Jacob's Return (32 page)

They gurgled in delight.

Rachel chuckled at the way Emma ran the girls’ names together.

“No, Emma,” Rachel said. “This is Anna. And this is Mary.”

Emma shook her head. “No, Momly.” She pointed to Anna, saying, “Annamary,” then Mary, saying, “Squeaky.”

Rachel gave up. “Yes. They’re coming to service. Will you sit by me and hold one of them?”

Emma nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of her responsibility.

“Which one would you like to hold?” Rachel asked.

“Annamary.”

Jacob chuckled as he came up behind her. “I guess it’s settled then. No use fighting it, Mudpie. One of your daughters is named Squeaky.”

Simon and Aaron, in their Sunday-best, were there too. “Figures you’d think that’s funny,” Simon said, narrowing his eyes. “Those babies deserve better than parents with no morals who give them silly names.”

Lightening struck. Rachel’s heart clenched. Her hands began to shake. It was the first time Simon gave voice to the girls’ parentage, and the loathing with which he spoke might fell her. That he did so on Church Sunday, their neighbors waiting in their barn, brought dread. Suddenly, his high spirits seemed prophetic.

He took Mary and offered Rachel his arm. “Come.”

Rachel wanted to refuse. Panic, icy and deadening, filled her. She wanted to snatch Mary back. Instead, she picked up Anna and looked to Jacob for guidance.

Go, he indicated silently, taking his children’s hands to lead the way.

Best not feed Simon’s odd turn
, Rachel thought. Probably smart to go along for now. Everything would be all right. He wanted people to see him carrying one of the babies, and that was a good sign. But she shook inside and out, screaming for help that would not come, as she entered the barn beside her husband.

Rachel reminded herself that appearances mattered to Simon. That’s all this was, a proper show. Like their marriage had always been, a show for the benefit of others.

Still, after his words in the kitchen, a desperate need to turn and run clutched at her center.

Everyone smiled as they entered. Condemned criminals about to be sentenced.

Rachel raised her chin and stepped forward.

In Jacob’s head, alarms went off, so loud, it was a wonder no one else heard. Before all of them, Simon claimed Anna and Mary as his own, which should make him happy, and yet....

Perspiration trickled down his temple, his heartbeat as rapid as his inner trembling, and he squeezed Aaron and Emma’s hands to calm himself by reassuring them. But he couldn’t shake the notion that they were all sliding toward destruction, and he did not know how to slow their descent, or bring them to a safe stop.

As he left Emma with Rachel, he heard Simon whisper, “Don’t worry, Rachel, I will take good care of your babies.”

Jacob grabbed his arm. “What the hell does that mean?” Though he’d whispered too, he spoke too loud.

“Go and sit down,” Simon whispered, sternly. “You are making a spectacle of us.”

It was true. Jacob took a deep breath. No good would be served by reacting beforehand. “In a minute,” he said.

Simon nodded and left.

Emma was all smiles as her sister — God, he should not think of them that way — as Anna wiggled in her arms. “Emma make big girl,” she said. “Emma hold Annamary.”

“You certainly are a big girl.” He kissed the top of her kapp. “Take good care of Anna.”

“Annamary,” she corrected.

Jacob took Aaron to the men’s section, hauling him onto his lap, hugging him into the bargain. He did not take his gaze from his family across the room — yes, his — as if by watching them, he could keep them safe.

Except the decline they were rushing down seemed to be growing steeper.

When the hymns began, Jacob calmed somewhat. Giving up to the prayer of song, he pushed fear aside and opened himself to hope.

The
Anfang
was short for an introductory sermon, and it failed to bring any measure of peace.

When Simon read a chapter from the Bible, the assembly stood, then he stepped into the center of them and everyone sat to hear his words.

Fairly shot with inspiration, Simon waxed profoundly, his sermon more humbly delivered than Jacob could have imagined possible. If he did not know better, he would see before him a man who would never abuse his wife, a pure, honest servant of God and his people, generous and giving.

Jacob knew enough not to judge. But, in truth, Simon had never portrayed the man before him previous to this moment.

That notion took root and the idea that several men lived within the one, filled Jacob with a new and greater dread.

