Rebecca's Promise Read online

  Not that the family was going hungry in Milroy, but they were not prospering either. During her childhood, Rachel was used to a much higher standard of living. Her father, old Millett Miller or M-Jay as he had been called, now gone for fifteen years, had been known among the Millers in the Amish circles for his industrious business acumen. In Rachel’s childhood, money had always been available—so much so that her father had invested in two other cattle farms in addition to the one on which Rachel and her siblings had been raised.

  It had been a shock that upon his death, Rachel’s father, by now a widower, had left his entire holdings to his youngest sister, Emma. This strange turn of events had left his children—particularly Rachel—feeling betrayed by their father.

  It was true that old M-Jay had objected to Reuben dating Rachel, but this had not stopped her from eventually marrying Reuben. Reuben had come with good credentials, both from keeping the church standard and from being the local bishop’s favorite young man. Reuben, though a charming fellow in some ways, was never quite able to turn that charm into solid cash. That was to become Rachel’s first disappointment in life, and it caused her all the more to turn her hopes to an inheritance at her father’s passing.

  Her father was an eccentric man, even by Amish standards. He confirmed that opinion in his will. All written out and overseen by a lawyer from town, he had left not a green dollar more than a token thousand to each of his six surviving children.

  The will had said nothing as to why he had chosen as he had. Just the black letters on paper, read to all six of them in the lawyer’s big office in town. They had all felt so out of place, nervous, and distressed in their black hats and shawls that winter day. To this very day, Rachel still shudders to think of it.

  M-Jay’s sister Emma, the last surviving member of the family of eleven and as eccentric as her brother, defied even Bishop Mose to do anything about the will. Instead, immediately after the funeral, she moved in to her brother’s home, nearly causing a scandal in the Amish community among those in the know who all felt M-Jay had done badly by his children.

  Things settled down only when the majority of the children agreed to make no fuss, as it was apparent that Emma was in her full right. Even Bishop Mose eventually let the word go out that Emma was to be left alone. On her part Emma wrapped herself tighter in her shawl, made sure her dresses were well below the ordnung standard, and survived the storm.

  The storm had never quite settled in Rachel’s heart though. It was softened only by the certain knowledge that Emma, now with a history of heart trouble and getting on in years herself, would surely do the right thing and leave the money to her nieces and nephews at her passing. So certain was Rachel of this that she was already making plans for the money.

  Lately, however, she had been given to doubts. Could it be possible Emma might not do the right thing? What if the money went somewhere else? What if the tragedy was only to be repeated?

  She had heard, only last week and through a trusted source, that Emma had seen the doctor and a fancy car had been spotted at Emma’s. The man who drove the vehicle was reported to be dressed in an English suit, right smart, Rachel had been told. What he was doing there, the rumors did not say, but eyebrows were raised and the unspoken word “lawyer” was on the minds of those most concerned.

  If Emma was in poor health and talking to a lawyer, then nothing good could be coming out of it. Was the money slipping away again? It was enough to keep Rachel awake at night.

  In the meantime, Reuben had gotten it into his head that the family needed to move to Wheat Ridge. Rachel had cousins there, and maybe Reuben would succeed in Wheat Ridge where he had failed in Milroy.

  With the sound of the tires of the van humming on the interstate and the conversation with the others having died down, Rachel wanted to press Reuben about their prospects.

  Turning to him, she wondered again why she ever thought of him as good looking. His face was rounded now, his cheeks filled out where formerly there had been firmness. The roundness extended down his body, starting to spill over his pants. What the man needed was some hard work. But he already worked on the farm, and that did not seem to keep him from putting on weight in places other than his checking account.

  This move to Wheat Ridge might allow for something other than manual labor—and it might surely pay more. Perhaps working as a salesman in the Miller’s retail stores would do the trick. On Saturday she had seen the layout of all the furniture, grandfather clocks, and merchandise catering to the wealthy from Cincinnati. The tourists came looking for a slice of the old Amish life so different from their own.

  Leaning toward him in the van, she half whispered, “So you liked Wheat Ridge?”

  Reuben nodded, not really wanting to engage in this conversation. He was tired and would rather have joined several of the others in the seats in front of him in a nap.

  “What do you think then?” she persisted.

  “Should be a nice place,” he answered.

  “I mean about moving?”

  He shrugged.

  “Well.” She was not going to settle for this. “You were the one who wanted to move. It was your idea for this trip. These drivers aren’t cheap. Surely we didn’t just waste our time?”

  “I liked it.” He was fast becoming annoyed.

  “Are we moving then?” She wanted to know.

  “How do I know that?” he mumbled. “I haven’t decided yet. I have to go home and think. It would mean a lot of hard work. The moving and all. Selling the farm. I’m not sure about prices right now. We can’t sell at a loss and expect to make it in Wheat Ridge. Those people have lots of money.”

  She glared at him. “You’re not changing your mind, are you, Reuben? You wouldn’t get my hopes up like this, then let them fall to the ground. I don’t expect miracles, but this could be our only chance for a fresh start. You’re not scared of their money are you?”

