Rebecca's Choice (The Adams County Trilogy 3)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Something had happened to him at the hospital. Something in the terror of those first conscious hours had cured him of his secret nightmares. He could trust this girl. She was worthy of it. If not, then he was worthy of it. He would not doubt again because of groundless fears.

  An hour later he was back in the house, the chores done. His father was also back from his work at the harness shop. Miriam had the table set and supper ready. The speed with which his mother could prepare supper had always amazed him. It was just the way things were.

  “Supper,” Miriam announced.

  It was a call for both of them—to Isaac who sat in the living room, The Budget on his lap, and to him, the son who belonged here.

  His father groaned, got up, and took his seat at the kitchen table. He waited as John washed his hands in the utility sink. His hands dry, John took his chair and copied Isaac and Miriam as they bowed their heads in prayer.

  “John got a strange letter today,” his mother said, as she passed the soup bowl.

  “Mom,” John told her, “it’s nothing.”

  “Probably not,” Miriam agreed. “John thinks it’s someone playing a joke on him.”

  “That sounds interesting.” Isaac paused, the soup dipper in his hand.

  “That’s enough soup,” Miriam said to Isaac. “You know the doctor wants you to cut back.”

  “How am I supposed to stop eating with your good cooking?” Isaac tried a smile first, then a chuckle, his ample body vibrating with his voice.

  “No more jokes,” Miriam told him. “You know we’re both getting older. Your health is important to me.”

  “I suppose so,” Isaac allowed, looking longingly at the soup dipper in his hand, before he let it slide back into the bowl. “Starved by love, that’s what I say.”

  “It’s for your own good,” Miriam assured him. “We have to try. Doctors know what they are saying.”

  “So what was this letter?” Isaac asked. Obviously he wanted to change the subject but wasn’t quite able to help himself. “A man could die with this little soup in his bowl.”

  John chuckled. “Just a prank letter. That’s all.”

  “Tell him what it said,” Miriam replied.

  “I can’t quote it from heart,” John protested. “It was a joke.”

  “Show it to him, then,” Miriam insisted. “I want your father to see it.”

  John pulled the letter out of his pocket, now crumpled from his time at chores. Isaac opened the page and read silently.

  “I see,” Isaac said.

  “What do you think?” Miriam asked.

  “John’s probably right,” he said.

  John nodded his head and continued eating.

  “What if it’s true?” Miriam asked.

  “Would be pretty wild, I guess. She was with us at Emma’s funeral. I didn’t see anything unusual.” Isaac turned his attention back to his soup bowl.

  “She’s not hiding anything,” John said. His tone matched his words.

  “Good to see you trust her,” Isaac told him.

  “What if it’s true?” Miriam repeated the question.

  “Then I guess there would be trouble. Plenty of it. Don’t you think so, John?” Isaac paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth, his face turned in John’s direction.

  “I can’t believe you two,” John said slowly. “This letter is a joke. Rebecca is getting no money for marrying me. I really think that.”

  “I think that too,” Isaac said seemingly satisfied. “She’s a good girl.”

  “I guess so,” Miriam agreed. “She did hold up well during John’s illness.”

  “That she did.” Isaac nodded. “You couldn’t ask for better.”

  Silence settled on the room, broken only by sounds of supper. The unmentioned thoughts hung over them.

  That night John dreamed he was in the hospital again. He tried to awaken but couldn’t. He swam through a maze of silky white ooze, reaching for air to fill his burning lungs. His legs moved, he knew, because he kicked with all his might. But the feeling just wasn’t there.

  Sounds boomed all around him, and he cried out. Words formed in his mouth, came out of his lungs, but no one could hear them. Terror filled his mind. He saw Rebecca’s face, saw it as if awakened from a dream, all hazy and unfocused. She smiled a twisted smile like she was hiding a deep malice in her heart.

  He awoke with a yell, a groan from the depth of his soul. His body was covered with sweat under the blankets—chilled to the bone.

  “No,” he moaned, “it’s a lie. I won’t believe it. This was just a dream.”

  He lay still and stared at the dark ceiling until he calmed down. He glanced at his alarm clock, but it showed only a little after two o’clock. He would believe Rebecca, he told himself, no matter what happened. Peace came soon after that, and he drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Church had been held at Henry Hershberger’s place, over in the east district, and John was ready to leave. He had his buggy parked at the end of the sidewalk, a little early, he knew. Some of the young boys, just off the third dinner table, came out of the house, but there was no sign of Rebecca.

  Last night Isaac and Miriam had still looked troubled. He had thought a trip over to the Keim place might be necessary to satisfy them, then had decided against it. What Rebecca would say about the letter, he was already certain of, and there was no sense in making a scene. His rush now was simply because he wanted to see her again.

  He had seen Rebecca in church, from across the room, but that wasn’t the same as when she was in the buggy with him—sitting close, smiling that smile that lit up her face. She had a certain look in her eyes, which she focused on him sometimes in church and would have been enough to make Bishop Martin stroke his gray beard in grave concern.

