Chapter 19
I paced back and forth across my room. I’d missed dinner and the day had given way to night, but I couldn’t settle.
Abby. Abby. Abby.
I swore I saw her in the attic, but then again, how could I have? Nothing made sense.
I should’ve told Jacob about my fears, shown him the piano right away that he didn’t know about.
But what if he dismissed me or gave me that look of disgust again?
I wasn’t certain I could bear disappointing him once more with my failures.
Deep in my belly I knew the inescapable truth that my husband was all I ultimately had; my claim on him in this life and the next would exalt and save me.
What were temporary pianos and ghosts compared to an eternity of hellfire?
No, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ask him about the piano or what I saw. I couldn’t risk the consequences that could literally stretch into eternity.
The door pushed open. I glanced up expecting to see Prudence with a tray insisting I eat, but instead Jacob stood in the doorway. I’d forgotten it was my night. Gooseflesh pimpled up my arms as we stared at each other.
“You seem troubled, my dearest,” he said.
The room rattled as he shut the door. A frantic hive of bees awoke in my chest.
“I’m fine, simply not tired,” I lied.
Jacob crossed the room to the bed, still studying me. The mattress groaned beneath him.
“Prudence said you were out of sorts and didn’t come to dinner.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
Jacob drew his hand into his coat pocket.
“I’ve brought something to help, Hazel.” He held up a black book like a beacon. “The word of the Lord is what you need. And a generous husband,” he added with a chuckle.
I recognized that book. The last time I saw this book it was sinking into the mire of blood surrounding Abby’s body.
“Kneel, Hazel,” Jacob commanded, licking his lips. “For prayer.”
I obeyed, unable to tear my eyes from his book. “Are these your scriptures, Jacob?”
“Yes. I’ve had it since I was called into the mission field years ago.”
He flipped open the front cover to reveal his name etched in looping browning scrawl. Then, he closed his eyes and bent his head to pray.
I couldn’t understand the words of the prayer; each supplication sounded as if coming from too far away.
The book of scriptures Jacob now held was the same as in the nightmare and, as that first day when I ran my fingers along his bookshelf, alive with lightning.
I cautiously cracked my eyes open as Jacob continued his oration to God. The black book of scripture filled my entire vision. I could almost see the phantom blood seeping off the cover.
Could this book be the clue to who wished Abby harm?
“In the name of thy son, Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen,” I murmured, unaware of the words I sealed my own lips to. I didn’t rise.
His fingers gripped the bottom of my chin and he lifted my face to meet his. There was no indication of a secret in his unusually darkened eyes, but there was another gleam to them: lust.
“Perhaps we could return to the scriptures later tonight, my darling.” His voice was soothing, slow. With a light touch, his thumb stroked across my jawline.
“Say you will always be mine, Hazel.” His fingers pressed harder into my skin, digging against my bones.
“I will,” I whispered back, my tongue fat and uncooperative.
“Say you love me.”
“I love you.”
My vision blurred as he pressed his mouth to my lips, to my neck, as his hands wandered down my chest to grab at my breasts.
I closed my eyes and willed myself to disappear. Each kiss, each touch wasn’t my own. My phantom limbs moved, drawing into the heat of Jacob’s body, but my head spun elsewhere.
The house. The book. The blood. Abby.
I matched his moans and pressed my hands into the sweating flesh of his back as he moved over me. But deep within, I didn’t feel desire. I felt myself floating farther away, watching myself from outside of my own body.
The house. The book. The blood. Abby.
Jacob’s fingers stroked my arm, but I stared up at the cold ceiling. His words slurred with sleep.
“You’re turning into a good wife, my Hazel. God is pleased.”
For the first time, I distrusted how much I craved that approval, how my pulse raced with excitement at the pronouncement.
“I believe you might have earned your piano,” he continued softly.
I swallowed a surprised cry—a strange mixture of elation and confusion.
Though he bordered on sleep, I could sense the anticipation of my response in his breathing.
Knowing just what he wanted, I whispered, “Thank you.” Why did it feel like jagged glass coming out of my throat?
Jacob nodded and closed his eyes. “I have one in the attic I could bring down for you. It would be wonderful to hear your beautiful music through the house. You could play for me every night.”
My mind screamed.
I have a piano in the attic.
But Jacob said there wasn’t a piano. He swore he knew nothing of the music I heard.
Either he hadn’t been telling me the truth, or he’d had been watching me far more closely than I’d realized.
I held in my hands proof of a deceit but didn’t know what to do with it.
In all my years of instruction from home and church, no one had ever offered the possibility that husbands and priesthood holders could openly lie to their wives.
I glanced back over at Jacob, unsure if I was ready to accuse or accept, but he’d succumbed to sleep. The conversation was resolutely over, leaving me unmoored. His low, even breaths held no comfort for me in the darkness as they had before.
I twisted out of his embrace. The bed shuddered as I escaped it, and I ran my hand along the floor to retrieve my nightgown.
I stalked to the window while throwing the gown back over my head.
My hands gripped the windowsill and I leaned my head against the glass.
Even the usually brilliant stars were dull.
Another light flickered at the corner of my eye. A faint luster grew slowly in the room, gathering strength bit by bit. I spun around, holding the sill behind me for support.
The apparition of Abby stared back at me.
Her despondent face matched mine—twin reflections of shame and terror.
I knew I should scream or command the vision to leave, but I couldn’t muster the strength.
Perhaps I needed to offer her my hand, to see if she was from heaven or hell, as the prophet Joseph taught.
“What do you want from me?” I whispered.
The visitor glanced at Jacob’s sleeping form.
“What does that mean?”
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Another hymn swelled through the night air, filling the room until it threatened to choke me with its mournful chords.
Then in a blink, the vision was gone and the room again empty.
I sank to the floor, cradling my legs against my chest, unable to drag myself back to the bed to lay beside him. Instead, I closed my eyes and prayed for the oblivion of sleep on the hard floor.