Forsaken (27 page)

“I cannot. Josef—”

“Wait until he goes to sleep.” Hannah squeezed Rachel's fingers, placing in her hand all her hopes and dreams and fears. “Then—”

Rachel tugged free and raced ahead toward the porch steps.

Determined, Hannah called out, “I met the man from New Orleans too.”

On the bottom step, Rachel turned back, her eyes pleading.

“Promise you'll meet me at the boarded-up mill on Slow Gait.”

Rachel touched the tie of her prayer
kapp
. “If I can.”

Shoulders squared, broad-rimmed Amish hat angled, a man stood beside a horse and plow, backlit by a fiery setting sun that tinted the grass golden. For what seemed like ages, Hannah watched him, noticing each breath as if it were her own, precious and life giving. Her heart skipped past a beat then doubled its rhythm, and she walked toward him as if drawn by an invisible cord, her steps certain and unwavering.

Stored emotions bubbled up inside her as if the man stoked a fire inside her, and she whispered on a choking sob, “Oh, Jacob!”

He turned toward her, but the face wasn't the one she expected. Instead of Jacob, it was Akiva's bold black eyes that greeted her. His mouth curved in a now familiar jaunty slant.

Hannah jerked awake, blinked at the darkness, her face wet with tears, her nightgown damp with sweat. Her breath sounded harsh in the quiet of her room. Her heart thumped against her breastbone. What did it mean? Was this outsider taking Jacob's place in her heart? Could he ever fit into her world or did he simply remind her of Jacob? Nothing about him was Amish, so maybe it wasn't about him or even Jacob. Maybe it was really about Levi. Did she want Akiva to be more like Levi? Or the other way around?

Forcing her breathing to calm, her crazed heartbeat to settle into a steady rhythm, she peeled off her nightgown and let the chilly night air cool her body. She stood in the center of her room, aware of every inch of her heated skin. Jacob had first awakened the woman inside her, and now Akiva had stoked that fire once again. Slowly, she pulled on first her undergarments, then the purple dress she'd worn earlier, and slid her feet into shoes. Still feeling as if her plumb line had tilted off center, she sat on the edge of her bed and pulled aside the dark green shade so she could watch the stars across the black canopy. As she leaned back into her covers, her hand bumped something hard and her fingers closed over a book. Jacob's book. She'd been reading a poem when she fell asleep. She splayed her hand against the leather cover. It seemed so long ago when Jacob had tossed that book in her lap.

“It's for you.”

“Me?”

She'd touched it like she'd never held a book. The pages were crinkly and old and smelled musty. And she'd loved it instantly, because it was from him. Because he had touched it first. Because when he read it, he had thought of her.

Then he'd flopped onto the ground, stretching out his legs, placing his head in her lap, and looking up at her with those intense brown eyes. Had he known how much she had loved him? How she would do anything for him?

“Read something,” he'd said.

Fingering his hair, letting it caress her skin, she felt a tingle all over and gave him a nervous smile that reflected the wavery sensation in her belly. “You know I'm not very good at—”

“Sure you are. Read.”

So she opened the book, running her fingers over the words, her gaze over the pages. “I don't know where to start.”

“Just pick one. It doesn't matter which.”

The words had emerged in a halting and clumsy manner, clunking hard against her ears, but Jacob listened as she came to the blessed end of one poem. Thank the Lord it had been short, and she started to close the book but his voice stopped her.

“I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen;

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut

And ‘Thou shalt not,' writ over the door;

So I turned to the Garden of Love

That so many sweet flowers bore.”

The cadence of his voice, the deep timbre, and the way his tongue stroked each word made her heart flutter like a bird's wings until it took flight and a tear slid down her cheek at the beauty of the words and sentiment behind them.

She tasted the tears even now, sitting, remembering, waiting. She reached over and took her flashlight, aiming it at the book. The pages turned effortlessly until she came to the poem by William Blake that he had so easily quoted on that long ago day. It was longer than she remembered and she read the words aloud, tasted each one, absorbed them into her soul.

“I laid me down upon a bank,

Where Love lay sleeping;

I heard among the rushes dank

Weeping, weeping.

