Forbidden (28 page)

“You can't save everyone, Roc. Even me. If it's God's will for me to die, then you can't stop that.”

“God's will? What does God's will have to do with this…with any of this?”

“It has everything to do with it.”

“Then if it was God's will that Josef died, why blame yourself?”

“Because…” She released a breath. “I can't help it. I didn't say it was logical. I simply said that's how I feel. It's not logical that you should blame yourself either for your wife's death. But that's how it is. We shouldn't live by our feelings, though. We should temper our feelings with reality.” She was silent for a moment, her hands clasped in her lap at the base of her belly. “You called her name…in your sleep.”

It didn't surprise him. Again, he didn't know what to say, so he simply whispered, “I'm sorry.”

“I know.” She touched his arm. “I am too.”

Silence pulsed between them for a long time. Rachel felt as if she just stripped in front of Roc and bared not only her body but her very soul, all the darkness, all the secrets. And yet there was still more he didn't know, he couldn't know.

She shivered, and he pulled the quilt up around her. She burrowed into the bedding as if she could cover her embarrassment as well as her sins.

“I dream about Emma,” he said, his voice deep and resonating through her. He had strong, powerful arms, and they had swept away her loneliness for a moment as she'd clung to him. She'd wanted that feeling to continue. “That she's calling for me. That I'm racing to get to her. That she's just out of reach.” His hand fisted as if he could hold onto his wife and their life together.

Rachel recognized that frustrating, painful feeling and couldn't restrain herself from placing an arm around his shoulders.

He stiffened. “Rachel, don't.”

She studied his square jaw highlighted and softened by thick dark hair as his beard was filling out, the straight nose, the hard, glinting eyes fringed with long dark lashes. His muscles rippled underneath his tanned skin, and she smoothed her hand over his rounded shoulder in a gentle caress. “What are you afraid of, Roc?”

“What you should be.”

“Everyone needs someone. I'm here for you. Just like you're here for me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “This is acceptable in the Amish world?”

“There are things we cannot explain or defend or fight against. Like Akiva. These things don't exist in the Amish world.” She slid a hand through the crook of his arm and clasped hands with him. “Come on.” She tugged on him. “Lie down and go to sleep, Roc. I'll protect you from those dreams.”

“Rachel, I can't.” He got up from the bed, put distance between them. “I would ruin you.”

How could he ruin her, she wondered, when she was already ruined. “Where are you going?”

“To the barn with the other animals.”

And he left her alone.

She reached out and touched warm skin.

In the darkness, his arms came around her and banished the bad dream. Levi was there, as he'd always been—solid, warm, safe. Only in the last six or seven months had Hannah come to understand he had always been there for her, waiting patiently.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice husky from sleep.

Hannah nodded against his shoulder and snuggled closer.

“Another bad dream?”

“The whispers. And someone was tugging at me, pulling me down, and I couldn't breathe.”

His hand rubbed along her back. “You're safe now. Meditate on this verse: ‘For He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.'”

“Will they ever go away?”

“In time.” His voice sounded solid. “I hope in time.”

Careful to hold onto the railing, Rachel came down the narrow wooden stairs. She felt sluggish, her ankles thick, her body ungainly, her spirit heavy. After the noon meal, she had taken a short nap and now planned to help Sally with some ironing or baking.

Sally looked up as she set the metal iron on the stove burner. “Feeling better?”

“
Ja.
I'm not usually so lazy.”

“You're not lazy at all. Just expecting. Babies zap us of strength, before birth and after. When I was carrying Samuel, I waddled around like a duck, and every chance, I stuck my feet in a chair. It helped the swelling. And with Jacob—” Her lips pressed together, and she blinked rapidly as she wiped her hands on her black apron. “I'll brew you some tea.”

Rachel took the older woman's advice and sat at the kitchen table, propping her feet on the bench where Roc and Samuel usually sat. She reached for a bowl of green beans and started snapping them.

“Jonas came back from the post office with the mail a few minutes ago.” Sally handed Rachel an envelope. “And brought you a letter.”

“For me?” Instantly, she recognized Hannah's handwriting, and her heart jolted with joy. She wanted to rip into the envelope and devour her sister's words, but she also sensed deep sorrow in Sally since she'd mentioned Jacob. The loss of a child, no matter the age or circumstances, left a jagged wound in a mother's heart. So for a few more minutes, she conversed with Sally about weeding the garden and the fresh tomatoes she'd brought inside earlier. She raved about Sally's ability to grow such fine vegetables. Finally, the other woman finished ironing the last shirt and headed outside to check the laundry.