  Now he glared, whispering back, “Why would I be? Sure I’ve never had much of it. You knew that when you married me. You didn’t come into this blindfolded. And it’s not my fault you were cut out of your father’s will. It’s just that I am what I am.”

  “You could at least try,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the changing landscape visible thorough the van windshield.

  He scooted himself up on the seat until his head was raised as high as it would go. “I am a deacon,” he said, falling back on his one winning hand. “Have you forgotten that? The lot sure thought I was good enough. That’s driven by the hand of the Lord. Have you forgotten that?”

  She said nothing as the tires sang their rhythmic song, weighted down with its cargo of twelve humans.

  Reuben leaned toward her again and said, “Then there’s this to think of too: I am under the church’s authority. I’ll have to talk to the bishop before we could move anyway. I would need a good word from him to be accepted in Wheat Ridge.”

  “So why have you not thought of this before? There are other important things too,” she said, her voice now strained.

  “What, like money?” he whispered, knowing her well enough. “You should be ashamed of yourself. I’m a servant of God in service of His church. That’s more important than worldly goods. Those stay here once we are gone. Nothing in this world can go with us when we go. You know that. Our spiritual values are what are of great price to God. I’m a minister of those things.”

  His tongue is loosened at last, she thought. He always was good with words. Too bad it can’t talk some cash loose once in awhile.

  “I’m grateful for what the Lord has given us,” she said.

  “Including me?” he asked bluntly.

  “Including you.” She turned toward him, forcing a smile.

  He nodded. Satisfied, he proceeded to slide down in his seat and lean his head back to get some sleep. “We’ll see about moving,” he said before nodding off.

  Yes, she told herself, we will see. That means we’re not going. After all this buildup, he will do
nothing.

  “We’re not going,” Luke whispered into his mother’s ear from the backseat.

  She nodded, glad someone understood even if she could do nothing about it.

  Luke said nothing more for a few seconds, then asked, “Who was that we saw by the bridge today?”

  She shook her head and answered, “I’m not sure. I wasn’t really looking.”

  “It looked like Rebecca Keim,” he said. “They moved from Milroy a few years ago. I didn’t know the boy.”

  “Oh,” Rachel said, turning around to face him, “was she someone you liked?”

  “No.” He grinned a little. “She’s a little out of my shooting range. Always was. Even in Milroy. She was a grade behind me in school.”

  “Then they have nothing to do with us,” his mother told him, turning back around in her seat.

  “I was just curious.” He shrugged his shoulders, but she was not listening.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Walking toward the barn that afternoon at four thirty with Rebecca leading the way, John glanced down at his chore clothing. They fit, sort of, he supposed. Not that the bagginess in the legs really mattered, but he just liked things to be right.

  Seeing his glance downward, Rebecca chuckled. “Dad’s clothes are a little too big for you.”

  “Yeah,” he allowed, “wrinkled too.”

  “Don’t let it bother you.”

  “I guess I’m not used to farming.” He glanced at her. “Probably never will be. You ever want to marry a farmer?”

  She looked at him sharply and answered, “No. I never thought about marriage in those terms.”

  “Some girls do,” he offered as explanation, suddenly feeling like his question needed one.

  “Some girls do? So you have a lot of experience asking girls about marriage?” she asked, only half joking.

  “No, of course not,” he said. “I’ve never been engaged before.”

  She allowed a smile to spread slowly across her face. “Ever asked?”

  He allowed the air to come slowly out of his lungs. “Look, before you I never even dated a girl. You were the first.”

  “Oh,” she said, as she faced forward, but not before John thought he saw that look of fear flash again briefly in her eyes. Then he thought to ask, “You ever been engaged before?”

  “No,” she said, continuing to walk and not looking at him.

  “Seriously dated?”

  “A little. In Milroy. Not seriously…no.”

  “How much is a little?”

  “Don’t you think you should have asked these questions first?”

  “They didn’t seem important,” he said, because they hadn’t. Why they were important now, he couldn’t figure out, but they were. Was it the fear he had seen in her eyes?

  “How much is a little?” he asked again.

  “Once,” she said.

  “How many dates would that be?”

  “Two.”

  “So,” he asked, “did he drop you?”

  “No,” she said. “I said no after the second time.”

  “Was there trouble?”

  “You sure are something,” she stated, the fire gone from her eyes. “No. I just said I wasn’t interested.”

  Rebecca seemed to want the discussion to end. She reached out and took his hand. “Let’s get to the chores.”

  “All right,” he said, “but we need to be careful.” He pulled his hand away from hers. “Your parents will see us.”

  “I don’t care,” she said.

  “Well, I do. We have to keep our relationship right.” He noticed a hurt look on her face and added, “Rebecca, it’s going to be hard enough.”

  “It’s just those rules, isn’t it?” she asked.

  He thought for a moment. “Yes, it’s the rules. I want to keep them because I think they’re for our good. But it’s more than that.”

  “And?” She kept her eyes on his face.

  “It’s…” He found himself stumbling to say it. “It’s just that I don’t trust myself.” His eyes softened as he stood looking into hers.

