Rebecca's Choice (The Adams County Trilogy 3) Read online

  After supper her father, filled in on the happening of the day, left with Stephen for Wheat Ridge to see if there was news about their fallen minister.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Rachel called for Reuben to come. Supper was ready. He lowered The Budget, glanced at her, and then lay the pages on the floor. Rachel, already seated at the kitchen table, sighed. Her days had grown long, filled with drudgery and weariness. She felt tired most of the time. Reuben told her cheerfully it was the expectant child and she would feel better once it was born. Rachel knew the reason wasn’t the child but couldn’t really say so without too much being said. She had given in to despair.

  Her antics with the ferns remained her secret and would stay so, if she had anything to say about it. A lecture from Reuben, combined with the disappointment of her plan’s failure would be too much to bear. To her the plan would always remain sanctified, an attempt at a noble effort.

  She had now remained without a new plan for weeks and supposed things would continue so. Her strength had simply come to an end, her efforts thwarted at all turns. The inheritance lay beyond her grasp, her life condemned to poverty, she had concluded. God, as well as man, seemed to be against her.

  Reuben wanted her to help in the barn tonight after supper. The “goat barn” he called it. She couldn’t bring herself to do the same. To her it was the barn, as it had been before the goat venture, before the building was associated with the lowly critters Reuben cared so much about.

  Reuben sat down across from her. She was large with child, and he was deep in his own thoughts. They bowed their heads together in prayer.

  “Luke’s coming home Saturday night,” he said, as he reached for the nearest bowl of food.

  “I know.” She really had no interest in the subject. Since the ferns were gone, the attempt to stay on Luke’s good side held no purpose. Plus he would bring along Susie or talk about her. Susie was just another reminder of so many things gone wrong.

  “You don’t look well,” Reuben said searching her face. “Is the child too much?”

  “I’m not having problems,” she told him.

  “It’s a late pregnancy,” he said. “Neither of us are spring chickens anymore. I guess no one could blame you.”

  “I’m just weary. Tired of life.”

  He smiled, “It’s Da Hah’s gift, the child, His mercy in our old age.”

  “A cross,” she muttered.

  “It bears the mark of righteousness,” he said. “Children are a great blessing.”

  “Perhaps the inheritance would make it easier,” she said. Not that she expected her words to change his mind, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “God has already provided. Your father’s money can just stay where it is. That Rebecca girl will get her things straightened out in time. Sooner or later, I might even speak with Bishop about it.”

  “About what?”

  He glanced at her. “I heard she was having some trouble with the church. She stayed back from communion, at least that’s what I heard. I think it’s correct. It’s all kind of silly. Let the girl have the money. Bishop might be able to clear things up with Milroy.”

  “So she can marry Amish?”

  “Of course. Then the problem’s solved.”

  “What about us?” She gripped the side of the chair.

  “Da Hah has blessed us with a prosperous business. We are well supplied for. As the good book says, if you have food and raiment, be content. That we have and more. I’ve never felt younger. We’re about to have a child in our old age like Abram and Sarah. Let the girl have the money. It never did your aunt much good.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” She felt the food catch in her throat.

  “It didn’t,” he insisted. “Look at Emma, the life she lived. Sure she was a good schoolteacher, but others could have taken her place there. What did she miss out on? A husband, children, grandchildren, many blessings. Every woman should experience them.”

  “I would have taken her place,” she said.

  He glanced mildly at her. “Sometimes you worry me. You will meet Da Hah someday face-to-face. What will you tell Him then? Money won’t do any good. He might even have problems with you, with how much you love money.”

  “I obey Him same as you,” she said but avoided his gaze.

  “We must love Him with all our hearts. Do you love Him?”

  “Of course I do. How can you ask that?”

  “It troubles me,” he said. “I think about it at night sometimes, the day that’s to come. Like a great dawning it will be. Angels will come with Him. He’ll be brighter than the sun. That terrible sword will be in His mouth. Trumpets, loud, will awake the dead. Do you love Him, Rachel?”

  “You read too many Scriptures on Sunday,” she said with a tight smile. “You don’t have to be a deacon at home. I’m your wife. You don’t have to preach.”

  “I wasn’t trying to preach,” he said, but his eyes looked sad. “It’s your soul, Rachel. You are the one who will have to give answer for it.”

  “You shouldn’t think such things. You’re my husband. I’m okay. I’m married to a deacon.”

  “You have been a good wife.” His words caught her by surprise, as he reached for a second helping of potatoes. “I have no complaints. We have a good son. He will stay in the faith, I think. Now another child, one who will comfort us in our old age. I couldn’t ask for more.”

  She said nothing but studied his face. He was such a simple man, so easily satisfied. He had interested her at one time, drawn her in, but that was a long time ago. To satisfy him now meant little to her. She already knew where his standard lay. It was well below the mark that mattered to her.

  Reuben pushed his plate away, the last of the food scraped off. “I’m ready for help in the goat barn.”

  “I need to do the dishes first.” She rose too.

  “This won’t take long. I really need help right now. I can finish by myself then.”