With her heart racing, Rachel opened the letter and read as she sipped the lemon-balm tea.

Dear Rachel,

By now, you know the truth I tried to hide from you. It's not that I wanted to be cruel, I simply wanted to protect you. I am sorry. I thought I was doing right. If I had told you the truth about Jacob and Akiva and how Josef died, then maybe you wouldn't have gone with Akiva. Maybe then you would be safe at home now. I hope you can forgive me.

It has been very hot here of late. We are needing rain something awful. Mamm's garden lettuce has wilted, but the green beans are doing well.

Katie misses you, as do I. She has been cooking for Mamm, as it gets very hot in the afternoons, and I will say I think her blackberry cobbler is even better than Mamm's.

Sadie Detweiler is going to have another baby come spring. It looks like Amos Borntreger has finally won Rosalie's heart. We will see, come fall, if the Waglers start growing celery for a wedding feast.

Mamm is worried about you and the baby. She frets every day about not being near when your time comes. I asked Levi if I could travel to Ohio and stay with his folks so I could be near you and help. Right now, he is not keen on the idea. But if you are wanting that, I will ask him again.

Love,

Your devoted sister, Hannah

Carefully, Rachel refolded the letter and slid it back into the envelope, her hands trembling.
The
truth
about
how
Josef
died? What did Hannah mean? And why did she think she now knew? Did Roc know?
Her heart pounded, and tears swelled up in her eyes.
What
had
happened
that
night?

She became aware of the back door opening and closing.

“Everything all right with your family, I hope?” Sally asked, her arms full of sheets.

“
Ja
, the family is well.” Her throat tight with unshed tears, Rachel rose and helped Sally fold the laundry, wrapping up her own emotions and tying them up inside her heart.

Roc turned off the whirring sander, and the quiet in the workshop startled him. Usually, hammering or the churning of the power saw kept the noise level high, but now in the sudden stillness, his ears thrummed. He'd learned the tools were powered by hydraulics through diesel generators. If there was a rule, he mused, there was always a way around it.

Roc was alone with skeletons of rockers, minicaskets, otherwise known as cedar chests, and a neighborhood of birdhouses for a retirement village of birds tired of the commute every year. At this time of the afternoon, he figured Jonas and Samuel had gone off to the barn to feed the horses.

He glanced out the back door, which looked out on the driveway used for the Fishers' buggy. Samuel's motorcycle was sitting in the shade of the barn on the back side of the building, not noticeable from the road. It was a ploy Fisher used, hoping his neighbors and fellow Amish would believe all was well and normal and plain at their home. But it was a façade, because there was something else abnormal about this family.

Roc suspected Jonas had run from Pennsylvania in his effort to forget the truth about his son Jacob. But he could run only for so long, because his troubles had followed him.

From the doorway, Roc saw the two men out by several white boxes that sat near the back of their property and housed beehives. Jonas was wearing some sort of baggy covering, long gloves, and a helmet. Samuel was there too, and they were doing something with the bees, probably collecting more honey, which they sold in jars at a local bakery. Even though Roc had enjoyed honey on his biscuits each morning, he kept his distance from the hives.

A soft clearing of the throat alerted him to a visitor behind him. He turned toward a woman wearing shorts that showed off white, dimply skin and a tank top that revealed too much of everything—the rolls around her middle, her droopy breasts, and excess skin on her arms. With a last-ditch glance over his shoulder, wishing Jonas or Samuel were unoccupied, he strolled toward this woman, brushing sawdust off his sleeves and looking for all the world like a plain Amish man, and yet knowing he didn't come close. He hoped he could just point this woman in the right direction.

“
Guten
morgan
,” she chirped then laughed. “Oh that's morning not afternoon. Sorry. What is it you folks say in the afternoon?”

He blinked at the tourist, not quite knowing how to answer. “Hello works fine.”

Disappointment made her cheeks sag momentarily. “Well, hello, then.”

He nodded politely.

“I'm looking at these.” She spoke in a distinctly loud and annoying tone, as if she thought he was hard of hearing or having a difficult time translating. She waved toward a wooden birdhouse that was anything but plain. It had an intricate roof with wood-chip shingles. The three-story complex could be a homestead for several generations of martins. “How much are these?”

To answer the woman's question, Roc nodded toward the sign on the wall.

Her jaw went slack. “That much? Good grief.”

He simply waited, the way he'd seen Jonas do when customers came into the shop. Often they tried to bargain him down, but he knew what his woodwork was worth, and he didn't budge.

