by Beth Wiseman
And when she was going about taking care of their home, she didn’t hear that voice in her head urging her to do something, to stop being afraid.
She’d been like other girls her age, thinking about boys, about dating, about getting married, before the accident. Now the boy she’d been interested in sat next to her as a friend and not as a husband.
She’d thought she’d be married, have her own kinner by now. This wasn’t the life she’d imagined she’d lead by the age of twenty-two. But she could put aside her dreams, her desires, for the sake of her family . . .
Ben was saying something. Jerking to attention, Rebecca accepted the bowl of stew he passed her, then the basket of bread. Taking a slice, she passed the basket on and reached for the budderhaffe. Her hand collided with Ben’s, and she pulled it back.
“Ladies first,” he said, pushing the dish toward her.
With a slight smile, she nodded, scooped up some of the budder with her knife and spread it on the bread, then pushed the budderhaffe toward him.
“Rebecca, guess what I did at school today!”
Rebecca turned with a smile, but before she could respond to Esther, six-year-old Annie launched into a monologue about her day. Bright and eager to learn, she was thriving at her lessons, especially math.
Looking up, Rebecca caught Ben watching her, his expression thoughtful. What had he meant when he said if she was going to blame anyone, she should blame him? What did she have to blame him for? He’d been such a good friend, listening to her whenever she needed to talk about Lizzie. She didn’t know what she’d have done without him since Lizzie died.
She wondered again why he hadn’t yet married. He came from a large, happy family, just as she did. From what she’d observed, his parents had a happy marriage.
After leaving school he’d worked with her father, learning the carpentry trade, building and installing custom kitchen cabinets, built-ins, and bookcases in area homes, sometimes Amish, sometimes Englisch. He’d often been invited to stay for the evening meal at the Miller home—or charmingly found a way to invite himself, Rebecca noted—so he’d become a fixture in her home.
“So, Ben, I’m thinking that we’re going to finish the White kitchen on Wednesday,” Daed said, leaning back in his chair as he watched Naomi cut and serve slices of deep-dish apple pie.
“We can’t go to the Anthony house early,” Ben told him. “Remember, Mr. Anthony wants to take his wife off to a hotel while we work on the kitchen, get her away from all the noise and dust. They made arrangements to be out of their house for a week starting Friday, not Thursday.”
“Don’t you two spend enough time talking business during the day?” Naomi asked, but she smiled.
Amos nodded. “Ya. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Mamm was passing slices of pie down the table and handed a plate to Marian. “This is for Rebecca.”
“No, thanks.”
“No dessert? You love apple pie.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I’ll have some later. I’m just not all that hungry right now.” A headache was forming behind her eyes, and the stew was lying like a lump in her stomach.
She got up and collected stew bowls and put them into the sink. It had been a long day. She was looking forward to bed already, even though it was early. Her father smiled at her as she refilled his coffee cup, then her mother’s.
“This is your piece, Ben,” said Marian, the second oldest. She handed him the plate with a smile. Their fingers brushed, and a faint blush crept up her cheeks.
Rebecca stopped beside Ben and stared. Her sister was flirting with Ben!
Ben realized that Rebecca was standing beside him, coffeepot in hand. Her expression was as cold as the ice cream topping the pie he’d just been handed. “More coffee?” she asked.
“Danki,” he said and frowned as he watched her pour the hot liquid. Why did she look upset with him?
“Cream?” Marian asked. “I know you like it in your coffee.”
“Yes, thanks,” he told her, tearing his gaze from Rebecca, who seemed focused on her sister.
Confused, he glanced over at Marian as he accepted the pitcher of cream from her. She was looking at him from beneath her lashes, shy . . . flirty? No, it couldn’t be, he told himself. She was what— sixteen? He searched his memory. Seventeen? Whatever she was, she was too young for him. And besides, he wanted her older sister.
He looked at Naomi. She was also watching Marian. Then her gaze moved to him.
