Jacob's Way (23 page)

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Authors: Gilbert Morris

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BOOK: Jacob's Way
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Ben had drunk more than he should. Because he was still thin, the liquor hit him hard.

The game went on, with Ben winning. Finally he turned to find Sam standing beside him, disapproval on his face.

“Hello, Sam. Sit down. I'll relieve you of some of your money.”

“Time to go, Ben.”

Driver snapped, “Don't tell me what to do, Sam!”

Sam frowned, but he shrugged and backed off. “All right. It ain't none of my business.”

“That's right.” Driver turned back to his cards.

Sam interrupted again. “Reisa and Dov saved your life. Don't that give you no ideas?”

Driver held fast. “If you don't like it, get out!”

Sam left the room in disgust. But for Driver the fun had gone out of the game. The others were watching him, and he said, “I'll raise ten dollars.”

“Too rich for me,” Ridley said. “I think you're bluffing, but I'm not going to lose money on it.”

The others dropped out, all except a roughly dressed man named Nance who was down to his last chip. “I ain't got the money, but I got a pair of mules that I'll put up.”

“What kind of mules?”

“Steady mules,” Nance said. “Young. About five years old, both of 'em in their prime. I got you beat this time, Driver. You'll never see them mules.”

“I call your bet.”

He laid down his hand, which was three of a kind, but Driver laid down four of a kind. “Game's over. I've had enough.”

Ridley protested. “You've got to give us a chance to win some of that money back.”

“You had your chance,” Driver said. “Come on, Nance, introduce me to those mules.”

Nance grinned at him broadly. “Happiest day of my life to get rid of them mules.”

“They sick or broke down?”

“No, they ain't. They're strong, but they're the meanest pair I ever had in my life!”

Nance led Driver to the stable where he had left the mules and turned over their reins. When one mule tried to bite him and one tried to kick him, he found out that Nance had spoken the truth—both mules were as mean and treacherous as it was possible for animals to be. But they were healthy, strong, and in fine condition. He'd find some way to control them.

Reisa's face came to him, and he thought of how she had murmured wistfully of her dream to have a team and a wagon. Acting on impulse, Ben took some of his cash and purchased a wagon from the stable owner. It took all his money, but he had a team and a wagon.

Finally, with the help of the stable owner, Ben wrestled the two mules into harness. The liquor slowed down his reflexes, and he was breathing hard by the time he succeeded.

Climbing up on the seat, he nodded. “Much obliged.”

“Watch out for them critters,” the stable owner said, handing him the reins. “I've knowed mules to be good for five years just to get a chance to kick a fella once.”

“Sure.”

Driver held the lines firmly, and as expected the mules tried to bolt. He leaned back and pulled their heads cruelly, but it took all his strength to get them to stop.

That struggle was continued all the way back to the house. By the time he pulled up, he was exhausted. He drew up in front of the house and sat there staring at the mules.

Reisa came out of the house at once, her eyes shining, and she started for the mules.

“Stay away from those animals!” Driver called out sharply. “They'll bite a plug out of you!”

Reisa stopped reluctantly. As Ben held the mules, she called, “Ben, where did you get them?”

“Won 'em in a poker game and bought the wagon with the rest of the money. Now you got what you wanted.”

Reisa came near the wagon. Driver held the mules carefully, as they were still full of life and meanness. “Oh, it's wonderful! Now we can start fixing it up.”

“Fixing it up!” Driver said in confusion. The liquor had worn off, but he was at the end of his strength. “What do you mean, fixing it up?”

“Oh, we'll have to fix the compartments in it. I told you about that,” she cried excitedly. “But we can do it!”

“Do it with what? If you got it fixed up, you won't have any money to stock it with. I don't have a dime left.”

Ben looked down, and Reisa's face filled his vision. She had a marvelous expression of gaiety in her eyes, and somehow a provocative challenge. As her quick breathing disturbed her breast and color ran freshly across her cheeks, he knew that this woman had something for him that no other woman had ever had.

