by Beth Wiseman
So she became the best daughter she could be, to make up for the missing one. She enjoyed cooking and helping out around the house when she wasn’t working at the gift shop in town. And she watched and worried over her siblings like a mother hen, concerned that bad things might happen if she didn’t.
It was so quiet here now she could hear the icicles tinkling like glass wind chimes as the chill breeze rustled the bare tree branches. The fields lay dormant beneath the blanket of snow that also covered the nearby farmhouses and barns. Farmers who’d worked so hard harvesting their crops now studied seed catalogs and planned their spring plowing and planting. They repaired farm equipment, and even with the winter’s shorter days, some of them enjoyed having a few hours to do some carpentry.
Families gathered indoors in front of the fireplace and played games. When friends came to visit, there was plenty of time for holding quilting circles and catching up on the latest news over cups of tea and cookies warm from the oven.
In quiet Paradise, Pennsylvania, things became even more peaceful in winter.
But Rebecca felt anything but peaceful. She’d come home from her job and found herself restless. So she donned her coat and bonnet again and went out for a walk in spite of the cold.
Stop being afraid!
Startled, Rebecca whipped her head around and scanned the field behind her. There was no one in sight. Hers were the only footsteps in the vast expanse of snow-covered fields that led to where she stood.
The voice was so familiar. She hadn’t heard it for a while, but she’d never forget it.
Stop being afraid. It’s time to stop being afraid.
“I’m not afraid!” she cried out.
But her words vanished in the wind that swept across the icy white surface of the frozen pond. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as the chill seeped into her feet, then her legs, then her body, and finally her heart. Still she stood and stared out at the pond.
She thought she saw something, there, at the far edge of the pond. Something—someone? Blinking, she looked again, but there was nothing. Her eyes were just watering a little in the cold, that was all. She should get home, help her mamm with nachtesse. On these cold winter evenings, it was so nice to sit at the big carved wooden table with her family and share a meal and try not to think about how she felt each year when winter came.
Her mind wandered. She felt herself moving, light as air, gracefully skimming across the icy surface of the pond, the wind a cold caress on her face. Flinging her arms out, she soared like a bird, her cape and long skirt rippling in the wind, the only sound her skates as they barely touched the ice. She leaped and spun and felt her heart lift and warm and beat harder and harder, faster and faster as the old excitement burst through her as she circled the pond.
Surely this was what it felt like in heaven, she thought, smiling.
Lost in her dreams, she didn’t hear the crunch of steps on the snow behind her.
“I knew I’d find you here.”
Startled, her eyes flew open, and she spun around at the sound of the deep male voice behind her. “Ben! What are you doing here?”
Her feet slipped on the snowy bank, and she started to fall. He reached out and caught her, but then his feet slid out from under him too. As he fell, he held tighter and tried to shield her from the worst of it, pulling her over as they landed on the snow.
Winded, Rebecca found herself staring down into the face of Ben Weaver. His brown eyes were full of concern. “Are you all right?”
“I asked you what you’re doing here.”
“You were skating.”
“Skating?” She stared at him incredulously. “Look at my feet, Ben Weaver. Do they look like they have skates on them?”
“Skating,” he repeated. “Flying across the ice like you used to.”
“You’re ab im kopp,” she muttered. Shaking her head, she struggled to get to her feet.
But her long, dark blue frack had a mind of its own. It was tangled with Ben’s trousers, and he didn’t help her extricate herself. Instead, he just chuckled and watched her struggle. Finally, she yanked the material away and stood, her hands on her hips.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded again as she brushed at the snow on her skirt and coat.
“Your mamm sent me,” he told her.
“Is something wrong?”
He held out his hand, seeking to reassure her. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then why would she send you?”
Ben got to his feet without effort, picked up his black felt hat, and brushed at the snow on his jacket and trousers. “She was worried about you,” he said.
The moment the words left his mouth, Ben regretted them.
Rebecca went still, and it was like a shutter came down over her face. “She has no reason to worry,” she said. Turning, she started to climb the slope, slipping and sliding as she went.
Ben followed her, but even with his long strides it wasn’t easy to keep up. “Rebecca, let me give you a ride home.”
“I walked here. I can walk home.” Then she bit her lip. “But thank you,” she said.
“Stop it!”
She halted and stared at him. “Stop what?”
“You’re just too polite.”
“Too polite?” Her eyebrows rose higher, if that were possible.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Rebecca. I know you’re upset.”
“I’m fine. I need to get home.”
“I thought we were friends.”
His quiet words stopped her.
She turned. “We are. But no one needs to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re still sad sometimes, especially this time of year.” His eyes searched hers. “You’re freezing, and I’m cold. Just get in the buggy and let me drive you home. Please.”
Turning, he began walking to the buggy, not sure if she’d follow. He knew how stubborn she could be. But surely she wouldn’t insist on walking home, as cold as she must be.
