Rebecca's Choice (The Adams County Trilogy 3)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  For this I have you to thank. I hope God will reward you for your effort. There are other girls in your world much better suited for you than I am. Surely you know that.

  Emma Miller

  Rebecca let her breath out. The sound came slowly, as if she hadn’t breathed for a long time. So Emma had loved a man. Her hand paused, then reached for the next letter. The single page came out easily.

  Manny,

  I will not say “dearest” or “I love you” even at the end because this is the end, Manny. I received your second letter, then your third. I write now to keep my heart from breaking. That is the only reason. I will never mail this letter. It cannot be.

  The pain is almost more than I can bear. I know now that you feel the same. I also see that you have come to the same conclusion I did. What we feel cannot go further. I did see you at the door when you came. It took all the control I had to keep from opening that door and running into your arms.

  I know the gulf into which I would have fallen would have been my damnation. I told myself so again and again all the time you stood there. It seemed like hours, though it couldn’t have been. I watched you go, saw your broad shoulders and your firm step even in your rejection.

  I cannot believe God made a man more wonderful than you, Manny. I just can’t understand why He would have to make him a Mennonite, but then perhaps that is our fallen state. I place my mind on spiritual things, as the preacher said the other Sunday. It is the only way I save myself from insanity—that and putting these thoughts on paper.

  I never would have imagined my heart to be capable of what it feels. The preacher said that too. How wicked our hearts can be. How they betray us. How their depths are past finding out. Only God can find them out and judge them properly. I hope He is judging mine.

  So it is goodbye. I suppose I knew that when I didn’t go to the door, but your letter made it official. My writing the words down makes it even more so. I hope God is watching as we part ways. I hope He finds pleasure in the cost. His altar is hard, His requirements seem too much at times, yet we must forsake everything. I just never knew what everything was.

  Goodbye, Manny. I have no tears left to cry. I hope you find our love again in the eyes of another girl, in her arms. I say that, but I’m screaming a silent “no” so loud it must be heard throughout the house. This is silly, I know, but it seems real.

  It feels as if I’m dead inside, as if the sun will never come up again, yet of course it will, just as life will go on. I kiss this page because I know it will not lead me astray as your lips would have.

  Emma Miller

  Rebecca folded the page carefully, her emotions in shock at what she had read, in unbelief that Emma could have written them. Yet there it was, all clearly in Emma’s handwriting. Otherwise, she knew, she would not have believed this possible.

  Outside in the hall, she heard Matthew’s footsteps on the stairs, heard him pass her room, and then the door shut with a soft click.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  She reached for the next letter. The date was a year later.

  Manny,

  I say “dearest” now because I know you will not read this and because the words just come up out of my heart. I have confessed my sin before God, and yet it’s still there. Surely I have forgiveness. God must know what I feel anyway, so why keep it a secret from Him, as if that were possible. It does more to help the pain than anything.

  Emery Yoder’s David asked me home on Sunday. I haven’t told anyone, nor will I. Yet I am telling you because you won’t read this letter. How strange the world is. I said “no.” Why, you ask? Was he ugly or clumsy or not handsome? No. He’s one of the best looking young Amish men we have.

  I know several girls who have been waiting with high hopes. I suppose one of them will get the question next. That’s the way things go around here. They call it love, but I know better, Manny. I know it because of you.

  David will make a fine husband and would have made me a fine husband. Before you, Manny, I would have said “yes” in a heartbeat. I would have thought my ideas of him to be more than enough. He’s got a farm in the family and should have possession of it before he marries. I don’t think that means anything to me. I suppose that’s your fault too.

  I must have changed, Manny. I don’t know how. Some have commented, said I look sad lately. I suppose it shows on my face even when I try to hide it, and I do try. M-Jay said the strangest thing the other day. He told me that if I forget about you, he’ll pass his inheritance on to me instead of his children.

  I don’t suppose that’s much because he just bought his first farm, and his children are still young. I know he thought the delight on my face was due to the money, but it wasn’t. His kindness is what moved me. He does give me a place to stay, as he has since our parents passed away. I try to help him out by doing what I can around the house and staying out of his wife’s way. She’s nice enough, but two women in the house at the same time is never good.

  I stay in the room attached to their house—a dawdy haus from the previous Amish owners, only I’m not a dawdy or a mommy. Instead I, young Emma, volunteered to teach this year. It’s still summertime, and so it seems a long time away. Yet it will come, as all things do.

  I never thought of myself as a teacher. The thought just came to me last week. Why don’t you teach, Emma? Just out of the blue like that. It must have been God bringing me comfort, as poor M-Jay’s solution surely didn’t. As if I would have let you go for money. The thought is too awful to even think about.

