“They will,” he said. “You’re a wonderful person.”
She smiled this time, but the smile fled quickly from her face. John brought the buggy up the Keim driveway and then unhitched by the barn while she waited. There was a youth hymn singing tonight, but he doubted whether either of them should go. Once inside Rebecca shooed her brothers and sisters upstairs and told Lester and Mattie the story.
“You should have told someone sooner,” Lester said, after Rebecca was done.
“It was a detail I didn’t think worth mentioning,” Rebecca replied. “I threw the thing into the river. What was there to say?”
“Apparently plenty,” Mattie said. “What is she going to do, Lester.”
“I’ll see if I can talk to the bishop,” Lester replied.
“I don’t want anyone else in trouble, including John and certainly not you,” Rebecca said firmly.
“It won’t get me into trouble. John maybe, but not me.” Lester shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe the turn of events.
Rebecca yelled up the stairs to let the children know they were free to roam the house again. The rest of the evening was spent in the living room with Lester and Miriam. Only after supper did the two venture up to her room.
The room was dimly lit by a kerosene lamp, its pale light splashing off the walls. Rebecca threw herself on the bed and allowed the tears to spill again, hard and heavy this time.
John felt quite helpless but sat beside her until the emotion receded.
“We should be talking about our plans,” she said. “Instead I’m crying.”
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
“No, it’s not,” she said, then sat up on the bed. “It won’t be for a long time either—I just know it.”
John couldn’t think what to say, so he said nothing. They let the silence linger, till it brought its own healing of a sort.
“I really should go,” John said. He saw by her alarm clock that ten o’clock approached.
“You won’t doubt me?” she whispered.
“Never,” he said, then left. In the living room, he said goodnight to Lester and Miriam. At the barn he hitched the horse alone and drove slowly down the driveway.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rachel Byler tried hard to control her impatience. If someone had been around at the moment, she would have vented. Last night Luke had caught the worst of her fury. Reuben had already gone to bed, but she was up, unable to sleep. She met Luke when he came home from his date with Susie.
“Haven’t you any sense?” she said, confronting him just inside the front door. “There’s still time to change things, Luke. You can dump the girl.”
“I’m not going to.” At the moment Luke had the same look as his father. Perhaps that was what drove her to say what she did.
“I’m taking care of the money,” she told him. “It’s coming our way.”
“I want nothing to do with your plans or your ways,” he said, his face stern. “You leave Susie and me out of it.”
“You used to help. Remember?” Rachel tried another tack. “You took Emma’s letter.”
“Go tell the world, then,” he said and went past her. “I don’t care. If Emma were still here, I’d apologize.”
She watched Luke go upstairs and shut the door behind him. The sound snapped in the night. He was shutting her out from the life he now lived and the control she once had over him. The pain came first, cutting deep into her heart, and then she covered it with anger again.
Rachel had allowed the emotion to rise. She welcomed its strength, embraced its razor edge, because it removed the pain of his rejection. Then she remembered he was her son, her only son, and she redirected the tide against what stood beside Luke—Susie. Rachel definitely didn’t like the girl.
This morning the anger was still there. She intended to remove the problem—Rebecca—the one who stood in the way. The letter would do its good work. Reuben might be lost along the way but not Luke. He was her flesh and blood, carried in her body. Luke was hers and Reuben wasn’t.
She could wait, if waiting was required, but this—the loss of Luke—this road seemed too hard. Luke didn’t understand and was obviously beyond the ability to help himself. She must help him, save him from himself, but how?
A moment later Reuben came into the house to ask for help. He asked her to come with him because a goat needed to be moved. One was sick, he said. They all are, she almost said but decided not to.
“You’d better put something else on,” he said, glancing down at her dress. “It’s muddy in the barnyard.”
She went to change her clothes and then followed him across the yard.
“I’d do it myself, but the vet is coming,” he said, “and I don’t want to drag the goat. Who knows what damage that would do.”
“I’m with child,” she said.
“You look okay,” he said.
“I shouldn’t be lifting anything too heavy,” she told him because he obviously didn’t understand.
“You won’t,” he assured her.
When they arrived, Reuben held the door open for her, then shut it carefully behind him. She compared the action with the knowledge that he usually cared little about closed barn doors. In times past cattle often got into places they weren’t supposed to be because Reuben had forgotten to shut gates. Obviously his goats meant a lot to him.
The animal in question lay half in and half out of the mud.
“I can’t do this,” she told him. “It’s too much.”
“But we have to,” he said. “It might get hurt if I drag it, and it’s one of my best animals.”
“What about me?” she asked.
“You?” he asked. “Oh…the baby. It’ll be okay.”
If he didn’t care, she didn’t either Rachel decided. She took the head of the animal and prepared to lift.
“Careful,” Reuben said, as they lifted together.
The smell of the animal hit her hard. Perhaps the move had stirred its filth, Rachel thought. She gagged, which produced a chuckle from Reuben.
“It’s the smell of money,” he said, as they set the animal down on dry soil.
“Not my money,” she retorted, anger flashing in her eyes.
