Rebecca's Return (The Adams County Trilogy 2)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  How like God, she thought, to supply a way of escape in time of trouble. She, who desperately needed to find sin in the church, was married to a deacon.

  Rachel sat the finished salad on the counter, hope swirling in her for the first time since reading the letter Luke had brought home. Maybe this would be easier than she had figured. Reuben—who would have thought it—was now her best hope.

  What to do with the letter though? Should I keep it? Do I need it now? Why not just mail it as Luke wanted and do away with the risk?

  Pondering the option, Rachel wanted to be certain. What was right or wrong did not enter her calculations, only what was best for her. She would keep the letter, she decided. Emma would think the letter got lost in the mail. Never being the wiser for it, this might buy some time before the lawyer began his work.

  After going to the basement, she returned with cans of beef and corn, the corn from the summer prior, the beef from a steer they raised on the farm and butchered that fall. Tonight’s supper would be simple. The salad was made, but there would be no dessert. They would survive.

  By the time Luke came in, with Reuben not far behind him, everything was ready. The beef was steaming in its own juice, and the corn was hot. Luke said nothing as he came in from the utility room, leaving his shoes as well as his boots outside. She saw his eyes searching for the letter. Surely the boy didn’t expect to find the letter in plain sight. Does he think I’m stupid?

  “Supper ready?” Reuben asked, not waiting for an answer as he went to wash up. Rachel didn’t respond as the steaming items on the table were an obvious answer. Luke, drying his hands on a towel, tried his best to look comfortable and then found his usual place at the table.

  “No dessert?” Reuben asked, pulling out his chair, scraping the legs on the hardwood floor as he sat down.

  “Not tonight,” Rachel stated simply. “I’ll make—oh, maybe pies for Sunday. Did you fix the water pipe?”

  “I’ll dig it up,” Reuben said, “maybe tomorrow. At least the hardware store had the parts. You never know nowadays. Stores don’t like to keep things in stock.”

  “Isn’t it a bad leak?” Rachel asked, seeing Reuben stiffen. Probably expecting me to badger him.

  “Let’s pray,” Reuben said quickly.

  Trying to put off the lecture, she thought as they bowed their heads.

  Reuben led out in a German prayer. Rarely did he pray in silence anymore. Rachel figured this came from knowing many of the German prayers by heart because he read them in church so many times. That Reuben might like the words or their meaning had not occurred to her. This frequent, out loud praying had not been practiced in their early years of marriage. It began soon after the deacon ordination and so was only explainable in her mind as driven by the ego of his office.

  Reuben lifted his head from prayer, letting that be his answer for now, she figured, since what else was there to say. The water line was not dug out, and Reuben sure wasn’t going back out in the dark to do it.

  “It’ll wait—I suppose,” Rachel said. “Luke might be able to help you in the morning.”

  “I suppose,” Reuben allowed. He took the spoon and helped himself to a generous portion of meat before passing the bowl on to Luke.

  CHAPTER NINE

  John pushed himself away from the table, his plate scraped clean of his mother’s Friday night tradition, meatball stew. It came from a recipe that had been in the family for years.

  Dessert was Pennsylvania-style Hustle Cake. It must have been baked today because John had not seen it last night. He looked at the cake’s appealing freshness, contemplating a large piece.

  “Goot essas as usual,” John’s father, Isaac Miller, commented to no one in particular.

  Miriam only nodded her head, not expecting anything less from herself or more from Isaac. After all these years, her husband didn’t always voice his thoughts, but they knew each other’s roles at suppertime. She, her good cooking, and he, that it was to be enjoyed.

  To Isaac bad cooking was only a faint and rare memory from his 1-W service in the late sixties. Before and since then, he had been surrounded by his mother’s and now his wife’s excellent touch in the kitchen.

  Age had left his body round in the middle, the work in his harness shop not supplying much physical exercise. His forceful Sunday sermons, which he had been delivering since his ordination in his early thirties, were his only form of exercise.

  Isaac’s weight worried Miriam, although why she didn’t worry about her own tendencies in that direction was not certain. It could have been that Miriam’s family had little history of heart trouble, while Isaac’s did. To be left alone, to spend her remaining years without Isaac, was often on her mind.

  “Go easy on the cake, Isaac,” Miriam told him. “You’re getting older.”

  “Ach, du denkcht zu feel,” he told her, smiling broadly. “The good Lord has many years for me yet. Don’t worry so much.”

  “I can’t help it. Heart trouble runs in your family.”

  “One little piece of cake won’t change that,” he allowed, cutting himself a generous portion.

  “If that is a little one,” she said dryly, “what would a big one be like?”

  “Big,” he said, still smiling.

  “John at least knows better,” she retorted, glancing at the smaller piece John was transferring to his plate.

  “He looks thin,” Isaac said, not looking at his son. “Underfed.”

  “You should think about exercising,” she said. “The bishop just got himself a walking cane, so he can go out in the evenings. I think you ought to try it yourself.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t preach as hard as I do. It’s easier for him. I have to work on my Sundays. Why preach and walk too?”