  She assented silently and followed him outside. He pulled his boots on, while she did the same. Apparently whatever he needed help at would require boots. On the way out, he stopped for a stepladder and then his tool belt. She held the door of the barn open for him, as he passed through sideways with his tools.

  Goats greeted them. They came from all corners of the barn, heads uplifted, bleating cheerfully. Some bounced around, butting each other. Reuben chuckled with delight, pushed them aside with his foot when they came too close.

  “Where do you want help?” she asked. Every moment spent here would be too long.

  “We need to fix those boards.” Reuben motioned with his chin toward the ceiling. “They’re broken and falling down.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Hold the stepladder and hand me the boards.” Reuben pointed again toward the side of the barn. She saw the boards lined up there and went to get one. The sooner this was done, the sooner she could get back to the kitchen.

  Reuben set the stepladder in place. The goats crowded around.

  “Why don’t you put them out?” she asked.

  “There’s no gate on the yard,” he said and smiled.

  “There used to be.”

  “They knocked it down.”

  She bit back her retort. That Reuben didn’t fix things too quickly was old news with her.

  “I’m going up,” he said and took the first step.

  She set the board down a little distance away and got ready to grasp the ladder, once his legs were high enough.

  “I’m going to push,” he said, then moved up higher. She saw him reach for the ceiling boards, straighten them out, and then let go again.

  Apparently he saw the question in her eyes. “I have to nail these first. Then I’ll need a board.”

  She watched, her neck bending upward as Reuben produced a nail from his pouch and gripped the hammer. His arm extended, he took another step higher. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the commotion. Two goats tussled, the
ir heads together, their hindquarters bouncing skyward, their bodies coming toward her.

  Rachel told herself later, told herself a thousand times, that she had hung on tightly, had grasped the ladder with all her might as the two goats plummeted into the legs of the stepladder. The impact was too much. The ladder went sideways, and Reuben went airborne, his arms extended, his hammer arched skyward.

  She had lost her own balance. Her knee had struck the stepladder, causing a stinging pain all the way up her leg. Behind her, she had heard Reuben land, the thud dull in her ears. Expecting a rebuke, she had turned, pulled the ladder upright, then waited.

  It took a moment to realize that Reuben didn’t move. With a hesitant step forward, the area now clear of goats that had fled the falling human bodies, she approached him. She touched his shoulder. He moaned once, seemed to move his arm, and then there was silence.

  “Reuben,” she called. Then louder, “Reuben.”

  A man simply didn’t die so quickly. She was certain of it. Yet Reuben was not one to tease her either, especially in matters such as this. Gently she moved his head and noticed, for the first time, the board she had set on the ground. Its upraised edge cut across Reuben’s neck. She knew then, without being told, that Reuben was dead.

  Her instincts screamed that Reuben must be moved, taken out of this horrible place, but she overpowered them. In the midst of reaching for his arms with the intention to pull him with all her might toward the door, she stopped.

  Will I not be blamed for this? There were Englisha people who would come. They would ask questions. They would investigate and be suspicious of her. Reuben would have to stay where he was, so they could see what had happened, that she had not caused this.

  She left him surrounded by goats. Shuddering at the sight but driven by necessity, she ran across the road to the neighbor’s house. She and Reuben never went there to call—Reuben didn’t want to be a bother—but in his death, there was no choice.

  Her knock was answered, her breathless pronouncement noted. “I’ll call right away,” Mrs. Henderson said, and Rachel ran back to the barn.

  She kept the goats away, drove them back with a vengeance, and that was how they found her. She stood near his body, her face dry of tears, her soul in shock. They asked questions as she knew they would, and she answered them in detail, and then said it all over again to someone else.

  They seemed satisfied. The ambulance soon left with the stretcher, the white sheet over his body. She told them what funeral home the Amish used in Rushville. Then Luke arrived, his horse foamed at the mouth from the hard drive, followed by Ezra and his wife. Word quickly reached the corners of the Amish community. Men and women left what they were doing to be with those who suffered.

  It was Luke who asked the remaining police officer about the cause of his father’s death.

  “I’m not medical, son,” the officer told him. “I suppose the doctor will give you his final report. The first responders thought his neck was broken up in the C4 range. Spinal shock. Your father fell on the edge of a board.”

  Luke stood there, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “Sorry, son,” the officer said. “You’d better stay with your mother. Make sure she doesn’t go into shock. She was there when it happened.”

  Luke nodded numbly and walked toward the house. Buggies pulled into the yard all around him. Rachel sat inside on the couch, as the tasks of her house were taken over by others. Already women washed the supper dishes, their voices hushed. She made a place on the couch for Luke when he came in.

  Luke sat beside her and took her hand. The tears came down his cheeks, as if they never would stop. Rachel pulled him toward her, her son, her firstborn, and held him tight. She saw before her eyes the days that would come—the funeral, the burial, and the loneliness she would experience without Reuben. She knew she should feel sorrow, yet she watched in horror as joy rose in her heart. Reuben no longer stood between her and the money.

