Rebecca's Choice (The Adams County Trilogy 3) Page 15

  Although she wanted the end of this to come, she dreaded it at the same time. She would soon have to whisper the dreaded words, Ich kann nett mitt gay—I can’t go along. She would wish them God’s blessing both because she did wish them a blessing and because it was expected.

  Then with his round completed, the deacon would give his report. There was a sister, he would say, who stayed back. She wished them all God’s blessing and hoped by God’s grace to be able to go with them to the sacred table next time.

  That it would be so, she knew, just not when. The voice of Bishop Martin went on and on. Then the time came. She spoke, and the report was given. Only one report was given. No brother stayed back and wished them God’s blessing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Rebecca felt frozen to the backless bench. The women stood up and moved toward the kitchen. Wilma turned to look at her.

  “So you did it?” she whispered.

  Rebecca nodded, the answer obvious. “I had to.”

  “I know,” Wilma said.

  Wilma would think something was wrong if she didn’t move soon. Rebecca forced herself to her feet, her legs still weak. John had not stayed back. Is Father to blame? His arguments surely made sense, but sense did not console her heart. Her heart was gripped in the horror of what lay ahead. Communion was in two weeks, and she would stay back alone.

  Rebecca told herself John’s decision was understandable, but the pain wouldn’t go away. Her heart ached as she joined in with lunch preparations. She carried peanut butter bowls, refilled the pickle jars, smiled when spoken to, and finally got to eat, the food tasteless in her mouth.

  John would soon pick her up at the end of the walk, and she knew her face would show the hurt. She could make an effort to hide the fact, but things were beyond that. The attempt might not work either. Since the accident John was different, more sensitive, and would know anyway. Why then did he not join me?

  Wilma must have sensed her distress and seated herself beside Rebecca, even though she had eaten at an earlier table.

  “I’m so sorry,” Wilma said, meaning one thing, while Rebecca really hurt over another.

  “Thanks,” Rebecca whispered. She was thankful for what Wilma could give, knowing that her troubles with John were things she couldn’t share.

  “This is all just so ridiculous,” Wilma said. “It’s not like it’s your fault at all.”

  “Some of it is,” Rebecca said.

  “Like what? Did you ask for the money?”

  “No.”

  “Did Emma offer it to you?”

  “No.”

  “Then tell me how you are to blame?”

  “I broke some church rules.” Rebecca followed her urge to say it aloud. Chances were good that word would leak out. Not that she suspected the ministry, they wouldn’t spread confidential matters, but it happened anyway. Better that Wilma know now than hear it some other way. Their friendship might be saved, and she needed friends at the moment.

  Wilma made a skeptical face.

  “See I used to like a boy in school. His name was Atlee.”

  Wilma nodded. “Don’t know him. I never lived in Milroy.”

  Rebecca continued. “Anyway, his parents went Mennonite and moved away. Before he left he gave me a ring.”

  “A ring?” Wilma’s eyes got big.

  “Yes. I kept it until just recently, and then I threw it away.”

  “You kept it.” Wilma spoke a little too loudly for Rebecca’s comfort, but she could do little about it. Several women glanced their way.

  “Yes,” she said softer this time, in the hopes Wilma took the hint.

  “All this time?” Wilma said whispering.

  Rebecca nodded.

  “Even when you were dating John?”

  Rebecca let the look on her face answer.

  “How could you?”

  “I sort of forgot about it.”

  Now Wilma’s face gave away her answer. She wasn’t swallowing the story.

  “Really. That’s what happened.”

  “So you strung two boys along at the same time?”

  “I didn’t,” Rebecca retorted, causing heads to turn again. This is really stupid, she thought. If I argue with Wilma until the day I stay back from communion, everyone will start putting two and two together—if they haven’t already.

  “You kept his ring. Did Emma know about this?”

  Rebecca hesitated and lost her advantage. “I told her later and asked for counsel.”

  “No wonder the ministers are upset,” Wilma said.

  “It makes sense,” Rebecca said, “from my point of view.”

  “Maybe to you,” Wilma said, “but not to the rest of us. You really need to make things right both with God and the church. It’s awful. Emma has to give you money to make you marry John. Really, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca shook her head.

  The look of horror was already on Wilma’s face. “So that explains it.”

  “Explains what?” Rebecca wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “The accident. That’s why you were so sure of yourself. You stayed with John even when it looked like he was a cripple. Here I thought you were so wonderful and blamed myself for thinking I’d leave if my boyfriend was a cripple for life. You were doing it for money.”

  “No,” Rebecca said trying again.

  Wilma had moved away. Only a few inches, but the gulf was fixed. It stretched across two hearts, and the gap could not be mended.

  The heavy silence settled over them, and Rebecca knew more words were useless. What she had intended as an extended hand, a heart shared, had turned bitter in a moment.

  “You really need to make things right,” Wilma whispered.

  “How can I?”

  “You must,” Wilma said. “Your soul is in danger. Selling your love for money. What will John say when he finds out? You’ll be excommunicated. He’s a minister’s son.”