He heard her sigh of exasperation behind him and the stomp of her feet in the snow, and he couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
“You think it’s funny?” She hurried to catch up with him. Her breath huffed out in the cold wind.
“No, Rebecca.”
As they walked, he cast her a worried glance. She was shivering even harder. “Here, let me give you my coat.”
“You can’t do that. You’ll catch your death of cold without it.”
“Better me than you.”
She put out her hand to stop him. “I’ll be fine. We’re almost to your buggy. It’ll be warmer there.”
Something inside him relaxed. So at least she was going to let him drive her home.
What was it about her that attracted him so? There were other girls he could have pursued, but no . . . five years ago he’d realized how much he cared for Rebecca, and no one else would do.
He’d decided to ask if they could date, but before he could, her life had been forever changed. Nothing before the accident seemed to matter now. But it had been five years. Wasn’t that long enough for her to heal?
And did she—could she—forgive him for what had happened to Lizzie?
Rebecca’s steps were awkward by the time they were at the buggy, and getting in seemed to be an effort. He lifted her in his arms, startling her so that she whipped around and stared at him, her eyes wide.
“I can get in by myself.”
His heart did a funny little flip in his chest as he realized how close their faces were. He settled her on the seat and reached for the blanket to tuck it around her.
“Really, there’s no need to fuss—,” she began, then sneezed.
He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Do you want to worry your eldre if you get sick?” he asked quietly.
As what little color she had faded from her cheeks, he knew his words had hit home. He finished tucking the blanket around her legs, then walked around to his side of the vehicle a
nd climbed inside.
She stared straight ahead as the buggy began moving, her black bonnet hiding her expression. “I thought you were at the Brownfield home today.”
“I stopped by to see your father.”
Ben worked for Amos, so Rebecca didn’t question that. But business hadn’t been the topic of their conversation today.
They passed their old schoolhouse, and he stopped the buggy for a moment. “We had some good times here, didn’t we?”
“When you weren’t annoying me, you mean?”
He grinned, unrepentant. “I was a young boy then. Besides, I was just teasing you.”
“I looked it up in the dictionary. The word tease. It means ‘to annoy in fun,’” she told him dryly.
He’d had fun, he reflected. Rebecca had always been so quiet, so composed, that he’d enjoyed getting a rise out of her. Then her cheeks would turn pink, her hazel eyes would flash, and she’d tell him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone.
From the time he was sixteen, he’d decided he wanted no other woman for his fraa. He told himself that all he had to do was wait until they were older. Then he’d ask if they could date.
That was before what he’d come to think of as that day.
She sneezed again, jerking him from his thoughts.
“Are you still cold?”
“I’m fine,” she told him, using a tissue to blow her nose. “I’m sure it’s allergies.”
“To what? Snow?”
She rolled her eyes. “People can have allergies in the winter.”
“You don’t.”
“Since when do you know everything about me?”
He opened his mouth and then shut it. How could he answer that question? They’d grown up together in the same small community and attended the same school. Everyone knew everyone else’s business here in Paradise.
But sometimes her father confided his concern about his eldest daughter to Ben as they worked on a joint project. And her mother looked on him like another son and did the same.
He’d bided his time until he thought his suit would be successful with Rebecca.
And waited some more.
He glanced at her again and caught her looking at him. She quickly glanced away, but not before he caught the expression on her face. Curiosity, he mused. Hmm. Well, if she didn’t yet look at him the way he wished, at least she was looking.
He’d take it.
Rebecca felt herself blush when she realized Ben had caught her staring at him.
She looked away quickly, but not quickly enough. He’d been looking at her so seriously. Did he feel more for her than friendship? No, it was just that she wanted it to be so. But time couldn’t be turned back, as much as she wished it possible.
Sometimes she felt he was about to say something, then he’d stop. She wished she had the courage to ask him about it.
Risking another glance, she saw that his attention was on the road now. She wondered why he hadn’t yet gotten engaged or married as many of their classmates had. Girls had always liked him. She’d stood with them at recess and listened to them talk about how sweet, how sensitive he was. He might not say much, the girls said, but they saw that as a good thing. He wasn’t trying to impress them or chase after them the way some boys did.
And then there was his appearance. He was tall, with impressive muscles from helping his father on the farm. He was square-jawed, his hair a dark russet, and his eyes were such a handsome brown color. According to the other girls.
“Like dark chocolate,” one girl said with a sigh.
“And he’s always making me laugh,” another reported.
He didn’t make Rebecca laugh. All he did was tease her and look at her with eyes that promised mischief. He didn’t do that with other girls who flirted with him at singings. Mary Anne even confided that he’d kissed her once. Yes, Ben Weaver could have had—still could have—his pick of young women in the community.
So why wasn’t he married?
“My mother didn’t tell you where I was, did she?”
He glanced at her. “No.”
“I wouldn’t want her to think—well, you know, to . . . ,” she trailed off, not knowing how to put it into words.
“To think that you were brooding by the pond?”
Rebecca frowned. “I wouldn’t call it brooding.”
