Forsaken (16 page)

Two days later, sitting in bed with Katie curled up beside her, Hannah stared out the upstairs window into the foreboding darkness. Deep in the night, Katie had crept into her room, saying she was cold, and Hannah had wrapped her arms around her little sister, holding her tightly along with all she'd ever loved, wishing she could hold it all even closer.

But her gaze drifted involuntarily toward the window in the direction of the spring house. The injured stranger—Akiva—had disappeared. But to where? Was he all right? Had he miraculously recovered? Or was he lying in a ravine somewhere needing help? Dying? She whispered a silent prayer for Akiva.

Her mind wandered down a dead-end road of questions about him: who was he, where did he come from, how was he injured…and where was he going? These questions took her nowhere and left her feeling lost and confused.

While he was here, she hadn't wanted to admit that some part of him reminded her of Jacob. Of course, he had dark hair, just like Jacob, but Akiva's was shorter than Jacob's bowl cut. His features were similar and yet not. He seemed unattached, unfazed by the world, curious and eager to wander new roads. That's how Jacob was.

Was
.

And that same foolishness would be the end of Akiva. And her too.

Buggy wheels crunched gravel, and she knew it was Levi on his way home. He had stayed late to help Dat with a faulty compressor. He was a good man, conscientious, helpful, and kind. His heart, she was learning, was as wide as the heavens. She was foolish for putting him off, because he would make a good husband. And yet something kept her from making that step. Was it a simple need for her own running around time?

Jacob's
rumschpringe
had become a dead end, or so he'd prophesied about himself when he returned from his New Orleans journey. It might have been worth his money and her angst if it had brought him to a place of readiness to make his solemn vow to God and the church and the community, if it had brought him peace, but it hadn't. Now, her own eagerness to wander might bring her home again. If it did, then it might be too late for Levi. Then again, it might not.

She closed her eyes, squeezed them tight
. Don't think, Hannah, just sleep.

That voice called to her. Confused her. Unbalanced her. Tilted her world. Where would it lead her? She shifted beneath the covers and covered her head with the pillow.

Hannah.

She fisted her hands, willed herself to stay in bed, and yet suddenly her feet were on the floor, the bed covers folded back over Katie. Resisting seemed impossible. She donned her clothes, gathered her wrap, and crept down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door. This time she didn't bother taking the book, flashlight, or knife.

The air was still and cold, and she could almost smell the frost forming. The moon sat high and full, only a tiny slice had been shaved off, but it was bright and capable of lighting her path.

She entered the spring house, pausing, listening for any sounds, any visitors, but all was quiet. Peaceful. And yet, inside her was anything but tranquility. There was a rumbling, a stirring, a discontent. From where had it come? Or had it always been there?

In the back of the cramped space, past the machinery, cords, and tubing, she knelt at the place where Akiva had laid. Had she only dreamed he had been here? Was it some apparition born of her need for Jacob? Had she gone
narrishch
? Jacob told her only days before he had died that he felt crazy. Was her own death near?

She drew a slow, steadying breath. If she died, she was ready, for then she would see Jacob again.

She touched the cool, dirt floor, searching as if to be reminded that Akiva had been there. Somehow it made her feel closer to Jacob, and yet it made no sense to her. When her fingers nudged something hard, her hand faltered, then her fingers folded over a pointed corner of a book.

With her heart thumping, she moved back to the door, where moonlight slanted through the opening, and she turned the book over in her hands. Lovingly, she ran her hand over
her
book, the book Jacob had given her. How did it get here? Had she dropped it? Or had Akiva taken it? She dusted it off, opened the front cover, and read what Jacob had written:
To Hannah, With love, Jacob.

A heaviness weighted her heart, but then whispers swirled through her head. That voice. That call acted like a steel hook piercing her heart and pulling her toward…
What?

She hid the book inside her apron and pushed out into the night, closing the spring house door and latching it. Then a shadow fell across her. She startled and a tiny gasp emerged from her cold lips.

Akiva.

