I had. It hadn’t occurred to me. Consuming it was my only thought.
I bowed my head as Jacob’s deep voice filled the room. He thanked Father Gabriel and the Commission for my food. Really? He asked God to use its nutrients to help me heal. OK. When he paused, I began to move, but then he spoke again: “Let this food be a reminder that privileges given can be taken away. Thank you for correcting my wife and reminding me of my role. We won’t fail you again, for we trust you and Father Gabriel in all things. Amen.”
I didn’t move. My hunger suddenly waned.
What does all of that mean? What correction? Is Jacob agreeing with Brother Timothy that my suffering is because I sinned?
“Sara,” he said, lifting my chin. “You need to eat.”
He was right. I needed to eat, get strong, and get away. This wasn’t right. Everything about this wasn’t right. In my heart I knew I didn’t belong here. I reached again for the tray. This time, wordlessly, Jacob captured my hands and placed them upon my lap. Apparently, just as with the ice chips the night before, Jacob planned to feed me.
“Open.”
At that first command, my teeth clenched. I understood why he’d helped me last night, I’d been weak, but now I was relatively certain I could lift a spoon and find my mouth. Nevertheless, with just one word, he’d made it clear: food was coming, but only through him. Unable to argue, I could still refuse.
Though I entertained the thought, when the spoon touched my lip, I did as he’d said and opened my mouth. Bite by bite, my anger faded as my stomach filled. The soup—more like broth—was my favorite. I may have even hummed after the first bite. Each time it hit my tongue I savored the warmth and flavor. Even with Jacob’s careful feeding, the salty chicken broth occasionally dribbled down my chin. The first time it happened, Jacob laughed. It wasn’t loud, barely a scoff, but it made me smile. I couldn’t remember my husband’s laugh. Since I’d awakened, I’d mostly heard his anger and commands. Surely there was more to our marriage than that. It wasn’t until the soup and Jell-O were finished that he placed a small roll into my hands.
“Here’s a little bread. You can probably handle this on your own.”
I nodded, rolling the bread between my hands, assessing the size. Lifting it to my nose, I inhaled the scent. When I placed it between my teeth, the hard outer crust gave way to a soft warm center. Each bite melted in my mouth as I sparingly nibbled. I didn’t want it to end, but as it did, I realized that it was the chewing I enjoyed as much as the roll. Deprivation formed the strangest needs. All too soon the roll was gone, and a straw appeared at my lips.
“Dr. Newton said to go easy on liquids, but here’s some water.”
I pursed my lips and sucked. The cool water reminded me that my throat felt better, even better than it had the day before. At the sound of his name, I remembered the doctor’s promise to return. Just as the thought occurred, I heard the door open.
“Doctor,” Jacob said, perhaps to inform me of who’d entered.
“I assume you’re ready for me?”
I nodded, forgetting that rarely did anyone speak to me.
“Yes,” Jacob replied. “Sara’s finished her meal. Assuming her body handles it, I want her to have a larger portion for dinner.”
Dinner? I guess I just ate lunch?
I had no way to judge time. Hearing that the day was only half-over filled my mind with a mixture of thoughts. While the promise of more food excited me, the idea of spending more time in this dark, unfamiliar life made me uneasy. Silently I longed for the familiarity of my dreams.
“We’ll need to assess . . .”
Jacob reached for my hand. “She’s lost entirely too much weight. I’m not sure of the amount, but she’s skin and bones.”
“Sister Sara,” Dr. Newton began. “I need to complete your examination. Then we’ll discuss your injuries. Do you understand?”
I nodded, feeling Jacob’s reassuring squeeze. With the slightest shift, his callused fingers caressed my knuckles, and I wondered what Jacob did for a living. From his hand I guessed that he worked hard physically, and when he’d carried me to the bathroom, I’d sensed how much bigger he was than I.
What did my accident do to his work? What about me? What do I do?
As my bed reclined for my examination, I realized the man holding my hand had argued for me, supported and assisted me, yet I didn’t know him.
Do I love him? Does he love me?
No matter how hard I searched the recesses of my mind, the answers mocked me, willfully staying beyond my reach.
CHAPTER 5
Jacob