  “So,” Miriam asked, “you think your preaching hard gets you special favor with Da Hah? ”

  “Well,” he said, as he cut a small piece of cake to fit his mouth and lifted it reverently upward. The spoon was steady, but the piece wobbled under its own weight, toppling back onto his plate.

  “See,” she exclaimed gleefully, “even Da Hah thinks so. He’s on my side.”

  “It just fell off,” he retorted, pretending indignation, getting the piece into his mouth on the second try, chewing it carefully, and savoring its sweetness.

  “What’s wrong with you, John?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject, turning toward her son. “Your piece is so small—don’t like it?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not that.”

  “You don’t look well.” She studied him, placing her hand on his forehead.

  He knew the familiar gesture, but wished his mother would stop it. He was a grown man now.

  “You worried?” she asked.

  “She hasn’t written,” John said, thinking that was explanation enough. “Or called,” he added, just in case it wasn’t.

  “She’s fine, John,” his father told him, getting in on the conversation, the last of his cake heading toward his mouth. “Babies take time.”

  John figured now was the time to tell his parents his news.

  “I asked her a few weeks ago to marry me.”

  “Oh?” was all his mother said.

  “Said yes?” was Isaac’s response.

  John nodded.

  “It’s good you do have the eighty acres then.” Isaac pushed his plate away. “When will you start remodeling?”

  “This summer maybe…” His parents’ confidence was disconcerting to him, making him certain his present fears were best left unsaid.

  “She’s a nice girl,” Miriam added. “Always thought so. Good family too. Set a date yet?”

  “Next spring—maybe.” John said it easily enough, even with how he was feeling.

  “Our only boy,” Isaac commented, nostalgia in his voice. “Even they grow up.”

  “Makes us all old,” Miriam said. “Exercising holds it off…a little at least.”

  Isaac refused to take the bait. “So
she’s not let you know when she’s coming back.”

  John shook his head, not trusting the sound of his own voice. It was embarrassing how this girl was getting to him, and he wished not to show it. He should be confident and not so worried.

  “It’s all the work,” Miriam said, as if reading his thoughts. “Rebecca had a lot of things to do. Women work hard when babies come.”

  Isaac pretended to glare at her. “We men do nothing?”

  “Scarce little—afterward.” She squinted her eyes at him.

  “I did change a few diapers though,” he reminded her, unoffended.

  “I suppose so,” she allowed. “So what should John do?”

  “Ah. She’ll be around soon,” Isaac said, his voice reassuring.

  The comfort did little for John.

  Miriam must have noticed. “Have you thought of going over to her parents’ place?”

  “Now?” he asked, trying to keep the feeling out of his voice.

  “Well, why not?” She shrugged her shoulders. “They might know something.”

  “Maybe she’s already home,” Isaac said, adding his opinion.

  “How would that look?” John asked. “Home and not letting me know.”

  John waited for Miriam’s response, trusting his mother more when it came to these matters. His father was a good preacher, holding the congregation spellbound with one of his Sunday morning stem-winders, but here his mother was the knowledgeable one.

  “I think you should go and find out,” she said. “That is, if you have to know.”

  Isaac, noting his son’s face, said with a grin, “Glad my time of courting is over.”

  “Don’t want to do it again?” Miriam asked, pretending she wasn’t listening for his answer.

  “Nope. You’re staying with me till the end.”

  “Da Hah told you that too?”

  “No,” he allowed, “I just need you.”

  Miriam smiled at that.

  John cleared his throat. “Maybe I’ll run over. It’s almost dark, but it’s still early.”

  “Whatever you think,” Miriam told him, getting up to clear the table.

  “I’ll go now,” John said and got up to leave.

  Well after John had left for the barn, Isaac asked, “What’d you think about that?”

  “I knew something had been bothering him. Wasn’t sure what.”

  “You think Rebecca’s good for him?”

  “You heard what I said. You were right here.”

  “I know. He was here too.”

  “I think she’s a nice girl.”

  “You ever hear anything about—before they moved here?”

  “No. They came from Milroy.”

  He said nothing, staring off into the distance.

  “You heard anything?” She was alarmed again.

  “No, but that’s strange too. There’s usually something.”

  “You should know. You’re a minister.”

  “Sometimes ministers don’t know everything.”

  “So what do you know?” she asked undeterred.

  “Not a thing,” he said puzzled. “Family came with a perfect church letter—never made trouble either.”

  “So what’s wrong with that? You should be happy.”

  “Nothing to do with happiness.”

  “You worried then?”

  “Don’t know—just strange, that’s all.”

  “You think Da Hah will have trouble for us then?”

  “That’s in His will—only He knows.”

  “But you feel it?”

  Isaac shook his head. “It’s all in His will. He will give us the strength to bear whatever comes.”

  “You’re just getting old…feeling our last one leaving.”

  “Ya. It might be that.”

  “And we will grow old—just the two of us. That’s not too bad, is it?”

  He allowed a smile to spread across his face. “Not with your cooking.”