  She bit her lip fiercely and leaned her head against Luke. She told herself she was evil, that Reuben shouldn’t have died, but the pleasure wouldn’t go away. Inside of her the child was still.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  In Miller’s Furniture store the phone rang, its shrill sound filling the empty building. The phone rang a dozen times, and then was silent. In the living room across the fields, John waited, a calm hush in the house. Bishop Martin and Aden had come over for the evening with their wives. The two women were in the kitchen, preparations for a simple supper under way. Since this was an illness of a minister, more visitors might be expected. Those already there would eat when supper was ready and feed any others as they arrived.

  John noticed Lester and his brother-in-law Stephen driving their buggy into the driveway. John thought at first Rebecca might have decided to come. He jumped up from his chair but saw by the time he stepped out into the yard that she had not. He then told Lester the news.

  Isaac had come out of surgery a little after twelve. The surgeon hoped for the best because the blood clot had been removed. Aden had called the hospital in Cincinnati at six again, but nothing had been definite. He had also updated John’s sister again by leaving a message at the neighbor’s house she used for emergencies. Miriam had said she saw a lot of color in Isaac’s face and that he seemed to have recognized her for the brief moment she was allowed in his room.

  Lester thanked John, and the two left again.

  Inside the house Aden’s wife announced that supper was ready. The bishop and Aden motioned for John to go first. Because no other visitors had come yet, they were to sit around the table apparently. John took his place and was surprised he could be so hungry. Under the circumstances he expected otherwise, but the warm vegetable soup, its rich aroma rising to his face, drew him in.

  Bishop Martin led the group in prayer, giving thanks for the goodness of God, for being with them that day, and for helping the doctors during Isaac’s surgery. When he was done, another buggy came up the driveway, and another one arrived after that. They both pulled up to the hitching post and tied up.

  John, already on his feet and prepared to go outside, was told by Aden to sit down.

  “I’ll take care of them,” his uncle said. “You need to eat.”

  “I suppose so,” John said, his smile weak.

  “Your mother taking this well?” the bishop asked, when Aden had left.

  “Seems to. She’s often worried about something like this happening,” John told him.

  “Ya, we all do,” the bishop said nodding. “Old age comes. Da Hah has seen fit for us to drink that cup.”

  John thought about blurting out his regrets regarding his disagreement with his father, but he would have to include the reason why. He must wait, he had decided earlier, until Rebecca could be present. It would be better that way. Rebecca could hear and decide for herself when the moment came. If he spoke to her beforehand, she might be persuaded against her better judgment.

  The bishop ate his soup slowly, the spoon rose and fell the full length of his beard. John wondered what the bishop’s reaction to the disagreement would be. Would he be shocked, astonished that Isaac’s son thought about joining the Mennonites? No doubt he would, and John had doubts again about the wisdom of his plan. Perhaps it might be better to wait, let the matter blow over. He pushed the emotions aside and resolved to do what he felt was right.

  “I need to speak with you sometime,” he said, his voice low. Outside he could see Aden talking with the two couples who had just arrived. They then made their way slowly toward the house.

  “Oh?” Bishop Martin said raising his eyebrows.

  “About Rebecca and me.”

  “Yes. That might be good. We have time tonight, maybe when the others leave.”

  “I would like… for Rebecca to be here.”

  “You are wise,” the bishop said nodding his head. “It’s a serious matter before us.”

  “I know,” John replied. Aden came in the front door,
pausing to hold it as the others walked through. They came over to shake hands with John and Bishop, and then went to get plates for themselves.

  The evening wore on. The conversation ebbed and flowed around stories of others who had suffered strokes and the hope of Isaac’s recovery. Aden went to call the hospital from the furniture store, just before everyone left, and came back with a good report. Miriam said the doctor had been in to see Isaac and was satisfied.

  John didn’t think the look on Aden’s face matched the news he brought and so was not surprised when Aden continued, “A call came through from Milroy just as I was ready to leave. Reuben Byler died this evening.”

  The mood in the room changed instantly. “How?” Bishop asked. “He was not an old man.”

  “In a fall in the goat barn. Off a stepladder. Rachel was with him, holding the stepladder, they thought. I guess the goats acted up, and Rachel couldn’t hold the ladder. The funeral’s on Monday.”

  “We will have to go,” Bishop said. He glanced at his wife beside him on the couch. She nodded her agreement.

  “Two things in one day,” Aden said. He sat down on a chair brought in from the kitchen. “At least the news about Isaac is good.”

  “Da Hah takes, and Da Hah gives,” Bishop said, his voice soft. “He has perhaps seen good to spare us a good man. Your father is that, John.”

  “I know,” John said in agreement.

  “We should be going,” Aden spoke up. “Perhaps we should go to the funeral too. They are relatives.”

  “It’ll be a large one,” Bishop said and got to his feet. To John’s surprise he motioned for him to follow. Outside the bishop’s wife, as if by some secret signal, walked on past them and climbed into the buggy.

  The bishop cleared his throat, the light from the gas lantern playing on his face. “I thought perhaps we should talk now—about you and Rebecca.”

  John wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I know you wanted Rebecca to be here, but we will be gone over Sunday. This matter has dragged on long enough. It would be a great relief to my mind… to find an answer to the problem.”