Though he had not really listened to Simon’s words, everyone seemed moved by them. In the rows of women across from him, eyes were moist. If he did not know Rachel so well, he would think she, too, was overcome with the spirit.

But he did know her, and her panic sat so near the surface, if Simon moved too fast, she might scream.

Jacob tried to catch her eye, to calm her with his look. ‘Simon is only a man,’ he wanted to say. ‘A weak, not-so-humble man. Flawed, like us.’

Whispers began and grew, and Jacob gave credence to the murmurs. What was everyone talking about? Why were they standing in the middle of service? Where were they going?

Simon threw open the double doors at the back of the barn, and the congregation followed him toward the pasture, like lambs to the slaughter. Lord, he wished he hadn’t thought of that.

Like some holy prophet, he led them, God help them all.

Simon held up his hands. “Stay. Wait,” he shouted, stopping them in the middle of a new-sown field. “Here, under heaven’s canopy, in this simple place of worship, listen with a righteous heart and heed God’s judgment.”

Judgment? God’s?

Jacob pushed his way to the front of the crowd where Simon could see him. And when Simon approached, Jacob thought he had his attention, but he passed him by and entered the whispering throng.

With a hand to her back, he propelled Rachel forward, her arms filled with Anna and Mary, Emma holding her skirt. And Jacob grasped Aaron’s hand tighter to keep himself from beating his brother bloody for touching his own wife.

Rachel faltered and stopped, as if she’d gone as far as she could, as if her legs would carry her not a step further.

Simon’s furious whisper brought a pink to her cheeks and she nodded and continued her journey, stopping at his side.

Simon ‘placed’ Rachel just so beside him, Jacob pondering murder the whole while, then he took Mary from Rachel, and placed her in Jacob’s arms, standing back as if to admire the scene. “Perfect, do you not think?” Simon asked, before leading parts of the crowd deeper into the field. He stopped by a sheet-covered object Jacob hadn’t noticed before, taller than him and three times as wide.

One of Aaron’s small, shaking hands sought his, and Jacob grasped Mary one-armed to accommodate the silent plea. Emma wound an arm around his knee though she still grasped Rachel’s skirt with the other.

Jacob wasn’t certain if he was happy or sad that his children were smart enough to be frightened.

How could he put a stop to this?

How, without destroying the people he loved?

“Where’s your Pop?” he asked Rachel in a whisper. “I can’t believe he’s letting this happen.”

“Bishops’ Conference in York. He won’t be home until tomorrow,” she said. “Simon was so pleased Pop put him in charge.”

“Which is why he is doing this, whatever it is.”

“Let’s just go in the house. Maybe everyone will follow us.”

Jacob shook his head. “If we walk, he will be furious. At least he’s calm right now and his thinking is not muddled by rage.”

“But it is,” Rachel said.

Oh, Lord, and she was right.

Discontent rose behind them.

Simon raised his arms.

The restlessness stopped, but silence held like a bow string about to snap.

Simon began sermonizing about the virgins lighting the bridegroom’s way with the lamps, then he went on to the wedding miracle of water to wine. His entire sermon revolving around the sanctity of marriage, Simon waxed eloquent.

Then he began an old tune. “Who do you think has the most important role in the Amish Church?”

He asked all the right questions. Who? Who? And who? He spoke slowly, stretched the parody from its original form. Jacob wanted to shout for him to finish.

Finish, please, he thought.

“It is not the preacher, the deacon, or the Bishop,” Simon said. “None of them!” he shouted now. “It is the woman with babies in her arms who has the greatest role in our church. For in Amish life, the family is central. To be a mother is a high and holy calling.” He indicated Rachel with a sweep of his hand. “Observe my wife, Rachel Zook Sauder, babe in arms, a mother at last.”

At Simon’s evil grin, a powerless rage filled Jacob, and he turned to the crowd. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s my fault.” But few heard or understood.

“Adultery!” Simon shouted, and even from a distance, Jacob could see the cords in his neck tighten. That word the congregation understood. And it was too late.

Ignoring the shocked silence, Simon narrowed his gaze on them. “The father of my wife’s babies stands — not your humble Deacon before you, but the man beside her. I give you Jacob and Rachel Sauder, shameful in God’s eyes, the lowliest of sinners. Adulterers.”