Then I went to the heath and the wild,

To the thistles and thorns of the waste;

And they told me how they were beguiled,

Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen;

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut

And ‘Thou shalt not,' writ over the door;

So I turned to the Garden of Love

That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tombstones where flowers should be;

And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars my joys and desires.”

Something inside her wilted at those final words, the meaning different than what she had thought or believed or the way Jacob had presented it. “Oh, Jacob. What happened to you?”

A rumbling from downstairs told her that Dat was sleeping soundly. It was time to go. She prayed Rachel would meet her…that she'd answer Hannah's questions, that the answers would bring resolution. She pressed the book to her chest and prayed for the Lord's will, but perhaps it was really her own she was seeking?

Rising, she left the book on the bed. In the hallway, she glanced both ways before descending the stairs. Her hand on the banister trembled as she eased one foot down a step, then the next, knowing which steps to rely on and which to avoid. Between Dat's snores, it was deathly quiet. The dark created deep shadows, but she knew her way and felt no fear, only hope that she would soon know the truth.

Her cape hung from a hook beside the door and she pulled it around her, bracing for the cold. But as she put her hand on the door latch, another hand came out of the dark and covered hers.

She gasped, a scream clawing up her throat and lodging there. She fell back a step, and her gaze collided with another.

“Mamm!”

Her mother's blue eyes crinkled at the corners from fatigue. “Who are you going to see? Do not lie and tell me Beth Ann…or Levi. You were at a party without him.”

Her resolve hardened as her mouth thinned. “How do you know that?”

“Word gets around. Be careful, Hannah.”

“It's not what you think. I'm meeting Rachel.”

“Why?”

“She asked me to.”

“Is there something wrong between Josef and her?”

“I don't know,” she hedged and opened the door, the cool air slapping her face.

Mamm's brow collapsed in worry lines.

“I don't want to keep her waiting.”

Mamm nodded and released her. “Be careful,
ja
?”

She felt the weight of Mamm's concern upon her as she hurried down the drive, her flashlight jerking crazily over the hard ground. Glancing sideways and even back toward the house, her nerves tangled into knots. Often Akiva joined her here, but he did not show himself tonight. And she was alone. Even though it felt as if eyes were following her in the darkness.

The Devil was in the details.

Or so “they” said, not that Roc was ever sure who “they” were, but looking at the pictures of the gruesome remains…well, he had to agree the devil, or something damn close, had to have ripped that neck open. Roc braced his hands on either side of the pictures scattered across Mike's cluttered desk. Anybody with a weaker stomach would have heaved up his Philly cheese steak at the sight of the body.

“Name's Frank Robbins,” Mike said, his tone modular and seemingly unaffected by the pictures under the glare of the overhead lights.

“When did this happen?”

Mike flipped open a chart with the official autopsy report. Two hours ago, he'd called Roc and told him to come to Philly to take a look at some pictures. Roc had snuck out of Ephraim's cozy cottage and reattached the wires on the Mustang. He'd have to beat it back before daylight or his cover would be blown. As it was, he wasn't exactly thrilled that he was missing whatever might be happening on the farm tonight.

“The time of death was four nights ago. Between ten p.m. and two a.m. Too much of a time lapse to be more specific than that.”

“Had Frank Robbins paid up front for all those nights in the motel?”

Mike shook his head. “Nah, and the manager wants the police department to pay the cost of those nights plus the fumigation service.”

Roc laughed. “What took the hotel—”

“Motel,” Mike corrected.

“—so long to discover the body then?”

“The maid hadn't been cleaning. Not sure the night clerk was much more dedicated to his job.” Mike waggled his eyebrows. “Or maybe they were—”

“That's one theory.” Roc straightened. “Could either of them be a suspect?”

“For what?”

Roc jabbed one of the pictures with his finger. “Murder 101, Mike. I'd think you guys up here in the big ol' city of Philadelphia would know these things. Dead body plus gaping neck wound equals homicide.”

“Only if the coroner says it is.”

That stopped Roc cold, and he stared at Mike a full minute, waiting for him to grin or make a joke. He couldn't be serious. Could he? “You gotta be kidding, right? This coroner a blind ol' fart who should've retired ten years ago? Or the stupidest new kid on the block?”

“Neither.”

“So what then? He took a look at this”—Roc picked up one of the goriest straight-on pictures of the death wound and tossed it toward Mike—“and thought the guy did this to himself? His head's practically severed from the body.”