Reuben nodded wisely. “Honest smell this is. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
A momentary fear flashed through her, but she knew she was on solid ground. Even if Reuben found out about the letter she sent to Bishop Martin, there was nothing he could do. Or was there?
“I wrote Bishop Martin a letter,” she said. Reuben might as well know. If he planned on some action, perhaps she could head him off. “I told him what I knew.”
Reuben snorted. “I told you it smells rotten. I didn’t know exactly what you were doing, but I knew something was up.”
“We need the money,” she said. “It doesn’t belong to Rebecca.”
“It belongs to whomever Emma gave it to. That’s what I say.”
“That’s why you have no say to it,” she retorted. “It’s between me and Ezra and Abe and Jonas.”
Reuben turned his attention back to his animal. He seemed to have forgotten her.
“I’m going back to the house,” she said, with the sudden urge to get out of her dress, which now smelled like goat.
“You’re not getting any of the money,” Reuben said. His words stopped her cold.
The smell of goat rose thick around her, but at this moment Rachel didn’t notice. “You’re talking to Bishop Mose?” she asked. Wild scenarios of what Reuben might plan ran through her head.
“No,” he said, his attention on his sick goat.
She sighed in relief. If he wasn’t going to Mose, what worse thing could Reuben be doing? Was not the bishop the power she feared the most? Things seemed to rise and fall on his approval—certainly not on Reuben’s.
“We’re not taking it,” he said, a quick glance in her direction.
She caught something unusual in his eye but spoke
up anyway. “Say’s who?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I have the first check coming next week for the goats I will sell tomorrow. If this one gets well, which it will, the money will continue. For once in my life, Rachel, can’t you see it? I’m making money.”
“You can’t keep my father’s inheritance from me.” She knew her eyes showed her anger but didn’t care.
Reuben rose to his feet and faced her, “I’m the one who will supply for my family. Not your father. Not Emma. Not someone else. I will. Do you understand that?”
“No,” she said meeting his eyes, “I don’t. The executor will come with the money. Rebecca can’t marry Amish now. The harder she tries, the worse it will be. It will expose her as the conniver she is. They won’t let her marry, and you can’t stop me.”
His eyes now blazed with an inner fire, surprising her. “I should have stopped you a long time ago, Rachel. I mean to now. It is you who is the conniver—the money hungry woman who meddles with things she shouldn’t. It has to stop.”
She kept his gaze. Obviously he wasn’t done yet.
“You will never touch that money. Not if they bring it here in wheelbarrows. I won’t allow it. Ezra can have it. Abe and Jonas can have it. I don’t care, but you won’t. I am supplying for my family. I am successful for once. You always despised me for not being as rich as your father and called me shiftless behind my back. Don’t deny it. I know it’s true. Now I’ve had enough of the wicked things you are doing. Da Hah only knows what they all are.”
“Leave Da Hah out of it,” she told him.
“He’s in it whether you like it or not. On my side too. Don’t forget that.”
“Because you’re a deacon.” She spat the words out, the taste bitter in her mouth.
“Because I’m your husband,” he said. “It’s a wonder Da Hah didn’t smite me a long time ago for being so lax with you. You leave Luke alone too. If you even so much as speak a word against Susie—don’t look at me like that. I know what you can do. She’s off limits. Do you understand?”
“No,” she said, “I don’t.”
He ignored her. “I will have another child soon. Da Hah be praised. He has seen fit to make me fruitful in my old age and has restored my youth like an eagle’s. I am to have children again. It’s an honor beyond what I am worthy of.”
Rachel saw the tears in his eyes and hated Reuben for it. She hated him right then because those tears pulled at her heart—pulled her toward him. They made her think she might have been wrong about the man. Maybe there was more to life than what she had always seen, but then she remembered the money. She remembered that he was a deacon and was supposed to say things like this. He only pretended with his tears—hoped to make her like him. Her heart turned cold. It froze inside till her chest hurt, and the hatred turned to scorn.
“You’re beyond hope,” she said. “Blind as a bat, you are.”
“Don’t say such things,” he said. “No one is beyond hope.”
“I wouldn’t bear this child if I had a choice,” she said. “This baby has turned you into a monster.”
“Da Hah forgive you.”
“So I’m beyond hope?” She relished the look of pain on his face.
“No,” he said shaking his head, “no one is.”
“Then I will wait for the money.”
“No,” he said and shook his head again, “it is time this stopped. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Me working? Making money?”
She turned and left him. The veterinarian drove in as she crossed the yard. Inside the house she became dizzy with fear. A great emptiness clutched at her heart, a feeling beyond pain, a numbness that was indefinable. As if in midair, she clutched for something—anything—to give her strength, to stop the flight her soul was on.
Her hands found their grip, her will its purpose. Reuben had taken leave of his senses. It was now up to her to help him. She must be kind and understanding, but Reuben could not be allowed to succeed.
For Reuben to succeed would be their ruin. Luke might no longer support her and think her out of line, but he could use the money when it came. Luke wouldn’t refuse even if Reuben did. Perhaps through him she could still get something done.
