by Tricia Goyer
Two other bachelors emerged from the store, and it was clear they’d been watching from inside. Neither of them seemed amused. One of the shorter guys approached Caleb and playfully knocked the side of his head. “You better be careful who you encourage to do what. This truck could have ended up running through that window and over Edgar’s cash register.”
“Oh no.” Rebecca straightened her shoulders. “I’ve learned to watch out for Englischmen, so it’s Caleb who was risking his life. If I would have run over anyone . . . it would have been him,” she huffed.
Caleb’s eyes brightened as she said his name, and he smiled.
“Speaking of Edgar, Annie just told me there’s a surprise party for him tomorrow night at my parents’ place,” Marianna said.
“But I thought that was next week,” one of the bachelors said.
“Annie’s coming with us now, don’t you remember, Amos?” This time it was Caleb who playfully shoved his friend. “I suppose she pushed it up.”
“Ja.” Marianna nodded. “And I’m sorry we can’t make it with all of you on the wagon vacation. It sounds like those logging roads could have been quite the adventure . . .” Marianna softly bit her lower lip and looked away.
“Did you have plans?” Rebecca felt her heart sink. “I shouldn’t have just showed up like this. I should have just gone on to—” Rebecca halted her words, noticing the eyes of the bachelors upon her.
“We did have plans, but we backed out even before we knew you were coming.” Marianna touched Rebecca’s hand. “You weren’t the reason, I promise.” Marianna swallowed and then turned her attention toward the bachelors. “Caleb, Amos, and a few others are going to Libby and back on old logging roads. Ben and I talked about it. It’s just not a good time for us. I mean, he just finished filming his video yesterday. It’s been so busy . . .” Yet even as Marianna said those words, Rebecca could see it was more than that. She’d known Marianna enough years to know that when her eyebrows pushed together and the skin folded on her forehead, something was wrong. She also saw from Marianna’s tight-lipped gaze that she wasn’t going to change her mind.
“But as for the surprise party?” Caleb interjected again. He directed the question to Marianna, but his eyes moved toward Rebecca, hopeful, and then back again.
Marianna smiled. “If Rebecca doesn’t mind, I would like to go.”
“Ja. We can do that. Sunday evenings are always a gut time to spend with friends.” The words shot out before she had a chance to stop them.
Caleb’s eyebrows lifted slightly. His eyes widened with excitement.
“I mean, it would be good to meet everyone, wouldn’t it?” Rebecca touched the back edge of her kapp. “After all, Marianna has said such wonderful things about her neighbors . . .”
She forced herself not to look at Caleb. She told herself it was the fresh mountain air that had her heart pumping so. She had nursing school waiting. She had Englisch clothes back at Marianna’s house. She hadn’t even been planning to wear these Amish clothes, yet here she was. Even if Caleb did find interest in her, he would soon be disappointed. As much as her interest was piqued by this handsome bachelor, he could be no more than a friend. Good thing he was leaving for that wagon ride. Good thing that tomorrow night would be the only time she’d spend with him. Tuesday morning he’d be heading out on his own adventure, leaving her mind and heart to focus on her journey to come.
CHAPTER
7
Caleb rolled over on his bunk, wishing he could train his body not to stir so early. There were no cows to milk, no team to hitch up to the plow, but all those years of waking up on the farm had done the trick.
The room had just started to lighten from the morning’s first rays, and his thoughts went to Marianna Stone’s pretty friend. There was no denying he found Rebecca interesting. Even though she looked similar to any typical Amish girl, her confidence intrigued him. She’d come all this way from Indiana alone, and something told him she was used to going solo.
Caleb jumped up, dressed in his clothes he’d tossed on the floor before bed, then ran his fingers through his hair. It was still early yet—too early to stoke the fire and get the coffeepot going. Amos had complained more than once that if he’d wanted someone banging around in the morning, he would have stayed back in Ohio at his mem’s house.
Opening the curtains wider, he watched as the first rays of dawn lit the eastern sky, and he marveled at the color of pink that tinted the horizon. It was the same color that had tinted Rebecca’s cheeks as she’d forced herself not to look at him. Leave it to his luck that the only girl he wanted paying attention to him was the one who forced herself to look away.
Caleb changed his socks and slid them into his mud-caked boots, thankful that it was an off Sunday. It wasn’t that he didn’t like church. He didn’t like the pressure. He didn’t like the looks that he received from the mothers of the eligible young women in town. He even didn’t like that more than one single woman would bring him a large slice of pie that she’d made just for him. The pie was good, but the expectations in their eyes made him nervous.
Usually he’d head out to visit neighbors or go fishing, but this morning he’d spend a little time packing for the trip. He tried not to be disappointed that Annie and Millie were coming instead of Ben and Marianna. At least he would have some good food. He wished he could ask Rebecca to go. He liked her. Liked her spunk.
Even now he smiled, remembering how she’d fallen for his joke and turned the truck around. He couldn’t think of another Amish woman who would have done that.
Caleb picked up a few pairs of pants from the floor and smelled them. These were the ones he hadn’t worn to work, and they didn’t smell too dirty. He took them over to the knapsack he borrowed, folding them to put inside, when he noticed something was already there. It was the stack of letters from the counter. He took them out and tossed them on his bed.