  “You’re a shlecht one,” she said, pretending to glare at him, but bending to kiss him on the forehead.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rachel Byler was cleaning the kitchen, having first made certain that Reuben was comfortably settled in the living room. Reuben had looked strangely at her, puzzled by the attention, then let it go and relaxed in his recliner. He had now found the Milroy, Indiana, section of the paper and was engrossed in the news. The scribe for the area was usually Margaret, Emery Yoder’s wife. Not that it really mattered because there wasn’t much room for personal expression in the writing, just a recounting of who had visited and other general happenings. Occasionally diversions were made, slight ones, only detectable if you knew what was going on under the surface. He, of course, did and always went to his home community’s article first.

  Tonight Reuben scanned the article, finding a listing of visitors at the Sunday service two weeks ago. It usually took that length of time to get the letter from the scribe to Ohio, then printed in the paper, and mailed back to the subscribers. Still it was an efficient way of communication between the Amish communities. Reasonably priced too—which was important.

  Margaret said that Bishop Jesse Raber, his wife, and brother-in-law from Daviess County had been visiting. There followed some more names, but he just scanned those.

  On Monday night Jacob Weaver had a scare, Margaret continued, when a young calf took a fright, while the youngest boy of the family was tending to it. The boy was doing his chores in the calf pen, laying down a fresh bed of straw. The family dog had entered the calf pen and was following the boy around. This frightened the calf and made it jump against the wall, causing the gasoline lantern that was set on the floor to tip over. When the lantern tipped over, the glass globe apparently absent or broken, the flame ignited the straw.

  The carelessness of youth, Reuben thought, unless maybe the Weavers made a practice of not placing globes on their lanterns, making it easier to light the lantern. Whether or not the Weavers were using lanterns in that condition doesn’t matter because this was just a case of carelessness and not a church offense. Carelessness. Da Hah can handle that on His own—without my help. With that decision made, Reuben continued to read.

  He wondered whether Margaret would put things in the paper that were a church offense. He doubted it, but one never knew. It might slip out inadvertently, he supposed. Not that he wanted such a thing to happen, as many readers far and wide would read the account. The offense would then also have to be dealt with quickly, hopefully with word of the ministry’s quick action trickling back around.

  Anyway, the young boy yelled for help and had most of the fire stomped out by the time his father arrived. Reuben thought about fires and how they could easily—when burning out of control—take down a barn and destroy livestock in no time at all. He was sure Weaver had a long talk with his son.

  Farther down, right after a mention of the snowstorm, Margaret said Nancy Yoder, wife of Amman Yoder, had been to the doctor. That was on Wednesday, more than two weeks ago. The reason for the visit was a checkup because Nancy was having some doubts about the state of her health. Nancy’s worst fears were realized when the doctor found a few lumps. That Friday she received the results of the tests the doctor conducted—malignant breast cancer. Treatments at IU Simon Cancer Center in Indianapolis had already begun, according to Margaret. It also noted that Nancy might also seek more treatment in Mexico. This, Reuben thought, isn’t wise, but this too is not a church matter. He supposed if one had cancer, things might look a little different. Mexico was a land of great suspicions to him, but one never knew until it happened what really might need to be done.

  Out in the kitchen, it sounded as if Rachel was on the last of the dishes. What has gotten into the woman tonight? Why is she being so nice? There must be something going on, but what? Is it money maybe? Not that Rachel acted this way when she wanted some. Normally she just told him and made things miserable until he relented. The checking account was empty anyway, so it really didn’t matter
. He sighed. Life would be a lot easier, at least with her, if there were more of the green stuff around. Not that he knew how to get more, but it would be easier.

  He couldn’t imagine what else she would want. But then the thought of Margaret mentioning Mexico came back to him. Is that what it is? Rachel has always wanted to go to Mexico, dropping hints about it every time someone went down there for treatments. Has she read the article already and wants to visit on pleasure?

  It could be well within the realm of possibilities. If it is that, she will soon be in and drop the hint. He stiffened in preparation. There was simply no way he was going. Not even if he was sick, would he go.

  Visions of donkeys balking in the streets, stopping to bray and kick at passing visitors from the States, went through his mind. No doubt white people would stir up the worst in them. Then there were the thieves and the awful food. Returning Amish visitors from medical trips told of thieves snatching purses off the arms of women, of men not even feeling their wallets being lifted from their front pants pockets. Amish men had no back pockets, so these guys must be the real experts. He shuddered in his recliner. Rachel would not be going, and neither would he. And those awful flat pieces of flour they ate!

  Even if Rachel got sick, she was not going. If she did go, it would be without him. The going would be simply beyond him—not to mention the cost. The thought occurred to him, Perhaps she is sick. Maybe that explains her behavior. But he soon put the thought aside. Sickness was highly unlikely.

  Luke had gone upstairs to his room after supper, and Reuben supposed he would soon find out what this was all about. The dishes rattled gently again in the kitchen. It sounded, from his long experience with her habits, that Rachel was down to the last few.

  True enough, Reuben had just turned to the next page of the paper, finding Leroy, Michigan, when Rachel came in and took a seat on the couch. He wasn’t that interested in the Amish community in Leroy, Michigan, anyway, so he braced himself.

  Rachel cleared her throat. “When’s next communion?”