  She was still for a moment and then said, “I trust you.” Pausing a moment more, Rebecca broke away saying, “We have some chores to do.”

  He let his breath out slowly, mixed emotions running through him…but best to drop them now.

  “How many cows do you milk?” he finally asked awkwardly.

  “Thirty,” she replied. “Dad says that we’re among the last dairy farmers in the county.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, “there aren’t too many around. Has your father ever thought of doing something else?”

  “He likes farming,” she said. “We raise most of our own feed. Saves money…and milk prices are up a little. Besides what else would he do?” she asked with a chuckle. “Compete with the Miller’s operations on the hill?”

  “Your uncle already does that,” he said dryly. “Keim Family Market, but we get along.”

  “There you go,” she told him. “A dairy farm is safer. But Dad does work at Keim’s sometimes. Brings in extra cash.” Arriving at the barn, she held the door open for him, waiting as he entered.

  Stepping inside, the sounds and smells of a dairy barn hit him—the faint smell of cow manure hung in the air, the lowing of cattle just outside the sliding wooden doors.

  “We just whitewashed,” she said, seeing that he noticed. “The inspector passed us on his first trip out. He said Dad does a good job of things.”

  John nodded while thinking how much he preferred work tools that didn’t splatter the ground with smelly droppings from their backsides. “When does the milking start?” he asked.

  “Fifteen minutes. Let some feed out of the shoot over there. Give each cow a shovelful. Keeps them occupied till we get the milkers on.”

  He responded by finding the feed shovel and lifting the sliding board that controlled the feed flow. The pressure surprised him as the spray of brown feed, smelling of molasses and squashed grain, shot down to the floor by his feet.

  “Not too much,” she said calmly. “Save the extra for next time. They can’t reach it from there anyway, so it will keep. I’m going for the milkers now.”

  He picked up the shovel, scooped up a portion he figured was equivalent to the prescribed amount and deposited it in front of the first open station. When all sixteen spots were done, he retreated to the back and waited.

  She pushed open the swinging door behind him, coming out with a milker in each hand, their hoses hanging just shy of the floor.

  “I’ll take them,” he offered, reaching out his hand.

  She gave him one and lifted the other up to snap in place on the wire suspended from the ceiling. Obviously she wanted him to follow suit, so he did, feeling the weight of the effort quickly tire his arm. He wondered what she was doing carrying two of these at the same time.

  As if in answer, she said, “I wouldn’t have brought out two if you hadn’t been here. They can’t touch the ground outside the milk house. Cleanliness issue.”

  He nodded. “What time did you say the milking starts?”

  “Five sharp,” she said. “The cows should be coming in any minute now.”

  The sound of the approaching cows confirmed her words. As Lester came into the barn, he smiled at the sight of John in his oversized chore clothing and asked the two, “Ready to start?”

  Rebecca grinned, noticing the reason for her father’s smile, and nodded her head. Lester opened the door to the outside barnyard. The first cow stuck her head in, looked around as if deciding what to do, then proceeded forward, nervously glancing about.

  Standing motionless and staring intently at the advancing cow, John missed the exchange between daughter and father. The cow overcame whatever contrary thoughts it had as soon as it caught sight of the feed John had shoveled out. Lifting its head, the cow headed for the closest station. Rebecca was ready and pushed the two side rods together as the cow stuck its head through the stanchion. The metal snapping closed
around its neck caused no reaction, its nose deep into the shovel of feed. The cow munched contentedly, its eyes looking at nothing and glazed over in contentment.

  The other cows lost no time following suit. Lester counted under his breath until sixteen had entered, then he slapped the next cow in line on its nose to keep it from entering. “There now, Bess,” he said, “next time’s for you.”

  “Cows never listen,” Rebecca said, standing at John’s elbow. “You have to give direction.”

  She turned to reach for the milker on the overhead line and then stepped back, moving away from the cow. The switch of its tail almost caught her in the face.

  “Missed,” she muttered under her breath. “Try harder next time.”

  John had to chuckle. “It’s not on purpose, is it?”

  “Maniacal things. Cow brains,” she retorted. “You never know sometimes.”

  He laughed, the sound vibrating in the enclosed milking parlor. She turned toward it. There weren’t too many times she’d heard him laugh out loud, and each time her reaction had been the same. It was as a man’s laugh should be—delightful, serious, and yet merry to the soul.

  Her smile warmed his heart when he saw it.

  “Ah,” he cleared his throat, “how long does it take to milk?”

  Her smile deepened. He was trying to change the subject, and she now knew why. It was because he cared for her, deeply cared for her. She let the thought linger as he was looking the other way, seeming to be watching the milkers doing their jobs.

  “We should be done by a quarter after six,” she told him, with her smile still lingering. “Supper’s right after that. Mother makes a wonderful supper.”

  “I suppose she does,” he allowed. “Passed the training on to you?”

  She grinned. “Of course.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Under the hiss of a gas lantern, the family gathered in the dining room for the evening meal. Another lantern hung in the kitchen and one more was glowing in the living room. Except for the rooms here and there with kerosene lamps burning, the house was dark.