The Forgiven

by Marta Perry

  She said what she should have said yesterday. “It seems to me it is Simon whose temper needs some improvement. And I don’t suppose he’s been blaming himself the way you are.”

  Matt’s face was like a mask, not giving any hint to his feelings. “He’s young. I’m not, and I’ve been dealing with this failing for too long. There’s never an excuse for an Amish person to turn to violence. We both know it.”

  He was trying so hard to hide his feelings, but Rebecca began to think she knew what lay behind the mask. Pain. A great deal of pain. She longed to help him, but she didn’t know how.

  “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Matt.” She kept her voice soft.

  His only response was to shake his head. Then he turned and walked quickly toward the workshop, his shoulders stiff.

  Confused thoughts tumbled through Rebecca’s mind. The words she’d read in Anna’s diary the night before came back to her, adding to the jumble. Jacob, fearing his refusal to fight might be rooted in fear. Seth, looking for reasons why violence might be all right. And now Matthew, fighting his own battle about much the same thing.

  Where were the answers? She knew what the scripture said. But she didn’t know how that worked out in the real world, with real people who were struggling.

  • • •

  Matt laid out the slats for another rocking chair on the worktable. If Rebecca did send any of her guests over for a demonstration, this was one thing he could show them—how to fit the back of a rocking chair together.

  He frowned down at the grain of the maple. Had that suggestion really been a good idea? It would benefit him, too, as he’d told Rebecca. People who came to watch might very well buy. The couple she’d hosted last weekend had bought something from him.

  But the benefit to his business hadn’t been in his mind when he’d mentioned giving a workshop tour to her guests. He hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to involve himself even more in Rebecca’s life.

  Rebecca had looked younger when laughter softened her face, erasing the lines of remembered grief and current worry. Maybe Barbie’s company was good for her.

  And when he’d teased her, Rebecca’s green eyes had sparkled, a wash of color spreading from the delicate column of her neck to the creamy skin of her face.

  Stop. He shouldn’t be thinking of Rebecca that way. But he was a normal, healthy male, wasn’t he? He couldn’t help—

  The train of thought broke off abruptly at the sound of someone entering. Rebecca? His smile died before it reached his lips when he turned and saw who it was.

  Simon. Now what did Simon want with him? Hadn’t he done enough already?

  Giving the boy a curt nod, Matt turned back to his worktable.

  “Do you need any help?” Simon approached as he spoke. “If you need a hand . . .”

  Matt looked at him. Simon flushed, appearing very young. “I’m sorry. Guess I should apologize first of all. I never meant for you to get hurt. I just didn’t want to talk about Isaiah.”

  Matt leaned back against the workbench, studying the boy’s face. “You mean you didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “No.” Simon looked momentarily startled. “It wasn’t just you. I didn’t want . . . I mean, I haven’t talked to anybody about Isaiah’s leaving. He’s my friend. I have to be loyal to him, ain’t so?”

  The kid looked so conscientious and worried that Matt’s annoyance faded away. “I’d say that you should do what’s best for your friend.”

  “Ja.” Simon stared at the floor, as if he’d find some answer written there. “But sometimes it’s hard to know what is best.”

  Everything stilled in Matt as he focused on Simon’s face. There was an opening here, if only he could keep from rousing Simon’s antagonism toward him.

  “Isaiah’s mamm has been pretty bad since he left.” He made his voice low, deliberately keeping the urgency out of it. “Her memory is going. She doesn’t understand why he’s not there. Well, you must have seen that for yourself.”

  Looking miserable, Simon nodded.

  “My onkel Silas has just lost heart. He doesn’t even seem interested in the business without Isaiah. I’ll stay as long as he needs me, but . . .” He gestured to the half-finished pieces around them. “I really want to get on with my own work.”

  Did Simon believe him? Or did he really think that Matt’s goal was to steal Isaiah’s place?

  “I can’t make Isaiah come back,” he said, when Simon didn’t speak. “But if I could find him, I could at least tell him how hard his folks are taking his absence. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference, but I feel I have to try.”

  Simon’s hands twitched. “I guess I owe you something after what I did.” He shot a glance at Matt’s bandaged hand. “I don’t know where he is, honest. But he talked once about some website he found where they’d help people who wanted to leave the Amish.”

  Matt wasn’t as surprised as he would have been ten years ago. It wasn’t that unusual these days to find Amish youth owning cell phones and using computers at the homes of their Englisch friends. Isaiah should be getting past that stage, but he hadn’t been baptized into the church yet, so Onkel Silas would have been unlikely to interfere, even if he’d known about it.

  “Do you know what the name of the website was?” He could always use a computer at the library to try to trace it.

  Simon shook his head. “No, but Isaiah had an Englisch friend he was pretty close to. He might know.” He paused, as if considering whether or not he was crossing some line that he’d drawn in his mind. Finally he shrugged. “His name is Richards. Carl Richards. He lives in town.”

  It shouldn’t be hard to find a Carl Richards in a town as small as Brook Hill. Matt was filled with a probably unreasonable optimism.

  “Denke, Simon. I appreciate it. You’re not making a mistake in telling me.”