“Ben, how is your pie?” she asked.
He took a bite. “Wonderful,” he pronounced. He glanced at Rebecca, who had returned the coffeepot to the stove and sat back down. She was rubbing her forehead and looking down at her untouched cup of tea.
When Rebecca sneezed, her mother gazed at her daughter in concern. “Are you catching cold?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Maybe it’s allergies,” Ben said slyly.
If looks could hurt, he’d have been bleeding. He glanced around, but no one else noticed.
“Yes, I think it is,” Rebecca responded, and she took a sip of her tea.
Ben sat back. He was pleasantly full from the meal and pleasantly tired from the day’s work. Just plain pleasant, sitting here in the warm kitchen at the big kitchen table next to Rebecca. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well, yes, he would. He’d trade it for a kitchen of their own, a family of their own. But he didn’t think she was ready for that conversation.
“What kind of kitchen cabinets did you build for the Delaney family?” Marian asked Ben.
There was nothing Ben loved to talk about more than working with wood. With farmland becoming more expensive in Lancaster County, more men were turning to trades like carpentry. He’d worked with Amos for several years learning the trade, and while he could build just about anything, he found the most satisfaction helping to create kitchens. Maybe that was because he’d always considered it the heart of the home, the place where a family gathered to share God’s abundance of food and talk about the events of the day.
He loved working with wood, all the varieties from maple to oak to birch—and, for some of the fancy Englisch kitchens, woods that came from faraway places like Brazil and Costa Rica.
But the more he talked, the more he realized that Rebecca was quiet. She looked even paler than before.
“Ben? Another slice of pie?” Naomi asked.
“No, thanks. I should be going. I’ll see you in the morning, Amos.”
Rebecca pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her nose. He started to say something, but she shook her head and glanced at her mother, who was supervising the clearing of the table. He got the message and nodded.
His going to find her this afternoon hadn’t kept her from catching a chill. And it had only complicated things for him. He was going to remember for a long time how it felt to hold her and have her face so close to his. And he already regretted blurting out what he’d said about blaming him. He knew she’d be asking him about it the next time they were alone.
He pulled on his coat and watched as Naomi walked over to Rebecca and put the back of her hand against her daughter’s forehead. Rebecca shook her head and said something too low for Ben to pick up, but Naomi put her hands on her hips and gave her the look, the one only mothers know how to give.
So, he thought, Rebecca hasn’t been able to hide her not feeling well from her mother. It didn’t surprise him. Parents could always sense such things. Especially mothers.
“Rebecca, you go on to bed. I think you’re coming down with a cold.”
She turned and shook her head. “I’m fine.” Taking several bowls from Annie, she put them into the hot soapy water in the sink.
“Annie, why don’t you go ask Marian to read you a story before bed? I’ll help Rebecca with the dishes.”
Rebecca watched Annie, always a good helper, hesitate. Then she scampered off. Trying not to sigh, Rebecca turned back to the dishes. She sensed that her mamm wanted to talk, and sh
e wasn’t in the mood for it. All she wanted was to finish the chores and go to bed.
Picking up a clean dishcloth, Naomi came to stand next to the sink. “Is everything okay?”
Rebecca nodded. She handed her mother a bowl to dry.
“You were gone a long time.”
“I just went for a walk.”
“It was awfully cold for a walk.”
Rebecca handed another bowl to her mother. “I know.”
“Are things okay with you and Ben?”
She nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You were frowning at him when he went to sit down.”
“He was going to sit in Lizzie’s seat.” She stared at the soapy water.
“It’s not Lizzie’s anymore,” her mamm said gently.
“I know that!”
Naomi blinked at the sharpness in Rebecca’s voice.
Rebecca bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly.
“Nee, it’s all right. You’re not feeling well.”
It wasn’t all right to talk to her mamm that way no matter how she felt. Rebecca was ashamed. She cast about in her mind for something to say. “I thought I’d ask Anita for a morning off later this week so I can help take Abram and Annie for their checkups.”