“All right,” Driver said with resignation. He looked up and, seeing Dov, said, “Dov, go up and see if you can hang onto the heads of these two critters. If they fool with you, bust 'em in the nose.” He waited until Dov had the mules in hand before he climbed from the wagon.

Close now to Reisa, he looked into her sparkling eyes, noted her excitement, and suddenly, for the first time in many years, felt good that something had gone right.

“I don't know how we'll do it, Reisa,” Ben said. “But somehow I know you'll find a way.”

“God will give us what we need,” she stated confidently.

Seventeen

A
week had passed since Ben had brought the mules and wagon from town. He had spent a great deal of time trying to gentle the pair, but with little success. Still a little peeved at Ben for his gambling, Sam had enjoyed watching Ben's struggles hugely.

One day Jacob and Sam sat out on the front porch enjoying the breeze. Inside they could hear the sounds of Phineas playing his violin for Dov, and from far off came the cry of a pack of hounds pursuing something. “The New Year's coming up,” Jacob said.

“New Year? Whatcha talking about, Jacob? It's only September!”

“I'm talking about the Jewish New Year, Sam. It doesn't always fall exactly on the same calendar date, but the first days of our New Year are called the Days of Awe. And days one and two are called Rosh Hashanah.”

“Well, I'll be dipped!” Sam said. “I just figured we had the same calendar.”

“No. Ours is somewhat different. On the tenth day we celebrate Yom Kippur.”

“And what's that for?”

“That's the Day of Atonement. Probably, to many of us, the most important day of all.”

Sam listened as Jacob explained the meaning of the holy days, and finally he said, “Well, you can't have much of a celebration out here in the back side of nowhere.”

“No. I would like very much to go to a synagogue. I miss meeting with my people.”

Sam scratched his head so hard that his eyes were pulled together. “Well, drat it, I don't know why you can't! There's a synagogue in Richmond, ain't they?”

“So I've heard, but I've never been there.”

“Well, I've heard it, too, so we're gonna up and go. How about today?”

Jacob was shocked. In all truth he had no thought whatsoever of going to Richmond, but now that Sam had brought it up, he began thinking about it. “But it's a long trip.”

“Why, it ain't no piece.” Sam shook his head. “We got that wagon and that team of mules.” A sly grin touched his lips, and he said, “Of course, that wagon and team is probably the way to sin, seein' as how Ben won 'em at a poker game. You don't reckon it would unsanctify you to ride in such a sinful thing, do you?”

“I do not think that would be a problem, but can it be done?”

Sam leaped up and ran inside. He stopped to tell Reisa what her grandfather wanted, and she was very pleased. “Oh, it would be wonderful, Sam, but can we do it?”

“You go get yourself all prettied up and get your grandpa ready. I'll have Ben hook up them mules, and I'll go along with you. I always wanted to go to that synagogue, but I never had the nerve to do it by myself.”

When Sam broached the idea of driving Jacob and Reisa to Richmond to worship at the synagogue, Ben seemed surprised. He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, they may get ready in ten minutes, but it'll take longer than that to get those ornery mules hooked up.”

“I kind of like the names Miss Reisa gave 'em. Samson and Delilah. Don't you?”

“I've called 'em a lot worse.” Ben grinned. Then he said, “I'd better go get a two-by-four in case I have to persuade them a little bit.”

Nevertheless, in less than an hour the party left. Nobody but Ben could handle Samson and Delilah. He had rigged a buggy whip and could reach out and snap it so that it touched their sensitive ears when they tried to get rambunctious.

“Them mules is just like a woman, Ben,” Sam said. He was sitting in the backseat with Reisa, and he winked at her. “A little correction every now and then does 'em good.”

Reisa made a face at him, but clearly she was happy. Jacob, too, looked better than he had in days. Evidently he had missed the ceremonies of the synagogue.

Reisa leaned over, put her arm around Sam, and gave him a hug. “You're an angel, Sam.”

“Well, I've been called lots of things, but never an angel. But I'm right glad you think so, Miss Reisa.”