  That he was, Rebecca well knew. Earlier this morning she would have whispered back, “He understands.” Now she said nothing.

  “I’ll try to help you when I can,” Wilma said, obviously trying to salvage what once was, but the gulf stood between them.

  “You can’t do anything.”

  “I know.” Wilma nodded, then stood to leave. “I have to go. Will just left to get his horse.”

  Too distracted by the conversation to have noticed, Rebecca wondered whether John had already left for his horse. She tried to control her emotions while searching the room of men and boys. Some were still in the house, others out in the yard. Frantically her mind flew to the fact that John might already be outside with his horse in line, frustrated and ready to go but held back by the lines. What was she to do?

  She dreaded the moment ahead. John had not stayed back. She would have to face him and hear his apology, given for whatever the reason. None of which would heal the hurt, now made even more painful by the severing of a deep friendship. Her world lay unraveled before her eyes.

  Had the very heavens forsaken her? Had judgment come for sins she was unaware of? The possibility seemed real. She continued to search for John’s face, driven by force of habit. Regardless of her own pain, it wasn’t necessary to add to his by embarrassing him in public.

  She needed to find her bonnet and shawl and go outside. If John wasn’t in line, the mistake would be understood better than the alternative. At the very least, the boys would laugh at John’s girlfriend, at her eagerness to be with him. That was better than to have her present reluctance known.

  She stepped outside, women ahead and behind her. Women who knew where they were, where their husbands or boyfriends were. She searched the line of buggies but didn’t see John. Four buggies down, her father’s surrey came into focus. Matthew, alone now, was evidently overjoyed to be in his own buggy.

  For a brief moment, she considered joining Matthew. Let John come find her if he wanted to. He deserved it, didn’t he? Regardless of what her father had told him, John should
have stood with her. Let Wilma imagine what she wanted, think what she would. If this was for money, how would they explain the risk she took?

  The moment passed, though, and she gathered herself. John has an explanation. Surely he does. If not, then she would have to understand anyway. Her heart might struggle, but they would see each other through this. John had said he would, and she would not forsake him.

  Resolved, she searched the line again and still found nothing. The line of buggies lurched forward. Another woman got in, and again the action was repeated. Rebecca’s gaze was drawn to the constant movement of men out by the barn. It was John. He came out of the barn leading his horse.

  “A little ahead of myself,” she said to the woman behind her and stepped out of line. The attempted smile must have looked as queasy as her stomach felt, but Sarah, the bishop’s wife, seemed not to notice. Her smile was genuine.

  At least they don’t hate me, Rebecca thought. She moved back toward the house, her smile still weak.

  She considered walking across the lawn and offering to help John get the horse hitched. If her heart hadn’t hurt so much, she would have despite the custom. Instead she waited.

  Rebecca rejoined the line once John did. The pain around her heart increased the closer she got to the buggy. She knew her smile was tight, her face contorting with the effort.

  “Hi,” she said. Her step up carried her into the seat beside him. His closeness pressed in on her, and his smile lit up his entire face. Her heart refused to respond.

  “Good to see you,” he said, “after such a day.” John let the reins out, and the horse pulled forward.

  She wanted to scream, Sure, you’re still okay. What about me? Why didn’t you stand with me?

  He glanced at her face, seeming to come to some conclusion. “I understand,” he said. “It was a hard day.”

  “For me,” she said. The words came out quickly.

  “I understand,” he nodded and turned the horse left at the blacktop. “Dad thinks things will clear up after a while. Handling it this way will be for the best.”

  “Really?” The question was bitter in her voice.

  “Yes.” He nodded, his face solemn. “I think so too. We talked for a long time last night. Dad, Mom, and myself. It makes perfect sense this way. We can be thankful Dad was willing to help us out.”

  “He was?”

  “Yes. I assume the plan worked. Dad would likely have said something to me after church if it hadn’t.”

  “Did my dad talk to you?”

  “Yes. I didn’t change my mind.”

  “So you have a good reason for this?”

  “I think so.” John had a puzzled look on his face. “You don’t like it, I know. I wanted to.”

  “You wanted what?” Rebecca felt her breath come short, the expectation heavy in the air.

  “To stand with you,” he said.

  “But you didn’t.”

  He looked at her strangely. Then the smile came, broad and wide. He chuckled. “Oh, you don’t know.”

  “Would you explain yourself? I was the only one who stayed back.”

  “No,” he said. He placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward him. “I stayed back too.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “Dad arranged it somehow. He took it to the ministers’ meeting. That way it didn’t have to be announced in public. It makes it easier for you—less attention and all. But they know where I stand.”

  She felt her body give in. She laid her head against his shoulder and let the tears flow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “that I doubted you.”

  “I understand. It’s just hard.”

  They drove in silence, but the tears didn’t stop. Rebecca was tired—too tired to stop crying. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be a bruts bobli.”

  “You’re not,” he said, his arm tightening around her shoulders. “You’re anything but a crybaby. You’re a wonderful girl.”

  “Now I’m really going to cry.”