Finally, the woman shook her head, making her neck waggle like a turkey's wattle and shifted her focus. She meandered around, peering at the other woodwork: dressers, lazy Susans, which she spun, and grandfather clocks. She examined pieces as if she were an expert, even testing a rocker and moving it back and forth.

“So”—she clapped her palms against the rocker's armrests—“will you knock down the price?”

He shook his head, indicating no in any language or culture. Jonas had told him to stay clear of customers and neighbors, and not to talk, since he'd found it difficult to alter his New Orleans drawl to resemble the more clipped Pennsylvania Dutch accent. Since the Amish weren't talkative to strangers, he hadn't had too much difficulty so far.

“Are you—?” The woman stopped and glanced beyond his shoulder. Her hopeful expression flipped into a frown.

An Amish man stood in the doorway of the workshop. Roc had met a few neighbors who had come by to chat with Jonas, exchange a bit of news, or borrow a tool. By and large, Rachel and he had avoided church so far because last week was a “between Sunday” when the Fishers stayed home rather than traveling to one of their neighbors. Still, he hadn't met this neighbor.

“Well,” the woman sighed, “I guess there's no arguing with you about it. You all stick together, don't you?” She pushed up from the rocking chair and waddled past quilt stands and turkey callers, past the Amish man, who stepped out of the doorway to accommodate her, then stepped back into the workshop. Roc bent, readjusting the rocker and hoping the Amish fellow would decide Jonas wasn't available and move on.

“Jonas here?”

Roc thought carefully about the best way to answer without revealing he wasn't truly Amish. Finally, he simply nodded.

The man said something in what Roc recognized as Pennsylvania Dutch. He had no idea what was said, but he took a steadying breath and tried to think of something else to say. Finally, he kept to the basics. “
Ja
.”

The man frowned.

Roc swallowed hard.
Now
what?

“Can I help you?” a female voice asked from behind the Amish man. At first sight of Rachel, Roc breathed easier.

“You Jonas's daughter-in-law? All the way from Pennsylvania, eh?”

She carried a tray with glasses of lemonade. “His son, Levi, is married to my sister. I'm Rachel.”

“Aaron Weaver. And this here your husband?”

Her gaze shifted toward Roc. A smile touched the corner of her mouth. Or maybe it was his imagination. Finally, she said, “
Ja.
Would you care for some lemonade?”

Aaron shook his head and gave Roc a strange glance. “I was looking for Jonas.”

“Honey.” Roc pointed with his thumb over his shoulder toward the back door.

Rachel's blue eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed a rosy hue. Had she misunderstood him? Then she laughed, a delicate sound that acted like a potent drink to Roc. “Oh, yes, Jonas was planning on checking the hives today.”

Aaron folded his arms over his chest. “I'll wait, then.”

“Of course. You are welcome to some lemonade. If you don't mind, I came to borrow my husband for a moment.”

Roc grinned out of relief and walked out of the workshop with Rachel. She led him away from both the house and workshop, and when they were far enough, she giggled like a schoolgirl. “Jonas won't be happy you were chatting with neighbors.”

“Or customers.” He nodded in answer to her silent question. “But it wasn't my fault. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Their gazes met briefly, and Roc felt the stirrings of awareness. He wondered if he should apologize again for last night, but then she slipped her arm through his and led him away from the house and toward the barn. She was still smiling, still walking, still acting like all was normal and comfortable between them.

“Where are we going?”

“To town. Will you go with me?”

“How? On Samuel's motorcycle? It's fixed, but…”

Her footsteps slowed, and she looked shocked at his proposal. “We couldn't do that. We'll go in the buggy.”

This time, he slowed and pulled back. “Rachel, I don't know—”

She kept moving toward the barn with a determined stride.

“—how to drive a buggy. Or even hitch it up. Can't—”

“I'll help,” she said.

He planted his feet in the path, clasping her hand and forcing her to face him. “How are you going to do that? You're eight months—”

“Please, Roc.” Her hand settled on his chest. At that very moment, he'd do most anything for this woman. Not a good place to be as her protector. “I need to go. If you won't take me, then I'll go alone.”

“Well, that's not happening.” He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a slight pinch in his wounded shoulder, which was healing, thanks to her ministrations.

She met his gaze solidly, not backing down either.

“Okay,” he agreed. “If the horse cooperates, we'll get it figured out.”

Her smile gave him a disjointed feeling. She brushed a kiss against his cheek and then hurried on to the barn. “The horse could probably do it by himself.”

“Good.” Roc returned the smile. “Then I'll ask him.”