  John chuckled at the thought. He liked Bishop Martin and had always gotten along with him.

  “You are a gut boy,” Bishop Martin had told him once. “Always have been. No church trouble. You are your father’s son.”

  Words like that would warm any Amish boy’s heart, so John’s liking of the bishop became even deeper. Since from the time he could remember, Bishop Martin’s face had been a fixture. Sometimes he came over on Saturdays or even during the week to talk with Isaac. He came with his wife, Sarah, a soft spoken woman, when the occasion warranted the mixing of church business and a social event.

  There was no doubt John admired the bishop. Perhaps that was part of the reason he never strayed far from the church ordnung, but John supposed there were other reasons. It just seemed the natural thing to him.

  The horse behind him was impatient. If Rebecca didn’t come soon, he would have to move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her, with her shawl wrapped tightly around herself and her bonnet pulled forward. He would have recognized her, he told himself, even if she wasn’t coming toward his buggy. His heartbeat quickened as he urged the horse slightly to the right, which made for an easier ascent up the buggy step.

  “In a hurry?” she said, with one foot on the step and the other in the buggy.

  “Yep. Had to see you,” he held on tightly to the reins, his horse sensing it was time to go.

  “You are a naughty one,” she said chuckling. “I was helping with the last boy’s table.”

  “Good enough reason to get you away from me,” he said making a face.

  “It was the little boys,” she replied laughing.

  “Even those you have to watch,” he said and turned right at the end of the lane. The horse took off with a dash.

  “He’s in a hurry too.”

  “For a different reason, of course.”

  “Of course,” she said and playfully leaned against his shoulder.

  He wished it was cold outside, so he could offer her the buggy blanket and prolong the moment.

  “I thought maybe you’d come over last night.”

  He nodded. “I thought of it but figured I’d wait.”

  “There was no news a
nyway,” she said and glanced at him. “Just a sad time. A big funeral, though. Lots of people I didn’t know. I guess your parents told you all of that.”

  John shrugged. “I heard them talking about cousins and such. Didn’t tell me much.”

  “I guess there wasn’t much to tell. Nice trip, though. I always like going back there. Leona’s children were glad to see me.”

  “How’s baby Jonathon?”

  “You remembered his name.” Rebecca’s pleasure showed plainly in her face.

  “I’m just that sort of fellow. A gut mann.” He lifted his chin high and pulled air into his chest.

  “A right proud one too.” She made a face but broke into laughter a moment later, her shoulder against his.

  John savored the moment, the feel of her presence beside him.

  “It was sad, though,” she said, her hands clasped in front of her, “to see Emma gone. I couldn’t believe it. Leona and I just stood there, in front of the coffin, for a long time. If Leona hadn’t been with me, I don’t know how I would have looked. Dumb probably. Just standing there staring.”

  “She meant a lot to you.” John’s tone said he understood.

  “Yes…she did. Emma and school. Those will always be the same thing in my mind.”

  “As smart as you are, she must have been a really good teacher.” John tried for a lighthearted note.

  “She tried,” Rebecca said. “Tried hard to get things through my thick skull.”

  “It wasn’t that bad, surely.”

  “Some things were—like math. Emma was good, though.”

  “Did I hear she was rich?” John said, as calmly as he could, and watched her face out of the corner of his eye, his attention only half on where he drove the horse.

  “Don’t know.” Rebecca shrugged but didn’t look at him, apparently lost in her memories. “Her place is nice enough.”

  “She apparently has a lot of property—a couple of farms. I wonder who it will go to.”

  “Relatives. The usual I suppose. You shouldn’t be thinking about such things. Money isn’t everything. Do men always think about money? Even after the funeral of former schoolteachers?”

  “Not always,” John said and wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Now Rebecca thought he was money hungry, saw dollar bills on Emma’s coffin.

  “Seeing her laying there seemed so wrong,” Rebecca whispered. John glanced at her and saw the tears in her eyes. “Emma doesn’t belong gone. She belongs with children, loving them as she loved us. She was like that. Like she couldn’t help herself. Emma just brought out the best in all of us. It was that way till the last year she taught. I heard several people talking about it. Said their children loved Emma. Even the smaller ones. Emma had so much to give. It just isn’t right.”

  “God’s ways are always right,” John said but felt her sorrow, “even when they hurt. He must have something better ahead.”

  “Maybe she teaches in heaven,” Rebecca said and laughed softly. “She needs to be doing something—some work where she can take care of children. That’s what Emma was good at.”

  “It’s probably better than that,” John told her. “Something we can’t imagine. That’s how God is.”

  “Just hard to see it sometimes.”

  “It is. We just have to trust Him.” John pulled the reins in and slowed his horse down, preparing to turn into his parents’ driveway. Today they would spend the afternoon here. Then he would drive Rebecca home after the singing.

  Rebecca helped unhitch the horse from her side and then waited for him, as he took the horse to its stall. They walked together across the lawn, taking a shortcut because the grass was dry and no rain had softened the ground recently.