That Reuben was serious, she no longer doubted. Reuben hadn’t mentioned Bishop Mose. He tried to reassure her he didn’t need him, but to Rachel that was a move no one would fail to make. If she made trouble for Reuben, he would go to the bishop for help.
Bishop Mose would support Reuben. He would say what Reuben always said, that love of money and love of God couldn’t go together, that money corrupts, and that in the end no one could take it with them. No, Reuben was serious, but so was she. There must be a way. Da Hah would help her. He was not on Reuben’s side.
She began supper, as good a supper as she ever cooked. Reuben seemed cautious when he came in from the barn but mellowed out when she acted normal. Luke had surprised her with the announcement that he was going to move into Emma’s house, but even that didn’t bother her.
“That’s fine,” she said. “Someone needs to take care of Emma’s place. Maybe I can bring food over sometimes. Someone has to if you’re all alone. You’re not such a good cook.”
Luke let a smile cross his face. “We hope to get married next year. Maybe I can rent the place then.”
“You and Susie,” she said, as if she really meant it.
When Reuben went to bed, she followed him in and let him draw her close.
“I’m glad you’re taking this well,” he said. He touched her face, his fingers tender on her skin.
She kissed him until he settled into an astonished silence.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bishop Martin wasted no time two Sundays later. They were gathered upstairs in the bedroom again. There were no visiting ministers present. Isaac thought the bishop looked troubled, burdened with his task, as he himself was.
“You have talked with Rebecca and John?” he asked, after they had settled on the chairs.
The deacon’s chair scraped on the hardwood floor.
“I talked with them,” Isaac said.
“Well…” Martin drew in a deep breath. “Maybe Isaac should tell us what he found out. Perhaps it was just a false alarm.”
“I doubt it,” the deacon said, his chair scraping on the hardwood floor again. “It sounded like serious charges to me.”
“It’s all true,” Isaac said. He knew the words came out heavy. “Rebecca does have a history with a boy in Milroy, and Atlee was his name. Amish then, but his parents joined the Mennonites. He did give her a ring, but she doesn’t have it anymore.”
“That’s what she claims,” the deacon said.
“I think she’s telling the truth,” Isaac said.
“So…” Martin cleared his throat. “Where do we go from here? Like always these things happen just before communion time.”
“It brings out the worse in people,” the deacon said. He sounded grim.
“That’s just because you spend too much time on the road,” Martin said attempting a chuckle. “Perhaps you should have your wife make an extra pie. Maybe a shoofly pie about now.”
Even Isaac joined in the laughter. He forgot for just a moment the trouble his son might be in.
“Wouldn’t help,” the deacon grunted but couldn’t keep back the smile that crept across his face.
“So what are we going to do?” Bishop Martin asked.
“Can we just ignore it?” Henry asked.
“A ring? Ignore that?” The deacon sounded horrified.
“No, we can’t ignore it,” Martin said. “Maybe she could make a confession.”
“She did have it while she was a member, right, Isaac?” Henry asked.
Isaac nodded. “So I understood.”
“That’s assuming she still doesn’t have it,” the deacon said.
“We will assume the best,” Martin told him.
“That doesn’t always work f
or the best,” the deacon replied. “Why would a girl throw away a ring—especially if she kept it all this time? It must mean a lot to her, don’t you think? Maybe Emma tried to stop a bad thing, tried to pull her back from danger. Perhaps Emma even made her throw away the ring. Did Rebecca say why she threw it away?”
Isaac shook his head.
“You do spend too much time on the road,” Martin told him, but no one laughed this time.
“We do have to consider these…well…possibilities,” Henry said, his brow wrinkled. “It was printed in The Budget.”
“Yes, it was,” the bishop said sighing. “I would suggest we at least get past this communion time. We can then see how things play out. Maybe more information will come in.”
“But we can’t,” the deacon said. “There is no way.”
“This can’t be ignored. It’s too serious,” Henry said, adding his opinion. “The ring is bad enough, and perhaps a confession would be sufficient there, but we can’t have a member receiving an inheritance from another Amish community just so she will marry Amish.”
“I don’t think Rebecca is,” Isaac spoke up.
“You are too close to know,” the deacon said. “What if it turns out to be true, and people learn we knew? What a ruckus that would make.”
Bishop Martin seemed to be in deep thought.
“Do you know what would happen afterward?” Henry asked, his tone indicating he already knew the answer.
The deacon answered for him. “She would leave—and take John with her.”
Isaac felt the weight of their arguments heavy on his shoulders, not because he was convinced but because they were serious. These were matters not brushed aside easily.
“It is serious,” he acknowledged. “I just don’t think Rebecca is up to anything. This could all be just by chance.”
The deacon snorted at that.
“So…” Martin said haltingly, “what if we asked Rebecca to voluntarily abstain from communion? That would give us some time to see where this goes and let the people know we are taking it seriously.”
“It would be something, at least,” Henry said. “My wife already got a letter from her sister in Pennsylvania. She wanted to know what this was all about—The Budget article, I guess.”
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