Startled cries, bold exclamations of denial, hushed, ‘no, no,’ and ‘can’t be,’ trickled to silence.

Levi came and took the babies from him and Rachel. “Come,
Leibchen
,” he said to Rachel. “He is sick and angry, our Simon. Come along now.”

But they hadn’t moved before Simon whipped the sheet from the large object in the center of the field, exposing the printing press.

“What is he doing?” Jacob said.

“He’s gone,” Ruben said, lifting Emma into his arms, his frown fierce.

One by one, members of the congregation began to turn away.

Simon lit a pine torch and teased the hay-covered mound below the press. “Behold the wrath of God!” he shouted.

Hay ignited. Flames grew.

Aaron laughed.

Simon noticed people leaving and stepped forward. “No, wait! Come back. Watch. Witness God’s fury.” He pulled at men’s arms. Turned women around. Some remained. Others shrugged him off and turned away.

Furious, Simon lunged toward Rachel. Jacob let go of Aaron’s hand to intercept him. And they scuffled like schoolboys, except that Jacob couldn’t shake the notion that this was a matter of life and death.

“Aaron!” Ruben shouted.

Breathing hard, they stopped, and saw Aaron running toward the fire. “No!” Simon shouted. And Jacob ran.

But Simon grabbed his arm … stopped him.

“Let me go,” Jacob shouted. “I thought you loved him.”

Simon’s fist cracked his jaw.

The world spun.

Jacob tasted grass.

Simon screamed Aaron’s name.

Slowed to a dreamlike pace, impossible to speed, Jacob got on all fours. In a tilting world, he saw Ruben carrying Rachel, kicking and screaming, to the house. Datt and Esther carried the girls.

He took a breath. Rose. The world tipped again. But he stood straight … and saw Simon scoop Aaron in his arms mid-run, continuing beyond the fire and away from it.

The earth rumbled. Moved.

Jacob swayed. He fell to his knees.

Screams. Shouts.

A force raised the press. It hovered. Splintered.

Flames burst.

Jacob’s cry was lost in a second explosion.

Debris rained like hail.

The spiral shaft of the Gutenberg flew in a perfect arc.

Simon pushed Aaron’s face against his chest and presented his back as target.

The shaft struck Simon’s head.

He fell and rolled, holding Aaron the whole while.

When Jacob reached them, Simon was gone.

And Jacob freed his terrified, sobbing son from beneath the man who loved him more than life.

Chapter 20

Refusing all offers of help, Jacob carried his brother’s body back to the house, Aaron walking somberly beside him holding his jacket. How young his boy, yet how mature he seemed, suddenly, as he respected the solemnity of their journey, though he did not understand it.

When Jacob placed Simon on his bed in the
kinderhaus
, their father insisted he be the one to wash and dress his oldest son for the last time. “He is with Mom now,” Datt said, which, Jacob realized was his father’s salvation in the face of this disaster.

Some of the men put out the small fires that had resulted from the explosion, others cleaned up the wreckage. Two men and one woman had been injured by flying debris. No children, thank God.

The Elders remained after the frightening service to keep vigil and pray.

Ruben and Esther took Emma home with them but Aaron would not be removed from Jacob’s side.

By evening, after the wooden casket was delivered, Simon’s body was displayed in the best room. He looked unscarred, natural, asleep almost, the deadly wound on the back of his head, invisible to any who gazed upon him.

Jacob prayed Simon had finally found peace, and if he had, it was likely for the first time.

Frightened even more by this aspect of Simon’s death, Aaron stationed himself by the coffin and refused to move from it, so Jacob pulled up a chair, sat and took his son on his lap.

Silence held for a long while, then, “Unkabear?”

When Simon did not respond, Aaron turned his face into Jacob’s coat.

Rachel agreed to lie down, the babies beside her, at around midnight. She’d been frightfully quiet since service. Jacob wished she would cry or rage … something.

Aaron slept finally, and Jacob held him as he kept vigil, worrying about the ramifications of the ghastly tragedy.

Rachel would be judged.

Aaron’s and Datt’s hearts were broken.

All his fault, Jacob knew. His foolish flight four years before had fueled the problem, but not as much as his return. His love for Rachel too.