The Gift

Helen Chavez

This little vignette is based on Ron's 1988 film 'A Stoning in Fulham County', in which he plays Amish farmer Jacob Schuler. A performance of extreme sensitivity, Ron brought strength and heart to the role, and it remains a testament to his versatility as an actor.

Author's note - The Amish community tend to call outsiders 'the English'.

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I never thought we would live again.

I never thought Jacob would ever begin to leave his grief behind and move on, I never believed he would ever manage to shoulder the burden of your loss, nor would I ever have the courage to say your name. You. My youngest child … my rapture.

When you died … when you went to God that night and lay cold in your Papa’s arms, I thought he would never heal from your leaving. Those young English took you from us with careless violence, thinking a stone would do no harm – but it took you from your Papa, and you went to God too young to understand the world and its evils.

I grieved, my little one – my heart shattered into a million pieces, and your brothers and sisters sobbed and cried and tried to understand why He had taken you from us. Such a thing for Him to do, and you so small and helpless. Our joy … our jewel.

When the police came and told us, and asked us why we would not pursue these young men, your Papa told them he could not – God’s infinite wisdom and mercy would make them understand what they had done. But they persisted, and your Papa almost broke under the weight of this thing – his big, great heart almost cracked as the police sent them to be tried by man’s justice – God’s wasn’t good enough, it seemed.

But your Papa survived. We, his family, gathered him to our hearts and tried to make him whole, even though our own hearts were broken. He had his family, and his work – and he had God, who helped him bear such a burden of grief when we could not help him. He forbore. He lived. But at such a cost.

The loss of a child is a dreadful thing, and our pastor and our community gathered around and did what they could. And slowly, week by week, month by month, we came back into the light. But many a night your Papa sat alone, the word of God in his heart and pain in his soul, and did not sleep.

I tried so hard to make him rest. I tried to tell him he would follow you if he did not sleep, and that life – however painful – was for living. We began to smile again, and I would see the joy on his face as a calf was born or our children laughed in the sun-drenched fields of our home. But still the sadness was in him, and I would see the pain in the azure blue of his gaze.

We became as friends. We would talk, and laugh and eat together … but still he sat in the deep of the night and read God’s Word. But he did not see it. He did not here what God was saying to him … to live and love and laugh again.

So I listened to my heart and took him by the hand, and led him upstairs and told him that we needed another child – not to replace you, my love. We could never do that. But to bring him alive again, to make him the man I fell in love with on that warm summer’s evening so long ago.

I murmured how I longed to hold him in my arms again, as I did the night we were married and we lay together for the first time. I told him I missed his gentle, urgent kisses and his body next to mine, and the joy he brought me as God had intended. I told him how I wanted another child.

"It is in God’s hands." He said to me, his face taken with sadness.

I touched his dear face and soothed him with my voice.

"But sometimes," I said, "God needs a little help."

And for the first time I saw the truth of it in his heart.

I touched his chest and held him close, and then I slowly bared his body, all the while his eyes watching me as though it was the first time for us both once more. He trembled as I touched his skin, and sighed as I kissed his chest.

And then he came to me, his hands shaking as he slid the night-gown from my body and let down my hair. It fell around my shoulders and he kissed my breast, his mouth soft and needful as he held me.

I took him to our bed, my love. I took him to that place of beauty, I took him with God’s blessing to joy.

I held him as he moved above me, stroking him to readiness, and his voice was velvet rapture to me. I felt his body over me as we made soft music with our murmurs of need, and Solomon himself could not have sang so sweetly as his body did that night. I felt his entry and heard his sob of joy and pain – the joy of love and the pain of loss, mingled together as he came into the place that was his and his alone.

And such joy it was. I felt his mouth upon my breast and his hands upon my hips, and I felt the need in his body as he strove. He lost himself in joy, my love. He moved with such passion and grace my heart called out for more, and his every cry was that of hope. He called my name and held me tight, and I wanted that night to never end – all of his pain and hurt washed through him, and I held him with my limbs, feeling the rocking of his body in mine.

He was so beautiful.

I saw him as God made him – pure and unfettered, his body singing with the pleasure He gave us. I could not hold back – I cried out, my own pleasure upon me, and I held him to my body as I felt the ecstasy of him deep within.

One last time he called my name – and his voice sent silent chimes of love through my soul as he gave me all he had and more. I felt his life flood into me, his body shuddering with every pulse, and his seed filled me with the promise of a new life. For long moments all I saw and felt was his love, and forever I will recall the tears in the glory of his sapphire gaze.

All night we lay as One, and when dawn brought sleep I knew a new life would grow within my barren soul.

And so it was. The child lies quiet now within my womb, and my Jacob’s heart is mended – the scars run deep, but he is content. The children laugh at play, and we can speak of you without pain. Such is God’s will, and we are not to question His intent.

So, my little one, do not grieve for us. We are well, and we are happy. Do not fret. Your Papa is working still on a new cradle for this little one to come, and he smiles at his work once more.

But he will always carry you in his heart, my love – always, and he will carry you with him to his dying day.

For you were a gift from God so precious that He could not let you stay with us for long.

So, my love, remember – we will always love you and remember you, and we will forever keep a close walk with God.