  For the first time, I felt joy spring up in my heart again. I thought it was dead, Manny. I really did. I thought it would never live again, and yet the thought of teaching brought a little jump back. I felt a little of what you used to bring me. No, not even close, just the slightest, tiniest, smallest, little bit of the same thing. Yet it was enough to live for again.

  You will never know, Manny, how thankful I am.

  Emma Miller

  Beside her the kerosene lamp flickered. Smoke puffed upward and darkened the upper glass. Rebecca reached over and turned the wick down, a slight turn, done with practiced experience. The next letter slid out of the envelope, and she held it in the other hand.

  Manny,

  Greetings. It’s strange writing to a person whom I once knew, one who will never read this. Perhaps you’ve changed now, but you don’t seem changed to me. You will ever be the man I loved.

  Another boy asked me home Sunday night. The fifth one now since David. I said “no” again. Maybe I should have said “yes,” but I didn’t. I suppose it will be my last chance. It’s been five years now, and I’m already known as the old maid. Three years ago, the unmarried boys my age were gone. The question on Sunday came from a widower. He was visiting from somewhere. He looked okay, and I wavered but turned him down.

  This time I was found out and soundly chewed out by M-Jay. He thinks I’ve lost my mind. Rather he thinks it’s the money, the inheritance he’s promised me. I think he regrets it now. He thinks I’m turning away marriageable men because I know I don’t need support.

  I’m certain I’m not, but then how do I trust my heart? Perhaps it is deceiving me again. The awful thought came to me the other day. What if it is the money that’s making me do what I’m doing? I think it’s my convictions, my devotion to God, my love for the truth. But horrors, what if it’s not?

  To make matters worse, M-Jay is prospering. I don’t know how he makes all his money, but he makes plenty. I’m sure this farm is already paid off. Even with the expenses of supporting his growing family, it is.

  I put these thoughts away and think of you. I wonder if you’ve ever married. Is there someone else in your arms? Someone who loves you? You deserve it. Yet I want you to be as lonely as I am. I want you to still hurt like I hurt. I thought it might get better, and at times it does, then something reminds me of you.

  I will admit something here that I wouldn’t admit to anyone else. Do you know the reason I almost sa
id “yes” on Sunday? It was because he reminded me of you. They said his wife had died of cancer. They didn’t have any children, from what I understood, and were only married a few years. Long enough to have children, I would think, but they must have been childless for some reason out of their control.

  He had a kind face, just as yours always was. It’s been a while now—years or so it seems since I saw you. I don’t know how you look now, but I can imagine. They said his name was Mose, a baby sort of name, but it gave me a start.

  The other women were all so helpful to him. Not that I’m a woman—just a girl. Levi Troyer’s wife became his message bearer. I think he stayed with them.

  She said he wanted to speak to me. All flustered she was, more red than I became. I stepped outside and walked toward the barn. There was no sense in hiding the thing. It’s not like I’m young anymore.

  He met me beside the remaining buggies—people were already leaving. I felt sorry for him. Poor fellow, he really was dear. His accent was Pennsylvanian, but that could be lived with. He said his wife had passed away, which I already knew, the women having made certain I did. I think a lot of people were in on this one.

  He said he thought it was Da Hah’s villa, as if any of us knows that. Quite a mouthful to say right from the get-go, but that’s what he said. He felt we were led together and said something about how the trip had gone from Pennsylvania. He said his heart had been heavy, burdened greatly since his wife’s passing, that today was the first day since then any girl had brought hope to his mind.

  I saw our children in his eyes, Manny—a dozen of them. It was the strangest thing, yet it was as if he already knew what would be, that I would say “no.” His eyes were so sad. He said he understood, that he didn’t have much to offer. I told him that was not the reason, but he didn’t believe me. I could tell.

  How could he know what M-Jay promised me? No one knows but me and M-Jay, and I know the money means nothing. I turned him down because I loved you, Manny. It was too much to ask. It would have hurt too much to allow my heart to care again.

  I’m afraid I would have cared for him, Manny. Love, I do know I would have loved his children. I would have loved them, but I thought of you. I told him “no,” Manny, and you will never even know.

  We start school again tomorrow. This will be my fourth term. I think the parents like me. The pupils perhaps do. I love teaching. It still warms my heart. I think I will start wearing black every Sunday. Perhaps then the marriageable men won’t bother me, but I don’t think they will anyway.

  The ones my age are married, and word has gotten around to the others, the few there are. It must be something to love another person, to keep a home, have a family, children around you, to look forward to growing old. I think sometimes I am growing older on the inside faster than I’m aging on the outside.

  Goodnight, Manny, wherever you are.

  Emma Miller

  Rebecca closed the letter. She noticed the flicker of the lamp’s flames dancing on the wall. The window was dark, and she got up to draw the blind. Carefully she opened her door. Downstairs the light was still on, its beam shone on the bottom step. Her parents must still be up.