He leaned against the outside wall, his smile self-satisfied, but his gaze remained dark and intense. “Did I startle you, sweet Hannah?”

“I-I thought you'd left.” Her stutter gave her away. “It's been days. I just now found…” She touched the book in her apron, but she decided to keep silent. Her gaze dropped to his chest where his leather jacket was unzipped as if the cold did not bother him, and he wore a clean, unblemished white T-shirt. “Are you better?”

“Much. Is that your book?”

She pulled it from her apron as if to remind herself what it was. Even though she knew. “Yes.”

“I found it, Hannah. I didn't steal it.” He spoke as if he had read her mind. But that was impossible.

“I wasn't accusing.”

He straightened, standing tall before her, and took a step in her direction, his gaze intent on her. “I enjoyed reading it.”

Her insides trembled, and she held the book out toward him, unsure what her intention was. Why would she offer the book, her most prized possession, to this stranger? Maybe it was a way to put a barrier between them. Or maybe it was a way to draw this man closer. “Would you like it?”

“You keep it. It's yours after all. Jacob gave it to you, no?” He moved around her, so close he could easily have brushed her clothes with his, touched her bare neck, bathed her skin with his breath, and yet he did not cross the invisible wall that stood between them. “I love words, the way they wash over my ears.” He stopped before her, closed his eyes as if listening to the sounds of words in his head, then cocked his head sideways, and opened his eyes again.

She felt like she was falling into his gaze, losing herself, losing…

“Foolish, I suppose.” His smooth forehead crinkled. “I apologize.”

“Jacob,” she whispered as if Akiva was her beloved, as if Jacob was standing before her. But it was impossible. This man wasn't Jacob. She shook her head, an attempt to shake loose her muddled thoughts. “Jacob…he loved words too.” She gave an awkward laugh. “Will you be staying here tonight? I could bring the blankets back.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“No, not at all. Can I get you anything? Something to eat?”

“I'm not hungry.” But his heated gaze felt as if he devoured each curve of her frame.

She took a step backward, sensing something unusual, something dangerous. Glancing sideways, she looked for a route of escape.

“Hannah?”

Reluctantly, she met his gaze again, felt the same tilting sensation.

“Did you tell anyone about me?”

“I made a promise.”

“And you are a woman who lives up to her promises, I see.”

She shifted from one foot to the next.

“Do I make you nervous, sweet Hannah?”

Heat bloomed along her neck and cheeks. “A little.”

“Is it me? Or all men?”

His question unsettled her. “I'm engaged.”

Her lie tasted sour in her mouth. What was she doing? It was as if she threw those words up as a protective mechanism against this man, but they turned out to be a feather against a powerful gale.

Akiva's face darkened. “Are you now?” He stepped toward her, his presence broad and dark and menacing. He was only inches from her, and she tried to avoid that gaze, the certainty of knowing her lie, but she could not. “Are you really?”

“No,” she confessed. “Not yet.” She comforted herself that her lie wasn't actually a lie. Levi was interested…
Wasn't he?

“Who is it?” His voice sounded suddenly cold, and his gaze turned sharp. “This one who wants to marry you. Or is it the other way around?”

Her insides shifted. She should not have spoken in such a way. Levi might not want to marry her, especially because of the way she had treated him. And yet, why had his image bloomed in her mind? “You couldn't know him. He is Amish.”

Suddenly, Akiva grabbed her arm, his grip unforgiving. “Have you been baptized already?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she twisted her arm, trying to loosen his grip, but still he held her tight. “Why do you care?”

Akiva's mouth distorted and as quickly as he'd grabbed her, he released her. “Why wouldn't I care?”

She touched her bruised wrist, her gaze shot toward the house, and her feet took two steps in that direction.

“
Hannah
.” Something in the way he spoke her name, something familiar, kept her from running and somehow calmed her erratic heartbeat. “Hannah, look at me, please.”

Slowly, hesitantly, she looked up and felt the impact of his gaze all the way down to the core of her being, parts of her she hadn't felt since Jacob had last kissed her, in that long, slow, sweet way of his that used to make her tremble.