“You need to read them, Caleb. You can’t run from home forever,” Amos mumbled.
So much for not waking his friend.
“I’m not running. It’s just that I don’t need to read what’s happening. I can guess.”
“It’s your family, Caleb. They care for you. They want to know you care back.”
“I care. I send them postcards.”
“Ja, that will make everything right again, won’t it?”
Caleb looked at the pile of letters. They were still stacked as they’d come in. Fear gripped his chest as he looked at the one that had come in just a few days ago. No, he didn’t want to read that one. Didn’t want to hear how bad off things had gotten. Instead he took the letter from the bottom of the stack—the oldest one from three months prior—and opened it.
Dear Caleb,
I can’t believe you’ve been gone three months already. The first shoots are already peeking in the fields. Your sisters came by yesterday—and some of our neighbors—and helped me clean for church. It feels gut to have it done. Miriam was even on her knees scrubbing the floorboards. She’s always been the one to fret over all the details.
We’ve come to know the neighbors down the street yet. Joe and Mattie Beiler are building a home on his grandfather’s property. I’ve been taking them a bit of leftovers, which helps them. They are living in the basement as they build the house on top and she appreciates anything I bring. The truth is, without you and Opa eating, I cook too much. I’m just used to it, I suppose. Those two empty chairs at the table should remind me, but someone my age is set in her ways.
Things are the same. Not much to report healthwise. It makes me think that we should all be more thankful for our days and the quality of our years.
I hope you will write and tell us some about Montana. We read in the Budget that folks haven’t planted their gardens in the ground yet. I suppose that makes sense, being so high in the mountains and all. It’s good for those who have a greenhouse and get an early start.
Your dat seems more tired than normal, but that’s to be expected.
There are those who come and help, but it’s not the same as before. Daily chores do take us so much time.
Have you thought, yet, about coming home just for a week for Miriam and Will’s wedding? Maybe they’d even want you to be a nava hucker if they knew you were coming back. The wedding was just published, and although a spring wedding isn’t common here, it’s more common where Will is from.
Please write, son, and let us know how you are. It’s hard enough not having a father to talk to. Having a son gone is harder yet, but I suppose there is just a short window when a man can have such adventures. Or at least that’s what Dat says.
Love, Mem
Caleb folded up the letter and returned it to the envelope. It was just as he’d thought. Talk of the crops, of cleaning, and of loss. Guilt constricted his lungs and made it hard to breathe.
And here he was, heading out on a wagon trip while his father worked their farm alone. Ja, his brothers-in-law offered help, but not the help a son should be giving. And where would he be if he returned, living the type of life his opa had warned him about? He’d seen the regret in his grandfather’s face and didn’t want to become the weary and worried old man he’d been before the stroke.
This is my time. His mem had said it plain. The only thing better about the adventure of the next few weeks would be having someone to join him on it.
Caleb folded his arms and spoke into the room lit by the brightening rays, staring at Amos’ bunk. “Do you think Rebecca would be interested in coming on the wagon ride?”
“Hummpf?” From the growl of Amos’ voice, it was clear he was done talking.
“I know she just got here, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?” He smiled, wondering again where she’d gotten that spunk. He’d also like to know how come she wasn’t already married. Surely someone like her would have caught the eye of an Amishman long ago.
Caleb grabbed three shirts from the stack Ruth Sommer had washed for him and tucked those into the duffel. Marianna’s mem sometimes took in laundry, and rumor had it if one stopped by to pick up his things around dinnertime, he’d be invited in for a meal. Caleb had found that to be true.
“Rebecca did say she was coming tonight.” He spoke more to himself than Amos. He rubbed his chin, in need of a shave. He just needed to think of a stunt that would capture her attention . . . and hold it. And if he could get Marianna to encourage her friend to go along, well, that would be even better.
CHAPTER
8
For the last three years Rebecca had slept fitfully most nights. She often woke while others slept, planning when she’d leave and where she’d go. And the only thing that had calmed her—that had made her willing to push through another day, focusing on her schooling and trying to ignore her lies—was that she could go. Only one other person had known of her dream. And that person had made everything possible.
Rebecca sat on the floor, pulling her suitcase toward her. She’d emptied her things into the dresser in the room, but while the suitcase looked empty, it held Rebecca’s peace inside. Her eyes fluttered closed, and then she moved her fingers to the hidden flap. Mem had forced her to sew, yet she’d had no idea how Rebecca’s best handiwork would be used.
Pulling back the bottom edge of the lining revealed a hidden zipper. Unzipping it, Rebecca slid her hand inside. The pounding of her heart stilled as her fingers touched the edge of paper. Unable to hold back any longer, Rebecca pulled out the small stack of money. Ten thousand dollars. Her grandmother’s life savings.
“You know I never have trusted banks,” her grandmother had said more than once when she visited.
“I don’t think most people your age do, Oma,” Rebecca had often responded.
“The banks failed before, and they could fail again.” Oma had spoken with sternness. “Besides, we should never put into man’s hands what God has intended us to use for His good.”