  Simon turned away, shrugging, as if to divorce himself from the whole subject. He took a step or two and then stopped. “Rebecca has been through a lot.” His voice was gruff, and he didn’t look at Matt. “If I’ve been acting foolish—well, I just don’t want her to get hurt worse.”

  Was he being that obvious? Matt felt a pang of remorse. “I don’t, either,” he muttered.

  He didn’t. And if that was true, he’d better stop giving in to temptation each time he was near her.

  • • •

  The path along the pasture between her house and her parents’ was so familiar to Rebecca that she didn’t have to pay attention to where she put her feet. She hadn’t been over to see Daadi yet today, and she wanted to check on him.

  She’d seen Simon, though, when she’d helped her brothers with milking her two dairy cows this morning. They’d insisted she didn’t need to, and they actually seemed to be carrying on fairly well with Daadi laid up. Johnny was taking on more responsibility than she’d expected of him, and he and Simon hadn’t engaged in their usual brotherly rivalry.

  When he was leaving, Simon had caught her arm. Face averted, he’d muttered that he’d told Matt what he wanted to know.

  Before she could say anything, Simon had scooted off, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Rebecca could see he was ashamed of himself.

  She didn’t understand Matt as well, even though she was trying. Matt carried a heavy burden for his cousin Isaiah. After hearing his story, she knew why a little better, although she still felt he might be overreacting.

  But how could she know? The secrets of another person’s soul were hidden, even from the individual himself sometimes. Matt may not truly understand why he felt as he did about Isaiah.

  He certainly seemed intent on finding his cousin. Did Matt picture himself persuading Isaiah to come home? That certain-sure would make Isaiah’s parents happy. And it would free Matt from his duty.

  For what? Her mind ran up against a blank wall. What did Matt
really want? Would he leave Brook Hill then?

  Maybe so. There’d be no obligations to keep him here, and he could start his furniture business anywhere. The thought seemed to make the sunny day a little darker, and she tried to push it from her mind. It wasn’t any of her business what Matt did.

  Rebecca crunched across the gravel driveway and started up the back porch steps. She’d best keep her mind on her own goals, and not go wandering off into other people’s. Today, in addition to checking on Daad, she intended to pick up the file with the mortgage information.

  She could remember Daad taking it when Paul was so ill, saying she shouldn’t worry and he’d deal with it. She had to take it back—should have done it long before this. Somehow just having the folder in her hands would be a sign that she was ready to assume that responsibility for herself.

  “Anyone here?” Rebecca opened the screen door.

  Three faces turned toward her in welcome. Daad and Grossmammi sat at the table, while Mammi held the coffeepot poised above their cups.

  “Rebecca.” Mammi put the pot back on the stove and came to hug her. “I didn’t know if you’d find time to stop and see us today. You’re busy getting ready for your guests coming, ain’t so?”

  Rebecca returned the hug and then moved to her father, smiling. “I’m not as rushed as all that, Mamm. You’re looking better today, Daadi.”

  She pressed her cheek against his. Better was a relative term. Certainly he’d improved from the sheet-white complexion he’d had when he went to the hospital, but his face was thinner and more lined than it had been before his attack. Worse, his spirit seemed to be dampened.

  “I’m fine. I wish everyone would stop fussing over me.” He drew away from her hug.

  Rebecca studied his face. The irritability was unusual for her father.

  “I’m only trying to get you to do what the doctor said.” Mamm looked even more frustrated than he did, and it seemed as if Rebecca had interrupted an argument of some sort. “You tell him, Rebecca. Your daad has to rest in the afternoon. The doctor said so.”

  “All I do is rest,” Daad snapped.

  Rebecca exchanged a look with her grossmammi and patted his shoulder. “Daadi doesn’t need me to tell him something so plain. He knows he must do as the doctor says in order to get well as quickly as possible.”

  Daadi tried to glare, but he couldn’t keep it up. His smile was a shadow of its usual self, but it was there. “Ach, you’re all picking on me. There’s not a man alive who can hold out against three determined women.”

  “That’s right.” Rebecca kissed his cheek. “I should have been here earlier, so it didn’t run into your rest time. But I can’t stay long anyway.”

  Daad patted her hand where it lay on his shoulder. “You’re busy, like your mamm said. Are you ready for your guests tomorrow? Maybe we should—”

  “Now, there’s nothing you should do,” she said quickly. “Barbie is helping me, and everything is working out fine. So you’re not to worry.”

  Clearly this wasn’t a time to ask him for the mortgage folder. It would just make him start worrying about that subject or feeling less needed. She’d have to put off reclaiming it for the moment, even though she’d already made a payment for the month, turning over the rent Matt had paid her.

  “So Barbie is working out better than you thought?” Grossmammi’s eyes twinkled at her.

  “You were right. I admit it. She’s so enthusiastic she’s almost wearing me out.”

  Mammi was fidgeting behind them, picking up the coffeepot and then putting it down, wiping the counter unnecessarily. Rebecca glanced at her, lifting her eyebrows in a question.

  Mammi communicated silently, giving Daad a look that combined worry and frustration.