  He only smiled, as he watched the road and clutched the reins in his free hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Rachel’s days were burdened, clouded by visions of what she hated. Ever present in the daytime, they haunted her dreams at night. The goats, the object of her scorn, now stood between herself and the inheritance. She never would have expected Reuben to bring home a herd of goats nor succeed in anything. It was beyond her imagination but true. Each week Reuben succeeded, and the critters multiplied themselves.

  Even with the frequent veterinary bills, the income Reuben declared outgrew any expenses. She knew this because she secretly checked the accounts and carefully reviewed his books. The numbers were what Reuben said they were. He made money—and a reasonable amount of it.

  She gathered hope each time a new problem afflicted the flock and lost it when Reuben found a fix. Rachel hid her determination to stop the progress behind an attitude of helpfulness and waited for the opportunity to spoil his efforts.

  Daily her unborn child grew. Although her thought processes seemed to have slowed down and her attentions had been diverted, she was comforted by that fact that there was still time. Even after the baby’s birth, there would be time left. Rebecca could do nothing quickly. From the reports she received Sunday, overheard from the deacon’s wife, Rebecca had to stay back from communion.

  So the girl’s way was blocked. It would just be a matter of time before Rebecca would bolt—run right back to that Mennonite boyfriend of hers and give up on her plan to claim what wasn’t hers anyway. Amish ways might be hard, but they did serve their purposes at times. This was one of those times. Rebecca wouldn’t be allowed to marry Amish, she was sure, not under these conditions.

  In the meantime she would do what she could when and if the opportunity presented itself. Rachel was not bothered by her devious actions. Instead her motivation was fueled by the conviction Reuben needed help.

  Reuben’s present success only drove her further. If Reuben thought money was so evil, why then did the creation of it cause him such joy? He was misguided. Money was important. Reuben’s goals were just too low.

  For now the cover must be maintained. If Reuben suspected she meant the herd harm, he would take necessary measures. As it was he often asked her help, which gave her access to see how the operation was run and discover weaknesses to exploit it.

  Goats were hardy creatures, she quickly decided. Once she added salt to their feed bucket, a weak attempt at sabotage. One got sick, but she couldn’t be certain from what.

  Reuben said the vet thought it was acidosis and wanted the feed schedule evened out. This only produced more work and more trips to the barn in her condition. When she mentioned this to Reuben, he made a genuine effort to reduce her workload, which only limited her access to the goat barn.

  When Reuben went to visit the bank in Rushville, Rachel decided to make another move. She was certain Reuben had gone to deliver the loan payment by hand. The man’s delight in his success was phenomenal.

  She walked back to the woods to search for strange looking plants. Faint memories of eighth-grade biology class returned, but she couldn’t be certain of what she was searching for. The area carried few naturally poisonous plants. A half an hour’s search produced some specimens but nothing too dangerous, from what she recollected. She fed them to two goats in the yard.

  The goats developed a strong case of diarrhea. The vet found scraps of the offending plants in the yard and raised the point that such items were usually only found in woods. She readily admitted to finding the plants and feeding them to the goats. She counted on Reuben attributing the effort to her love for his prize animals. In this she was correct.

  “Better leave the wood plants alone,” the vet grinned, apparently amused at this Amish couple’s intense care for their animals. “Not many people make such an effort.”

  “It’s cheaper than feed,” Rachel said, which wasn’t a lie.

  “That it i
s,” the vet said chuckling, “before my bill, that is.”

  “We’ll stick with store bought food,” Reuben assured him.

  Rachel smiled at them. This had been an easy effort—the first try, so to speak. It would have been great had it worked, but it hadn’t been that hard to find a cover for her actions. Next time she would do better.

  The first details of her final plan came to her one night, while she dreamed of goats. The goats were everywhere all the time. But instead of alive and well, now they lay dead, spread at her feet, and she was the architect of their demise.

  The Rushville Library was close enough and large enough to contain what she wanted and possibly confirm her impressions from the dream. With one trip to the library, she learned the plan could be made to work. On the way home, she stopped at a plant nursery, hopeful she wouldn’t be recognized and remembered. She ordered the seeds and paid for them with her own stashed cash. Reuben would never know.

  Feelings of guilt assaulted her, intense in their claims against her. She had sinned against God and man, they said. Surprised as much as convicted, she rode them out, allowing the emotions to swirl around her. It was too late to turn back now.

  Luke might be the only loose end, and this concerned her enough to invite him home for Sunday supper. When she took food over to Emma’s old place and he made a face at her invitation, she knew what the problem was. He didn’t want to miss time spent with Susie.

  “Bring her too,” she said with a smile.

  “Mom, you don’t like her.”

  “Perhaps it’s time to start. People will begin talking soon.”

  “So that’s why,” he said more than asked, a sigh on his lips.

  She let him think so because she needed a reason he could believe. It is partly so, she told herself on the way home. When Luke still made no effort to bring Susie home for supper, she enlisted Reuben’s help.

  “We need to get to know Susie and invite her here to our home,” she told him. “Would you ask Luke to bring her over sometime?”