If her grandma had said the same thing one time, she’d said it one hundred. And then, one year ago, just a few weeks before her grandmother’s death, her oma had refused to allow Rebecca to just listen and nod.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I meant by that?” Oma had said.
“By what?”
“Well, what I meant by putting into man’s hands what God meant for good.”
“I thought it was just a saying.”
Oma had tsk-tsked her then. “Young woman, maybe you thought that, but don’t you want to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“Well, if I haven’t trusted banks all these years, don’t you want to ask what I did with all the money I saved? All the money that’s not in a bank?”
“You saved money?” Rebecca had glanced around the room. “Is it in here?”
A sparkle from Grandma’s eye lightened Rebecca’s heart. Even with her health declining, her grandmother always had a quick wit about her.
“Ja, and I will tell you where. But first I need you to tell me what you’ve been doing with those school books.”
Rebecca’s heart had skipped a beat. “You . . . saw me?”
“Darling girl, do you think a grandmother really sleeps fifteen hours a day? Sometimes I just pretended to sleep so you could get your work done.”
“It’s college work, Oma. I know you’ll be mad—”
“Is it nursing?” Oma had attempted to sit up straighter, but there was hardly any muscle on her thin frame, and she sank back into the pillows. “I read that on one of the spines.”
“Ja, a delivery nurse . . . for babies.” On one hand Rebecca couldn’t believe she was telling her grandmother the truth. On the other hand, in a strange way she’d felt Oma would understand. Her grandmother lived the life of a good Amish woman, but she also seemed less concerned about the opinions of others than most people Rebecca knew. Maybe it was because Oma also spent more time reading the Bible than others in Rebecca’s family. It was as if she found an internal strength there that allowed her not to get overly worried about external things.
Tears had trailed down her grandmother’s cheeks. “It’s because of Claudia, isn’t it?”
“Ja . . .” She’d only had enough strength to offer one word.
“Your parents will be disappointed.”
Rebecca nodded.
“With me as well as you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Liebling, go to my trunk and unfold my kitchen aprons. I’ve never thrown one away. There should be ten of them, and in the pocket of each one are ten one-hundred-dollar bills.”
Rebecca reached over and touched her grandmother’s forehead. Surely she was feverish and disillusioned.
“If you think I’m out of my mind, maybe I am. But I loved Claudia too. I’ve also never known a more tender nurse than you. I want you to have the money. But promise me one thing . . .”
“Ja?”
“When you return—and you will return to repent—say a prayer for me too. Say a prayer that your mem won’t be too mad at me for both hiding the money and helping her daughter.”
“I—I always pray for you.” And that was the truth. Even when she couldn’t pray for herself, she could always pray for Oma. “But . . . why would you do this, when you know I’ll be educating myself in the ways of the world?”
“I trust you, Rebecca. I trust you.”
Even now those words filled Rebecca’s soul with a sense of peace. Those words were one of the last things Oma had said to her.
Months later in class, Rebecca learned that some people get a burst of energy before they decline and die, and she was thankful her grandma hadn’t stopped with those words alone. She liked to think of her grandmother’s last words as more of a last blessing rather than part of the natural process.
“I trust your heart. I trust your motives. Some may not want your help yet. Some may allow their worries to overshadow their needs. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my seventy-five years, it’s that change will happen. Years ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of having a phone in the
phone shed not far from the house, but we’ve come to accept it. Maybe not in my lifetime, but hopefully in yours, people will start to see that not all changes are bad. And not all steps toward the world will bring damnation to one’s soul. Promote healing, Rebecca. And as you do this, it’ll mean your healing will come too.”
Now, sitting on the cold wood floor while birds chirped on the branches of a pine tree just outside her window, Rebecca held the money tightly, pressing it against her heart. She didn’t know how many eggs Oma had sold for this, but without it—and the scholarships she’d received—she wouldn’t be able to venture out. Was what Oma said true? Would the schooling help her own heart? Would it mend up the hole her sister had left? Would it calm the fear she felt every time a family member or friend announced that a baby was on the way?
Rebecca hoped that to be true.
After returning the money to the hidden compartment and getting herself ready for the day, Rebecca quietly walked through the living room and stood far enough back so Ben and Marianna couldn’t see her through the window from their place at the garden. Ben held a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, and he listened and chuckled as Marianna chatted about something as she weeded.
How long had they been up? From the signs of the breakfast dishes drying on the rack behind her, it had to be a few hours at least. A better question was how had she slept so long? The quiet was the main reason, she supposed. Back home her dat was up at four o’clock. His banging around as he lit the woodstove served as an alarm clock for the rest of the family. But here it was quiet. There wasn’t the sound of children. There were no busy roads or the sounds of trucks and buggies.
She watched Ben, who was wearing jeans and a plain blue T-shirt. It was clear why Marianna had fallen for him, and she knew what Ben saw in Marianna, but what about her? Would anyone ever look at her with adoration in his gaze? By leaving the Amish, she’d be leaving behind any hopes of finding love. An Amishman wouldn’t love someone who’d left. Yet she was too Amish—too Plain—to get the attention of an Englischer.