They reached town, and as they entered the synagogue Rabbi Eli Altschul welcomed the party with a broad smile. He did not fit the typical image of a rabbi, for he was a powerfully built man with a head of thick black hair and large brown eyes. He had a determined chin and a slight hook to his nose, and as the spiritual leader of the small community of Jews in Richmond, he greeted the visitors royally.

As they prepared for the service, he asked Jacob, “You were a teacher of Hebrew in the Old Country?”

“Yes, I was,” Jacob replied.

“We could use a man like you in this synagogue. I'm ashamed to say that some of our young people have begun to follow the Reform Movement, turning away from the old ways.”

“I'm afraid I won't be able to help a great deal, but whatever I can I will do.” Jacob hesitated, then held out a box that he had brought with him. “I thought this might be interesting to you, Rabbi.”

Altschul took the box, opened it, and exclaimed, “A shofar, and it looks very old.”

“I was told it came from the Holy Land itself from the very shadow of the Temple. It has been my most prized possession for many years.”

“Indeed! I must prevail upon you to do the honor.”

Blowing the shofar, which was a ram's horn, was one of the traditions associated with Rosh Hashanah. There was no explanation in the Torah for what blowing the horn meant, but most rabbis arrived at the conclusion that it was to wake the slumbering conscience. Others said it called the people to war against evil.

In any case, when the service began, Driver and Sam sat with the men, while Reisa sat with the women, as the custom was. There were no more than thirty people in the synagogue. At least ten men were required, and there were fourteen including the rabbi.

Lifting the shofar to his lips, Jacob began to blow. First he blew a loud clear blast which was called the
tekaiah
. Then when that faded away, he blew a series of three short notes called the
shevarim
. Finally he blew a quick staccato series of nine short notes in a row, which was called a
teruah
.

Jacob bowed to the congregation, and there were murmurs of appreciation. He took his seat, and the sermon went on, which included many Bible readings and songs which neither Driver nor Sam could understand because they were in Hebrew. Many of the songs were sung by a cantor, a young man with jet black hair and liquid brown eyes, whose voice was as clear as a striking bell.

Finally the service was over. As they left the building, Ben murmured to Sam, “I didn't understand much about that service, but it did Jacob and Reisa a lot of good.”

They passed out into the sunlight and walked down to the street where Driver had hitched the team. They were only ten feet away when three men suddenly came out of a saloon. At once Driver drew himself up.

The leader of the three was not a tall man, but he was massively built. His head was joined onto his body with a neck so thick it was impossible to tell where it began or where it left off. His lips were thick, and his eyes an odd color, more hazel than anything else. His face changed, and he suddenly moved to stand in front of Driver. “Well, look who's back in town. I heard you got out.”

“Hello, Fears.”

“Don't reckon you know this fella, Alf.” He turned to a tall, lanky man with cold blue eyes and a mouth like a catfish. “This here's Ben Driver, the great soldier. He won the war all by himself. Ain't that right, Ben?”

Driver did not answer. His glance flickered over the three, and he nodded to the smallest of the trio. “Hello, Vic.”

“Hello, Driver.” Vic Giles, undersized with light brown hair and blue eyes, wore a forty-four prominently displayed on his hip. It had a pearl handle, and the holster was of exquisitely tooled leather. “When did you get out of jail?”

Driver was not looking at Reisa, but he could sense her stirring at the threatening tone in the man's voice. He didn't want to bring her or the rest of them into this, so he kept his voice carefully neutral. “How have you been, Vic?”

Honey Fears said, “You're lookin' peaked. They didn't treat you good up at the pen, I reckon.”

“It was all right.” Driver kept his eye fixed on Fears. The man was a bruiser and was the bully of the county. He had whipped every man that had ever come up against him, often breaking them up so badly that they never recovered. He had kicked one man to death in a fight years before. He had also been the leader of a group of wild young men, and it was this same group—of which Driver was a part—that had robbed the store. Fears and the others had escaped, and Driver alone had taken the fall. He had never identified the others, but he saw now that this made no difference to Fears.