  He held the door open for her. Miriam and Isaac wouldn’t be home for a while yet, he knew, and now would be the time to show her the letter. Yet John’s heart wasn’t in the action. His gentle probe on the way home was all the answer he needed. Rebecca’s look expressed her obvious lack of knowledge. His parents would just have to be satisfied with his conclusion and with his trust of Rebecca.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” he said and shut the door behind her. “Just give me a minute. It’s upstairs.”

  “Okay,” Rebecca said. She took her bonnet and shawl off and lay them on the couch.

  John went upstairs to his room and found what he wanted. His shoes made an even beat on the hardwood stairs on the way down.

  “Over here,” he said, teasing her by hiding the roll of papers behind his back. “The sewing room.” That Rebecca already suspected what he had in his hands was evident to him, as he grinned sheepishly.

  “It’s a Sunday,” she said.

  “We’re not working. Not really.”

  He unfolded the papers and spread them out on the sewing room table.

  “Your house,” she said.

  “Ours,” he said making her blush. “I thought a drawing of the place would make it easier to visualize because the renters are still in it. The sketches are kind of rough, I know—just hand drawn.”

  “They look fine to me.”

  “You’re just saying that.” John made a face, but Rebecca didn’t see him because her eyes were focused on the papers.

  “It’s hard to tell from the outside just how things look.”

  “That’s why I made these,” he said. “The tenants leave late this summer.”

  “You’re not remodeling anything?” She glanced at him, her cheeks still red. “Nothing major hopefully?”

  “Not to the house structure,” he said. “Maybe a wall or two, if you want.” The moment caught him up in a joyous emotion. Rebecca was the one who would make the house beautiful, he thought, not the makeover they planned.

  “I don’t know,” she said and seemed uncertain. “I’d almost have to see the house. Sometimes you have to live in houses before you know what needs to be done. That’s what Mom would say.”

  Rebecca’s matter of fact reference to their life in the house made John glad he hadn’t brought down the letter that lay on his dresser upstairs. There simply was no way this girl had plans to marry him for money. Even the thought seemed profane and unseemly. If he had brought it up, he would certainly have spoiled this beautiful afternoon.

  “So I can’t draw too well,” he said, partly to hide his thoughts. “That’s probably why you can’t envision things.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just a woman thing. I can start planning, though, with this,” she said smiling.

  “We can repaint everything,” he said, his mood now expansive. “And the kitchen is a little small. Perhaps enlarge that…new cabinets maybe.”

  “That costs money,” she said, her face showing alarm. “Maybe we’d better just use it as it is for now. I’d be happy.”

  “I want the house to be nice,” he said and meant the words.

  “It’ll be nice with you,” she said and took his arm. “That’s enough for me.”

  “I’d still like to do the work.” He felt happiness swell up in him and hoped it didn’t show too much on his face. “At least this gives us some ideas, so we don’t have to start from scratch. That is once the renters are out.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She smiled again and released his arm as Isaac and Miriam’s buggy came up the driveway.

  John rolled up the house plans. “I’ll take these upstairs. Be right back.”

  When he came back down, he found her seated on the couch in conversation with Isaac and Miriam. A few minutes later, he suggested they take a walk outside, an idea Rebecca agreed to easily. They stood to leave, and in the moment when Rebecca’s back was turned, John shook his head and mouthed the words, There’s nothing to it, in Isaac and Miriam’s direction. Their relieved smiles were a comfort to him.

  The warmth of the day was just enough to make the walk enjoyable. They walked across the pasture, as far as Isaac’s land went. The few beef cattle his father kept were in the other end of the field.

  At the barbed wire fence, Jo
hn was tempted to cross it and try to get close enough to where they could see his place but decided against it. He had Rebecca with him.

  “You can see the place from the other hill,” he said. “Don’t think we’d better try crossing fences in our Sunday clothing.” John paused by the fence, his eyes gazing across the fields to a place where his house sat. He took her hand. A meadowlark lighted on a post two links down, and burst into song.

  “It’s special for us,” Rebecca said, and her eyes shone. “To the spring. To our future.”

  His fingers tightened on hers. He simply nodded, too full of emotion to dare say anything.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rachel’s answer arrived on Monday with the mailman. It was justice done, she figured, since no one listened to her. Her pleas on Friday night at Ezra’s place had fallen on deaf ears. She might as well have talked to a fence post, she thought, as to her three brothers.

  Ezra had shown some interest, but Abe and Jonas laughed at her suggestions. Emma probably didn’t even have a will, they said, and if she did they really didn’t care. That Abe and Jonas were serious was enough of a shock to Rachel, but their refusal to even think of further research was the final insult.

  “Money,” Abe had said, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “it got no one any good. No day. Anyway.” Abe said that he really didn’t want to know what Emma had done. Now that she was gone, it was none of his concern.

  Rachel could see Reuben, seated beside her, nod his head in agreement. Such a reaction was what she expected out of him. It was Abe and Jonas who should have known better. They had been raised differently.

  She had told them they needed to find out what was in Emma’s will before they left for Missouri. There certainly had to be one, she assured them. They didn’t ask, and she omitted any reference as to how she might know this.