“What would you call it, then?”
Her eyes flew to his, and in them she saw compassion. She looked away. “I can’t help but think of Lizzie when winter comes.”
“I know. Me too.”
“Really?”
“Life changed for both of us the day Lizzie died, Rebecca.”
The simple words struck at her heart. She nodded. “What made you look for me at the pond?”
He looked back at the road. “I’ve seen you there sometimes when I drive by.”
She thought about that. It was the one place she’d thought she had privacy. How many others had driven past and wondered if she was—what was the word he’d used? Brooding. She sighed. Oh well. There were, after all, no secrets here in Paradise.
With a jerk of the reins, Ben let Ike know that he wanted to turn down the drive to Rebecca’s house.
“Why did you say I was skating?” she asked suddenly.
He glanced at her. “You were moving and swaying, lifting your arms.”
She studied him, looking into his eyes to see if he was teasing. But his expression was serious, his eyes kind. “Ben Weaver, I think you need to have your eyes examined,” she said at last.
“I’m not crazy,” he told her. “Weren’t you wanting to be out on the ice, skating like you used to do?”
It felt like all the air in her left her body. “How can you ask me such a thing after what happened?” Her voice sounded strangled.
Ben stopped the buggy and reached out a hand to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“How could I do it again?” she asked him, feeling tears rush into her eyes. “I got Lizzie to go with me that day. If I hadn’t, if I’d been watching better, she wouldn’t have died.”
Rebecca saw a look of pain cross Ben’s face. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it so hard that it hurt.
“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me.”
Chapter Two
THE FRONT DOOR OPENED, AND HER MOTHER APPEARED. “You found her!”
Rebecca pulled her hand from Ben’s, feeling faintly guilty. “Thank you,” she said, then quickly shoved aside the blanket that covered her legs and climbed out.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” she told her mother. “I just went for a walk. I’ll be down as soon as I change.”
Mamm nodded as Rebecca rushed through the kitchen and up the stairs. In her room, Rebecca shed her damp things and put on another frack. Then she searched in her drawer for a fresh kapp.
She stood before a small mirror and stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were pale. She brushed her hair until it crackled with static electricity, parted it in the center, rebound it at the back of her head, and donned the kapp.
Her gaze returned to her reflection for just a moment. She didn’t spend much time looking at herself in mirrors. Her looks were just average: hazel eyes, brown hair. Slender figure with barely any curves.
Her twin had gotten those.
And more. Mamm had always said the two were as different as night and day. From the time they were born, she always said that one chased after life and the other followed, worrying about the adventurer.
Everyone knew that while Rebecca was the oldest by six minutes, she was the follower, the worrier—never the dreamer or the adventurer.
She sighed. No, she’d never envied Lizzie. But sometimes she’d felt like she came in a pale second. Lizzie had been like a comet streaking across the sky. Rebecca was the homebody, lovingly taking care of the other kinner, helping her mamm with the house.
Except for when she was out on the ice, skating. There, everything was different. She felt li
ke a bird—free, graceful, daring.
Sinking down on the bed, she thought about what Ben had said about her skating: that she was moving as she stood there in the snow, as if she were skating in her imagination. How ridiculous.
She missed skating so much, but she just couldn’t face doing it again.
When she went downstairs, she found Ben leaning against a kitchen counter, laughing and talking with her mamm.
“I talked Ben into staying to eat,” Mamm said. “After all, he went to find you for me.”
Ben sneaked a cookie from the jar on the counter. Rebecca waited for her mother to chide him since it was so close to suppertime. But Naomi merely smiled fondly at him.
Rebecca moved to the counter and began slicing the loaves of homemade bread that sat on a wooden board.
“It smells wonderful,” Ben said. “Nothing better than a good stew on a cold night.”
“There’s deep-dish apple pie too.”
“My favorite.”
Rebecca stopped slicing and looked over at him. “Everything’s your favorite.”
“Yes,” he agreed, grinning. “I love everything your mamm makes.”
“Everything’s ready. Call the kinner,” Mamm said.
Rebecca did as she was asked, hollering up the stairs. They came clattering down and seated themselves around the table. Rebecca frowned when she saw where Ben was sitting. Lizzie had always sat there . . .
He looked up at her, and she saw the light fade from his eyes. He started to move to a different chair.
“Sit, sit,” Rebecca’s father, Amos, said as he came into the room. “Glad you could join us, Ben.”
Glancing uneasily at Rebecca, Ben nodded. “Me too.”
Amos bent his head and the family followed, joining in prayer. Then noisy chatter filled the room as bowls and platters were passed and plates were filled.
Looking around the big carved wooden table that was the heart of a Plain kitchen, Rebecca felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. She was needed here. Her mamm often told her she didn’t know what she’d do without her help. When her mother’s last two pregnancies had been difficult, Rebecca had taken over running the house. She was good at it; she enjoyed cooking and baking and even cleaning, because that meant putting things back where they belonged, getting a sense of order.