Driver waited for Fears to speak, but the big man merely shoved his way through the small group. “Come on. It looks like the fighting Ben Driver's been tamed. They say the state pen does that for some fellows.”

The three left, and Driver did not speak. Sam helped Jacob in and then Reisa, then climbed in himself. Driver unhitched the mules and with a quick bound got into the seat. They reared up as they often did, but he jerked them back. “Delilah—Samson, behave!”

The ride out of town was rather quiet. Finally Sam spoke up. “I don't know how that Fears fellow stayed out of jail. Maybe because he's a friend of Vic.”

“Why would that keep him out of jail?” Reisa asked.

“Because that's Vic Giles. The little one with the gun. His daddy is Sheriff Charlie Giles.” Sam shook his head in utter disgust. “Them three have been into everything for the last three to four years, but they never get hauled up. Everybody's scared of Honey Fears.”

“What about his friend, the one they call Alf?”

“That's Alf Despain. He killed two black men and one white man. Never got convicted neither. Should have been, though.”

Driver bit his tongue and said nothing.

The following day, Driver was in a dark mood. He remained quiet, staying out in the woods with Dov hunting. Late in the afternoon he brought back a sack full of squirrels which he carried, and Dov carried over his broad shoulders the carcass of a large ten-point buck.

As Phineas helped with the dressing of the meat, he said to Ben, “You must be the world's greatest shot. Look at these squirrels. Every one of 'em shot in the head. And I keep up with the shells. You never miss!” He shook his head in wonder. “Beats me how a one-eyed man can do that!”

Ben Driver smiled slightly for the first time all day, but all he said was, “I noticed yesterday that the mules need to be shod. Don't know where I'll get the money for it, though.”

Phineas nodded. “Something'll turn up,” he said.

Hilda Swenson was sitting beside her mother. Hilda was sewing, and Mrs. Emma Swenson was listening as Hilda spoke from time to time. Mrs. Swenson was a frail woman of sixty-four with white hair and faded blue eyes. Her health had deteriorated a great deal in the past year so that now she had to walk painfully with a cane. She also had memory lapses which troubled her a great deal.

Hilda broke off suddenly, for a knock had sounded at the door. “Who could that be, Mama?” she said.

“I don't know. You'd better go see.”

Laying the sewing aside, Hilda moved toward the door. She was wearing overalls, as usual, but her long blonde hair was tied at the nape of her neck and came halfway down to her waist. When she opened the door, she blinked with surprise. “Well, hello, Dov,” she said.

“Miss Hilda.” Dov nodded. “Ben kill a deer, and I think you like some fresh meat.”

Hilda kept her head turned to one side to conceal the scar, but she smiled. The simple smile made her look much younger and changed her whole appearance. “Come in. I'll put the meat where the flies can't get at it.”

Dov had to stoop to get through the rather low doorway, and he stood there until Hilda returned.

“My mother would like to meet you.”

Dov followed Hilda into a well-furnished, large, airy room with high windows.

“This is my mother. And this is Dov Puskin.”

Mrs. Swenson smiled. “I'm happy to know you.” She still had a Swedish accent after so many years, for both she and her husband had come to this country speaking no English at all. “My daughter has told me how much you helped her with the wagon. It was very good of you.”

Dov smiled and nodded at the frail woman. “Your daughter works hard. I glad to help. My English bad.”

“No worse than mine when we first came here. Tell me about yourself, Mr. Puskin.”

Dov waved his massive hand. “Please. Just Dov.” He smiled, and his teeth were very white against his swarthy skin and black beard. “That mean bear in Russian. People say I like bear.”

Hilda said, “Please take a chair, Dov. I've fixed some tea, and we have sweet cakes.”

Dov did not protest, and the women watched—Hilda with some amusement—as he drank cup after cup of tea and fairly demolished the sweet cake.

“Good!” he exclaimed. “You make?”

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