see she doubted his words. “See how they fill my hands?”

  She inhaled sharply, weakening his control. He should stop. “I want to feel them against my bare chest,” he said, surprised he revealed his yearning.