  Rebecca gave a slight nod and reached across the table to pat Daadi’s shoulder again. “You know it is past time for you to go and rest, Daadi. Will you do it, or do I have to leave?”

  Her father grunted. He rose to his feet, bracing his hands on the table like an old man.

  Her heart twisted. Daadi wasn’t old. He was in the prime of life, tough and strong. Or at least, he had been.

  “I’ll go, stop nagging. But you send over if you think of anything you need this weekend, ja? Simon will do whatever you want, and Johnny can always help, too.”

  “I know,” she said. “Denke, Daadi. Rest well. I’ll see you later.”

  She watched as he went out of the room, walking far more slowly than she’d ever seen him move. Mamm kept pace with him, and as they went up the steps, Rebecca could hear him insisting that he didn’t need Mamm’s help.

  Rebecca turned a troubled face on her grandmother. “She keeps fussing over him, and the more she does, the more irritable he becomes.”

  “I know.” Grossmammi’s voice was gentle. “They’re worried about each other, ain’t so? They’ll find their way. It’s not easy. You know as well as anyone.”

  Rebecca nodded. She certainly did know.

  “You’re right. As always.” She managed a smile. “How does it feel to be moved in? Are you settled?”

  “Pretty nearly. There are still the pieces that are going to be moved to your attic to take care of, but your uncle promised to get his boys to do it.” Her grandmother frowned. “I’m still working on getting all the family to choose something to treasure, but it’s going to take some time, I think.”

  “It’s not a problem. I have plenty of room in the attic, and I’m happy to store everything. It will give you time to tell me all the stories connected with them, ain’t so?”

  Grossmammi smiled at the reminder of her storytelling. “Ach, you young ones should be glad there’s still someone who remembers the family stories.”

  “We are. Or at least, I am.”

  Rebecca moved to the chest that stood against the back wall and pulled open the top drawer. Daad always kept business papers there, and sure enough, the manila folder with the words mortgage information marked in Paul’s printing lay to one side. She took it out and slid the drawer closed.

  As she turned back to the table, she realized that Grossmammi was watching her with curiosity.

  “This is mine,” she said, holding up the folder. “The information about the mortgage Paul took out to buy the land and build the new stable. Daad has been taking care of it, but it’s time I dealt with it myself.”

  “Your daad wanted to help you, like always,” Grossmammi said.

  “I know.” Rebecca sat down opposite her, opening the file. “But I don’t want him worrying about it, especially now. I’ve started making the payments—”

  She stopped, staring at the figures on the sheet in front of her.

  “Rebecca? Was ist letz?”

  Rebecca swallowed hard, tried to release the tension that had her throat in a cold grasp. “I didn’t realize. That’s stupid, isn’t it? But I never knew how much Paul had borrowed. He handled everything that had to do with business, and I let him.”

  She was appalled to think how passive she had been. This was her future, too, and the children’s. Why hadn’t she involved herself in the decision?

  “Paul thought he could take care of everything,” Grossmammi said. “He never imagined getting sick.”

  “No, but . . .” The amount shook her. “It’s so much.”

  Grossmammi put her hand over Rebecca’s. “If you’re worried about the payments, I can help when my house is sold.”

  “No, no.” That much was sure. “I’m not going to switch from being a burden to Daad to being a burden to you. Anyway, with renting the stable to Matt and the money coming in from the guests, I can manage to meet the payments every month.” She tried to sound confident and wasn’t sure how well she did.

  Well enough, apparently, because Grossmammi didn’t press her. She studied Rebecca’s face, and her own expression was troubled.

&
nbsp; “What are you thinking, Rebecca? Tell me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m just . . . I’m angry.”

  She stopped, aghast at her own word. Angry. But it was true. She was angry with Paul. Angry that he’d pursued his dream at the cost of security for her and the children. Angry that he’d done it without consulting her.

  But she couldn’t be. How could she be mad at Paul, who was gone?

  She’d been thinking that it was hard to know the secrets of Matt’s soul. But it was her own soul that should have concerned her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Lancaster County, June 1942

  Anna rose while it was still dark. Lighting the lamp on the dresser, she tried to force herself awake. It had been another long night of sleeping very little and having bad dreams when she did. Thank goodness her position as eldest had afforded her a bedroom of her own. She needed a place to escape to when her worries about Jacob threatened to overcome her.

  Shivering a little in the predawn chill, she pulled her nightgown off and began to dress. The dream she’d had just before waking still seemed to hold her in its grasp.

  She’d seen Jacob so clearly, and even in the dream her heart had leaped with joy. She’d reached out her hands, running toward him, knowing his strong arms would close around her and hold her tight. There would be nothing to keep them apart.

  But she couldn’t run. She was slogging through thick mud. It pulled at her shoes, dragging her back like a living thing. She cried out to Jacob for help.

  But Jacob’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t look at her. Instead he turned slowly, staring ahead as if drawn that way. He moved, but not toward her. Away from her, never turning back, never hearing her cries. He vanished into a gray unknown, and she was left behind.

  Anna’s throat was tight with unshed tears. She attacked her hair with the brush, drawing it to the back of her head with the ease of long practice.