Naomi stopped drying a dish. “I’d rather you took some time for yourself, Rebecca. All you do is work here or at the shop.”
“You need the help.”
Setting down the dish, Naomi placed her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “What I need more is to see you looking happier, Dochder.”
“A daughter should—”
“You are a most dutiful daughter, but we want you to have your own life too. You don’t go out enough with your friends, do the things a young woman does.”
“I was just out with Ben,” Rebecca told her with a slight smile.
“A ride home isn’t out with a friend.”
Rebecca took the dishcloth from her mother and began wiping down the counters. “I’m fine.”
“Rebecca, I noticed that Marian—”
Amos walked into the kitchen. “There you are,” he said to Naomi. “Would you look over a proposal for me?”
“Rebecca and I were—”
“It’s all right,” Rebecca said quickly. “I want to get to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Gut nacht. ”
Looking away from the expression of disappointment on her mother’s face, she kissed her cheek, then her daed’s, and walked quickly to the stairs.
Rebecca woke in the night, feverish, her head clogged and her body aching. Wrapping herself in a bathrobe, she went downstairs, found aspirin, and took two with a glass of water. When she climbed into her bed this time, she was warm—too warm—so she lay atop the covers. Several hours later she woke again, cold, and pulled the quilt back up to her chin.
When she woke next, Marian was shaking her shoulder. “Time to get up.”
Muttering, Rebecca nodded. “Minutt.” She fell back asleep.
Her shoulder was being shaken again, this time by her mother. “Rebecca?” A hand touched her forehead. “Marian, Rebecca has a fiewer! Go get her some aspirin and some wasser.”
“Some wasser would be good,” Rebecca agreed as she sat up. “But I’m getting up. I have to go to work.”
“No, you cannot go to work today,” Mamm said firmly.
“It’s just a cold,” Rebecca said, hoping to convince herself. She was seldom ill, but this felt like the flu. She stood, and the room whirled about her. She sank back down on the bed. “Maybe in a minute.”
Her mother shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow. I’ll get Amos to go by the gift shop and let Anita know you won’t be in today.”
Marian returned with the aspirin and water.
Rebecca washed the pills down with the water, drinking every drop. “I’ll lie down for a little while and see how I feel. I’m really not that sick. It’s just a cold.”
“I’ll bring you breakfast after I get the kinner off to school.”
“No, I’ll come down,” Rebecca muttered as she sank down onto the bed. “Don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
Her mother stroked her hot forehead. “It’s no trouble, liebschen. You’re no trouble. Ever. Rest, dear one. Let someone take care of you.”
Rebecca watched her mother leave the room and felt guilty. How, she wondered, could Mamm still show her such love? She was supposed to watch out for her sister. She was supposed to keep her from harm.
The Bible talked about being your brother’s keeper. She’d tried to be her sister’s. She’d failed.
Chapter Three
REBECCA HEARD THE WHISPERING AS SHE SLOWLY CAME awake, her head throbbing and her throat tight and hot.
“Shh, be quiet!”
“Ya, mauseschtill!”
“Why do people say that? Are mice quiet?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like mice.”
“Shh, if we wake her, Mamm will be mad at us!”
“She looks pretty sick.”
“She’s okay. She gets sick every winter. It’s because she goes out there looking for Lizzie.”
“No, she doesn’t! She’s not crazy!”
“Didn’t say she was. But she stands out there in the snow looking at the pond. Marian says—”
Rebecca opened her eyes. “What does Marian say?”
Her brother Jonas, ten years old, slapped a hand to his chest.
“You scared me to death!”
“You woke me up.”
“I tolded him not to,” said Abram, five years old.
“Told,” Jonas corrected.
“Yeah, I tolded you.”
Jonas sighed. “Anyway, are you feeling any better, Rebecca?”
She nodded and sat up. The room didn’t whirl around her. “A little.”