“The coroner deemed it a suicide.”

Roc paced in front of the desk. “Should we go pay this dumb ass a visit?”

“Won't do you any good.”

“Why not?”

“He says the rope the dead guy hung himself on caused that damage, the body's weight dragging on it. Part of decomposition or some such bull—”

Roc kicked the chair and it toppled over and clamored against the tile floor. He glared at the pictures, noting the details…every detail. “This coroner…he wouldn't happen to have black eyes, would he?”

“Black eyes?” Mike rubbed his jaw. “Oh yes and new highlights in his hair. What, you looking for a date or something?”

“Just a crazy thought. But not any crazier than this guy killing himself.”

The closed mill, a mere shadow of its former self, had long been abandoned but had still seen many late-night parties by both
English
and Amish teens looking for a good time and zero parental control. A sliver of moonlight fell upon the two-story building, and even through the murky darkness Hannah could see that most all of the windowpanes were broken, the glass embedded in the dirt and overgrown grass that surrounded the mill. The paint was peeling, the roof sagging, the front door closed but the lock broken.

Clouds hung low and ominous, creating fog and keeping the temperature from dipping too low. Hannah waited outside, preferring the cold stillness, even with the creeping fingers of fog, as she paced along the side of the structure, waiting for Rachel and keeping an eye on the dense trees that formed a border along the side of the mill even as her mind turned inward. Was she a fool for coming here, for wanting to know, for suspecting something happened in New Orleans between Rachel and Jacob? For too long, she'd clung to the past, to what might have been, to a hope that she should have let die with Jacob, but maybe knowing the truth would help her let go.

A rustling in a nearby bush startled her. She jerked around. “Rachel?”

But the name died on her tongue as her gaze landed on Levi. He stood on the edge of shadow and moonlight, his feet buried in fog, but beneath the brim of his hat his face was swathed in dark silhouette. “It's just me.”

Exasperation sprang up inside her, and yet relief that she wasn't here alone eclipsed the former. “What are you doing here, Levi?”

He moved toward her, his footsteps slow but determined, his gaze hidden. “I could ask you the same. But I won't. Rachel told me you had questions about Jacob.”

Her stomach knotted. “Where is Rachel?”

“I came in her stead.”

“You can't help, Levi.” She shook her head. “I need to know more about their trip to New Orleans, and you weren't there.”

He stepped closer and stared down at her, his gaze as solemn and steady as his temperament. “I know you loved him, Hannah, but knowing about that time won't bring him back. It won't change anything.”

“It might.”

“How?”

“I'm trying to let him go.”

“And will knowing something good or bad, something he did or didn't do, help your heart release his memory?”

“It will remove the questions.”

He inched closer, settled his hands at her waist. He'd never touched her before so intimately, but his touch was solid and sure and demanded attention. She wanted to resist him. She'd come here to discuss Jacob, and once more Levi had injected himself into something that had nothing to do with him, that he knew nothing about. Even though prickly at his sudden appearance, she felt something else inside her—attraction, need, desire—flame to life.

“Hannah—”

“I know he's gone.” The certainty in her voice surprised her, and for the first time she could speak those words without feeling as if she might fall apart. Was that because Levi held her? Was he holding her together? Or had her heart turned toward him?

“Is he?”

She cocked her head sideways. Levi's eyes were clouded and the emotion swirling in their depths indecipherable. “If you're asking has he left my heart…no, Jacob will always be a part of me.” She placed a hand against Levi's chest and felt his heartbeat through his clothes, the steady cadence knocking against her palm. “Just as he is a part of yours.”

“But there's more to it, Hannah.” His hands tightened about her waist. They were strong, farmer hands, capable of hard work and yet able to care for even the tiniest creature born on the farm. “I can love my brother and you at the same time, without any conflict. Can you continue to love Jacob, to pine for him, and at the same time love someone else?”

“Levi—” She wasn't sure what she was going to say. Words and emotions swelled inside her as her hand followed the line of his shirt. She felt a light tremor pass through him. How different he was from Jacob, who never held back his thoughts or feelings from her. His ease at sharing the most intimate of feelings had impressed her, made her feel less alone. She'd always believed it took incredible bravery for him to be that open, particularly since no other man she'd ever known was like that. But maybe Levi had equal strength, or even more so, to restrain his emotions.