  Both Matthew and her sisters’ rooms were dark under the doorways. She wondered if anyone would notice that she was up late. Hardly she decided. Her parents wouldn’t come up unless there was a reason. Rebecca returned to the bed and slid out the next letter.

  Manny,

  I do declare I am using this as therapy, as the Englisha would say. I read about those in one of our school books. Hopefully no one ever finds this. I suppose it would be more damaging to my reputation than anything else. Not that anyone would hold it against me. Amish, after all, go by what one does, not by what one feels.

  To have loved a Mennonite has happened before—I suppose often enough to be understood. It’s the staying single part that might not be excused. I have the feeling my being such a beloved schoolteacher is cutting me the slack I need. This allows me a place in peoples’ minds where I can dwell safely.

  Isn’t that strange? Emma’s being wasted. That’s what they’d say otherwise and hold it against me. It must be the mercy of the Lord extended to me. There can be no other reason, at least in my mind.

  If I were ugly or deformed, they would understand. Passed over for a reason, but not how I am now. You always thought I was beautiful, Manny. Didn’t you? I think so. If you did, then I will always believe I am.

  By the way, there is no mental illness in our family. M-Jay is well respected, and so are his children. No signs point in such a direction as explanation for the life his sister has chosen—a life that’s barren, unfruitful, without offspring to build the Lord’s kingdom in the generations to come.

  But I am a schoolteacher. I laugh out loud with joy, Manny, because I love being a teacher. I became one because it made me feel a little like being with you, and teaching has become my salvation. Is that not how it should be? Is that not what one would expect? Anything to do with you is good for me.

  Thinking about this, I had my first doubt. What if I was wrong way back all those years ago? What if I misunderstood? What if M-Jay misunderstood the will of God? What if this good that seems to come out of so little that is you would have been an even greater good if I had all of you?

  I thought about it and then decided I was wrong. I saw a Mennonite drive by today. He drove slowly past the schoolhouse. I have no idea what he was up to. Perhaps he was looking for someone’s house and had been given the schoolhouse as a bearing point.

  Whatever the reason, I imagined me as a Mennonite driving a car, and I couldn’t bear the thought. It was too much, Manny. One’s faith comes first even before the love of a man. Surely you can understand that.

  Then there is the inheritance. M-Jay has just purchased his second farm. He still needs to pay it off. How he does so well is hard to imagine. Others around here are not doing as well.

  He told me again he plans on keeping his promise. I told him not to bother, but he thinks it’s a bigger deal than I do. I almost think he believes it’s the reason he’s prospering. Do you think that could be true?

  If it is, then things are really strange in this world—Da Hah blessing a man for helping keep his sister in the faith. I wonder.

  Emma Miller

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rebecca opened the next letter. Her hands moved slowly as she slid the paper out. The house was silent around her.

  Manny,

  It’s been twenty years now. I just checked the date of the first letter. I am still teaching school. M-Jay’s wife isn’t in good health. It’s the one thing that doesn’t seem to prosper for him. His oldest boy has just married, quite well I thought, but then what do I know about such things.

  M-Jay has three other boys and one girl—a haughty child if I do say so myself. I wish her mother would bring her under control. I suppose she tries, and M-Jay too. She has just started dating. I think she’s a bit young, but then what do I know. I have only you and me to judge by, and that didn’t turn out too well.

  The girl, Rachel, is dating a boy from the community. He seems nice enough. He comes from the other district and never went to my school. M-Jay seems to dislike him. Why, I’m not sure.

  Rebecca paused, then read on about the family and Emma’s schoolwork, the turning of time and pages in Rebecca’s hands. The dying started—aunts, uncles, a few accidents, and then M-Jay’s wife. She glanced at the clock once, saw it was near eleven, but kept going. The letter that especially held her attention was written during a time she was all too familiar with.

  I am seeing it happen before my very eyes. I do declare, Manny, if it isn’t the two of us all over again, a little younger than we were but the same.

  The girl’s name is Rebecca, just out of the lower grades. I feel a special affection for some of my children, and she is one of them. The boy too, as far as that goes. That such love happens so young is amazing. They are in love just as you and I were. I watch a
nd say nothing, but my heart burns.

  They have such decent manners, the two of them, as Amish children do and should. I doubt if being inappropriate will ever cross their minds. Rebecca’s mom seems aware of her daughter’s feelings but allows her to continue being around the boy. They see each other in school, of course, and some on weekends.

  I assume someone will soon intervene because they are getting to the age where their affections for each other will begin to raise eyebrows. How sweet, I think, watching them walk home from a day at school. What must it be like to fall in love so young and have it last throughout life? I will not be surprised to see them date as soon as they are old enough.

  Rebecca read on, then opened the next letter. Her interest was peaked when she read the second paragraph.