“Are you hungry? Mamm made you some chicken soup for supper.”
Rebecca glanced at the window. Had she slept through the entire day?
Her mother walked into the room carrying a tray. “I wondered why it was so quiet up here. I should have figured someone was waking up Rebecca.”
A chorus of “I didn’t!” and finger pointing ensued.
Clutching her head, Rebecca shushed them. “Ach, mei bruders, not so loud! My head hurts!”
Immediately they were contrite. “Sorry,” they chimed quietly. His eyes huge, Eli patted her hand.
“Jonas, maybe you could get your sister a wet washcloth for her hands.”
He went for the cloth and returned with it dripping. Gingerly, Rebecca used it to wash her hands, trying not to get her quilt wet.
“I’ll go help Marian set the table,” he told their mother. “Come, kinner.”
“Mamm, tell him to stop treating me like a boppli,” complained Annie.
“You shouldn’t be waiting on me,” Rebecca said as her mother set a tray on her lap. She knew how hard her mother worked, and here she was waiting on her grown daughter.
“It’s no trouble.” Naomi put the back of her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Still warm. If you’re not better tomorrow, maybe we should take you to the doctor.”
“It’s just a cold,” Rebecca insisted. “I’m feeling better.” But her voice came out sounding like a croak. She spooned up some of the chicken soup. “Mmm, this is good.”
Looking up, she saw her mother frowning at her. “I’m better, Mamm, really. The nap helped. If you call sleeping all day a nap.”
Her mother pursed her lips. “Are you sure? You’ve just been . . . delicate since you had pneumonia.”
“That was five years ago.”
“We nearly lost you too.”
Rebecca saw that her mother was blinking back tears. “I’m sorry. Mamm, I’m sorry. You didn’t need to have that happen after we lost Lizzie.”
“It wasn’t your fault you got sick.”
But it was my fault that I stayed sick, thought Rebecca. “I got better. And I’m not going to get that sick again.”
“A pneu
monia shot,” her mother said, nodding. “I feel better when I remember that you had the pneumonia shot. It seems there’s a shot for everything these days. What will the Englisch come up with next?”
Both of them fell silent. Rebecca wondered if her mother was thinking, as she was, that no one had come up with a way to keep Lizzie from falling through the ice.
She set her spoon down on the tray. “Thank you for bringing me the soup. I’m sorry I’m so much trouble.”
Mamm moved the tray to the dresser and returned to stroke her daughter’s hair. “You are never any trouble. Drink your juice and try to get some more rest.”
Rebecca nodded. “I’ll be all better in the morning.”
Bending, her mother kissed her on her forehead. “We’ll see. For now, no worrying about your job and your chores, allrecht? Your father stopped by the gift shop, and Anita said to tell you to get well and come in when you’re better.”
Her energy gone, Rebecca lay back against her pillow. Before she could pull the covers up, her mother was tucking her in. It brought back memories of being tucked in when she was a child, and she smiled.
“Sleep now, liebschen. Things will be better in the morning.”
Ben pulled his buggy up to the familiar figure walking beside the road.
“So you’re feeling better,” he called out.
Rebecca stopped and looked up as the buggy pulled abreast of her. Ben leaned forward, the reins loose in his hands. His eyes were serious as he stared down at her.
“Ya, I’m well.”
Her cheeks were pale, and she was breathing heavily. Each exhale produced a white puff in the cold air.
“Get in, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I can walk. It isn’t far.”
“Your daed said your mamm was worried about you going into work.”
Rebecca climbed into the buggy. “I’m fine. She worries too much.”
“She worries because this time of the year you get sick a lot.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” she told him firmly.
Ben handed her the lap blanket, and she tucked it around her legs. They traveled without speaking for a few minutes, the only sound the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the recently cleared road. There were few cars this time of year, so it was easy to imagine that only the Amish lived here. Tourists who clogged the roads and sometimes came dangerously near the buggies on the road were few and far between as winter lengthened.