After all, an unbridled horse was a beautiful thing to behold, yet at the same time dangerous, capable of much destruction. With a simple leather strap, all that strength was controlled and reined in, the power put to good use. She realized in that moment, her hand still against his heart, that Levi's leather strap was his faith.

She peered up at him, and a pale shaft of moonlight made the deep pools of his eyes glimmer like a ripple across water. His jaw tensed, the muscle flexing, as he seemed to be struggling, resisting something, his very muscles trembling beneath the strain of something she could only imagine. She'd never seen him like that, teetering on the edge of control, and at that moment, it felt as if she could fall into the depths of those blue eyes and spend a lifetime learning what was really inside him.

“Levi.” She tasted the surprising sweetness of his name, a new and welcome treat.

“If it's time you need, Hannah—”

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “That isn't it. Not really.” Then the reason came to her, what had held her back for so long, what pushed Levi beyond her reach. “Levi, you don't really know me. You don't know what I've done…how flawed I am. And you're…”

“Just a man, Hannah. Like any other. I'm not perfect. I can't claim pure thoughts or always doing what's right. I want things I have no right to want.” His thumb skimmed along her bottom rib and her insides trembled. “I sin,” he said honestly and plainly. “I make mistakes. My worst mistake was how I dealt with Jacob.”

She tilted her head sideways. “What do you mean?”

Levi looked down where her hand still remained over his heart, and his features constricted with what seemed to be self-condemnation. “Jacob was always spouting off, throwing out his crazy ideas, especially at supper. Sometimes he had a valid point about questioning something—I can't even recall what now—but I never acknowledged the soundness of his argument. I only sided with my pop, with our beliefs and standards…against Jacob. Maybe if I'd tried to be understanding, if I'd tried to listen to what he was saying, if I'd reached out to him…” The corners of Levi's mouth compressed and a glimmer of regret glinted in his eyes. “I was wrong. And that might have cost Jacob his life…and all of us.”

She shook her head and smoothed her hand over the plain cloth of his coat. “It wasn't your fault, Levi.” Her hand stilled and her gaze met his. “Jacob was who he was. Agreeing or disagreeing with him wouldn't have changed his ideas. Or him. I reckon we've all done things we're ashamed of, though, or wish we could go back and change.”

A yearning dawned inside her and yet at the same time awakened feelings for Levi that ran deeper than she'd ever suspected. Had she simply needed to know he wasn't perfect, that he doubted himself too? Had she needed time to heal? Maybe the shield, which had once covered her heart, had fallen away. Or maybe Levi had simply broken through the barriers she'd erected.

How could she tell him another man, an
Englisher
, had eased into the place Jacob had once occupied inside her heart? Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe Akiva had shifted Jacob out of her heart, leaving a space yet to be occupied. She wasn't sure how she felt about Akiva. When she was with him, all doubts and questions vanished, but when she was alone, reason came back. Was he simply a temptation, something forbidden and seemingly irresistible, something she suspected might hurt her? Just because she was attracted to him didn't mean he was good for her or that he was God's will for her life.

With Levi though, it was different. He felt right suddenly. She was drawn to his heart, his faith, his purpose, as if he was the hearth where she'd once found warmth and security before becoming lost and cold and afraid, and now she was set on the path toward home again.

Levi stood close, and his heat drew her to him, yet it was more than simply his warmth on a cold wintry night. He aroused awe in her. He didn't cloud her thoughts the way Jacob had…or the way Akiva did. Instead, her thoughts were clear, and she became suddenly, acutely aware of his clean, soap-and-water scent, his muscular chest, his chiseled jaw, and his wide lower lip. What would it be like to kiss him, to feel his arms tighten around her? Would holding her make him lose control even momentarily?

She whispered his name again, not for any purpose other than to sample it again, to feel it on her tongue and tease her heart with its possibilities. Then Levi dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. His hands, already fastened solidly on her waist, pulled her closer to fully embrace her. As desire rose up inside of her, she fisted his shirt and stood on tiptoe, looped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He tensed with surprise, then a smile emerged across his mouth before quickly vanishing beneath a new force. His arms were like solid bands, possessive and strong, and he deepened the kiss. She gave into the moment, to the need, to the promise.