“I am sorry.” His voice gentled, stroked, appeased. “But I…” He shook his head, stepped back. “I feared…”

His confession startled her. “Feared what?”

“Feared you had made an irrevocable decision. One that would separate—”

“Separate what?”

He shook his head again and his lips rolled inward. “Why did you say you were not yet engaged? ‘Not yet'?”

Looking into his dark gaze, she felt as if she could withhold nothing from him. “Levi is a good man. He will be a good husband.”

“Levi.” He tested out the name. But was that condescension or surprise in his tone? “There are a lot of good men in the world,” he said. “Doesn't mean you love him.”

She blinked. “Doesn't mean I won't.”

“Touché.”

His word puzzled her. “What does that mean?”

“A close touch.” He reached forward with his pointer finger aimed right at her heart. Before he could make the final thrust forward, which would connect them, she backed away. “What are you afraid of,
sweet Hannah
?”

She lifted her chin a notch. “I'm not afraid.”

“Then what keeps you from saying yes to this Amish boy?”

“He's not a boy. He's a man.”

Akiva tilted his head as if giving in to her side of the argument, and yet it didn't feel like an argument. But whatever it was felt lopsided, weighted on Akiva's side. “Age isn't only a number but also life experiences and understanding of the world.”

She gave a slight shrug. “
The Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom
.”

He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “There is much to fear, Hannah. But should we really fear the Lord? Love him? Yes. But fear Him? Hasn't he promised His love and mercy?” He stepped closer. “But what is it you fear?”

“Why do you care? You don't know me or my family or even Levi.”

“You helped me, Hannah. I feel obligated to help you now. Is that wrong?”

She took a step away, which gave her the ability to breathe easier, and turned from him. “I guess not.” She wrapped her arms over her middle. “But you're under no obligation. I only did my Christian duty. Anyone would—”

“No, not anyone.”

She supposed he was right about that. Not everyone would have helped him. But did that mean he was right about the other things he'd said?

His hands settled on her shoulders and turned her back toward him. His gaze was gentle and kind. Maybe he would understand the fears she fought. Maybe…“What if I'm not a…good wife?”

“You? That seems highly unlikely. But I can understand how you might doubt your ability to…ah…”—a smile stretched his mouth—“to please him.”

Grateful for the darkness, she felt her skin burn at his ability to see inside her mind or heart or both. “I should go.”

“Or is it that you still want someone else?”

She brushed past this man she did not even know. She had already revealed too much; he had presumed too much. Nothing else would she reveal—to him or to anyone.

But his voice stopped her with, “Why have you not asked me about
him
?”

She lifted her chin a notch and pretended not to know whom he meant. “Who?”

“Jacob.”

The few feet between them no longer provided a sense of security. She kept her back to him, as if that could hide her thoughts, her feelings. Even though she was wrapped in her cape with a scarf around her head, she felt unclothed, as if he could see right through her to the quick-flight beat of her heart.

She did not hear his footsteps, but suddenly he was there, next to her, peering over her shoulder to whisper, “You think of him. Don't you?”

Some days she thought of nothing
but
. Words jammed her throat. She swallowed and swallowed again, her throat convulsing with indecision. Then she felt Akiva's hand at the base of her neck, his touch gentle, and the pads of his fingers light yet insistent on an answer. Tears once again sprang to the surface. She didn't want or intend to, but she nodded nonetheless.

“You dream of him too.”

She blinked, leaving her eyes closed, squeezing them shut, praying for control. Hot, vile tears stung the insides of her eyelids. His questions, his awareness, his probing, were unraveling her. Quaking. Trembling. Shaking loose. She was coming undone.

His hand folded about the ridge of her shoulders. His skin was hot against hers, burning into her like a brand. Was it her heartbeat she felt or his, the beat thud, thud, thudding into her? “Do not be afraid of love, my
sweet Hannah
. Embrace it. Hold on to it. Love deeply. For it is a miracle.”