Page 2 of Melt For Us, Daddy
But she was about to, unless Jacob did as he was told.
Terror crawled up his spine as he jerked his head up to meet his father’s gaze. And in the pale gray, Jacob saw not just the hatred he’d come to expect but a glee that turned his blood to ice in his veins.
With his eyes locked on Jacob’s, Harlan reached for his belt, slowly opening the buckle and sliding the leather through the loops of his starched dress pants. “Caleb. You’ll need to hold Sarabeth for me. It’s her first time.”
His entire life, Jacob had only felt the lash of his father’s belt a few times. But Harlan had quickly learned that while Jacob could and would bear his own punishment with silent stoicism and then immediately return to his ‘rebellious ways’, he couldn’t so easily shrug off his sisters’ pain. He’d been ten the first time one of his sisters had been called to take his punishment for him. A decade later he still remembered her screams, the way she’d pleaded with him to make it stop, because they’d both known that it was his fault.
After that, he’d learned to obey quickly. Sometimes his temper still got the best of him and one of his sisters paid the price. Always with him in attendance. Making him watch was his punishment. One time, Jacob had hidden in the barn for three days when his father had declared that Hannah would bear his punishment for speaking out of turn in church. Harlan had waited him out, refusing to dole out the punishment until Jacob was there to bear witness. And he’d added extra lashes for Jacob’s defiance.
It was the first and last time he’d ever tried to evade his father’s discipline.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught Jacob’s attention and he glanced over to see Sarabeth struggling against Caleb’s hold.
“Stop it! I don’t like this game! Jacob, tell him to stop!”
The fear in her sweet, high voice snapped Jacob out of the trance he’d been in. “Okay!” He could hear the panic in his own voice, hated himself for the weakness. “I’ll do it, I’ll marry her. Just leave Sarabeth alone.”
Still holding the folded leather in his hand, Harlan waited, his gaze boring into Jacob as if he could see down to his very soul. And maybe he could. He was a Prophet of the Sacred Truth, after all.
The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds as father and son waged a silent battle. Until, at long last, Harlan nodded ever so slightly to Caleb. The older man released his hold on Sarabeth who immediately ran into Jacob’s arms. And though he knew he shouldn’t give his father any more ammunition to use his love for his sisters against him, he couldn’t turn her away. Bending down, he scooped her up into his arms, settling her on his hip and bouncing her gently as he met his father’s burning gaze.
“It’s settled, then. On Saturday there will be a wedding. And my son will finally be a man.”
Taking that as a dismissal, he turned and walked stiffly out of his father’s office, a sniffling Sarabeth still perched on his hip.
Three days. He had three short days to figure out how to save himself, and the sisters he loved.
Jacob
* * *
Sleep eluded him. There was no clock in his room to tell him how long he’d lain there, staring up at the darkened ceiling, but he was certain it had been hours.
How was he going to fix this? Marrying Ruthie condemned her to a life of being used for her own brother’s carnal pleasures. Forced to carry children he was certain the Lord would consider an abomination. Nothing the church explicitly taught said so, but he knew the truth of it in his bones.
But refusing would mean a painful punishment for Sarabeth, not to mention what his rejection would mean for Ruthie. And Jacob had no doubt if that wasn’t enough to gain his compliance, his father would simply work his way through his daughters until his son finally obeyed.
An impossible decision. No matter what he chose, someone he loved would suffer.
He couldn’t help but wonder if that was the real reason his father had chosen Ruthie. To punish him in the cruelest way he could imagine by forcing him to be complicit in the torment of someone he loved.
The creaking of his bedroom door had him shooting up in bed, his heart pounding as he watched the slender figure, draped in a nightgown that covered her from neck to ankle, slip into his room.
“You’re awake. Good.” Hannah’s voice was low, but firm, and when his eyes met hers in the moonlight he saw the determination burning there.
“What’s going on? You’re not supposed to be in here. They’ll… you know what father will do if you’re caught.”
“I can take it. I have taken it.”
Grief twisted a knife deep in his heart. “I know. I'm sorry.”
“I don’t need your apologies, Jacob. I need your action. We need your action.”
“What are you talking about?”
Settling on his bed, Hannah pulled a note from her pocket, pressing it into the palm of his hand. “There’s a man I’ve been talking to, when I go to the protests at that place in town they call the den of iniquity. I want you to find him, give him this note. They’ll send help, I know they will.”
Staring down at the neatly folded paper in his hand, he tried to understand what she was saying. “I can’t. If I leave, they’ll…” He swallowed hard. “It was Sarabeth this time.”
