Rebecca's Return (The Adams County Trilogy 2)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Reuben knew good and well Rachel knew when next communion was coming. It came in the spring around Easter, but he answered anyway, “Around Easter.” There was no sense in stirring things up, in case he was wrong.

  As she nodded, he noticed the bandage on her finger again. Earlier he had seen it but failed to mention anything. “You cut your finger?” he asked, trying to be friendly.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Normally she would have commented on his lack of notice till now…but tonight it was just, “Yes.” This only increased his nervousness. She really was after something, but there was no use imagining the worst now. He simply waited.

  “I thought,” she said, pausing to clear her throat, “that perhaps there were some things—church things—that maybe I needed to get done.”

  His blood running cold at the sound of her words, he contemplated saying nothing, but that carried its own dangers. “Yes,” he managed, his lips tense.

  “Some things—little things, I guess. Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about them.” She almost looked apologetic. “I just want to be prepared.”

  He nodded. Prepared for what? This road looked a little less dangerous than it had a few minutes ago. Maybe the woman is dying? Preparing for her own passing? He felt the stirrings of sympathy, concern, and then he remembered Mexico, and the feelings left. His fingers tightened on the newspaper, the printed columns completely going out of focus. “You’re not sick?” he asked as calmly as he could, turning toward her.

  She smiled, her face showing a trace of amusement. “No. I’m okay. At least on the outside. It’s the church that I’m concerned about.”

  He tilted his head, still looking at her.

  She seemed to take a slow breath. “There’s so much going on in the world today. You know—sin coming—pushing in when we least expect it. I’ve been thinking about that.”

  He still waited, saying nothing partly because he couldn’t get any words past his astonishment. She had never been the least concerned about any of this.

  “You have been working—on church matters,” she continued. “I know you care about it. I’ve been thinking. I don’t do as much as I should.”

  “Yes,” he said cautiously. It was true, but that thought might be dangerous territory too. She didn’t interfere in his deacon work, but neither was she one to be there to lend a hand either.

  “I might have some dresses—you know—that are a little too… well, pushing things.” She paused, as if waiting for his reaction.

  Whether she had or hadn’t, he couldn’t remember no matter how much he now tried. “I don’t know,” he managed, hoping it covered the bases.

  From the look on her face, this was apparently not the answer she was looking for. “The light blue one, for instance,” she said. “It’s a little formfitting, don’t you think? A little short too, for the church standard?” She was still looking intently at him.

  His mind was spinning wildly, but it was simply producing no memory of a light blue dress. “I hadn’t noticed,” he said.

  She wrinkled her brow. “I’ve been thinking about it. Communion is coming up. We really should be—at least I think so—be getting our house in order.”

  He shrugged, managing to say, “Of course—the church is always important.” Where is she going with this?

  “That’s just it,” she said. Her face brightening for the first time. “I want to do my part. For much too long—way too long—I haven’t done enough. Before communion, I will change that dress. Luke has some socks too. Those blue ones…”

  “But that’s allowed,” he said, in spite of himself.

  “I don’t know,” she told him. “Maybe blue, but these are pretty light. It would be better not to push the line, don’t you think?”

  “Of course,” he said. What else is there to say when a large part of my life’s work is to make sure these things do matter?

  “That needs to be changed.” She nodded. “Some other things too.”

  “Are you okay?” he finally asked her, relaxing a little. This could have been much worse. Sure, he told himself, that was a new leaf for her but familiar ground for me.

  “I need your help,” she said, ignoring his question.

  He felt himself stiffen again. “You need me?”

  “Yes—for myself, of course. If you see something—out of order—I need to be told.”

  “I see,” he said, settling back into his chair, not seeing at all. This was a strange evening indeed.

  “We have to be pure,” she said, getting up to go back to the kitchen. “We need all the help we can get.”

  He watched her go, completely puzzled, then thinking this new turn might be a benefit to him. A wife, vigorous in her defense of church rules, might even enhance his standing in church.

  Relaxing, Reuben turned back to his paper and found Kalona, Iowa’s column on the third page, near the top. It was only later that he noticed the uneasy feeling settling into the pit of his stomach.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Slapping the reins, driving along the top of Wheat Ridge, John succeeded in getting extra speed out of his horse. He soon regretted it. He felt conflicted, not wanting to be seen hurrying to the Keim’s home, yet wanting to get there quickly.

  What if she isn’t there? What if she is still in Milroy taking care of her aunt’s baby? How would it look—me driving to her place? Can I climb out of this buggy and tie up with no Rebecca around to make things look appropriate? What about walking to the front door? What am I going to say when they open the door?

  Bein yusht nei shtobt, he would say, feeling thoroughly stupid. Just stopped in. How would that sound? Standing on the front porch, with my hat in my hand.

  Just stopped in. Stopped in for what? Their girl obviously. Rebecca, who might not be home, and he, John her boyfriend and supposedly the husband to be, shouldn’t they know where the other is?

  John almost pulled back on the reins but couldn’t. He simply had to know, whatever the embarrassment would be. Tomorrow was Saturday, and he could come back then, but that would require turning back, facing his parents, and explaining his retreat.

  Why is the world so complicated? Where is the simplicity of things? I had felt those feelings for Rebecca at the bridge and hope to feel them now.

  There it had been just her and him, the whole world spread out at their feet to walk in it as they saw fit. Why weren’t things staying like that? The question surprised and puzzled him.

  Was this what all good things became? He had been happy then, and now he wasn’t. Was this because happiness was always followed by cloudy weather? He didn’t know for sure. Neither of his parents had ever mentioned anything like this, but maybe they wouldn’t. They had raised him to be a faithful member of the church and to follow God. Surely with that record behind him and with the good parents he had, he would be okay.

  It will have to be okay, he thought. It just has to be. Glancing to his right, the eighty acres on Wheat Ridge came into view. He couldn’t see much in the early evening dusk, but his mind’s eye could see it all clearly. The single white framed house sitting on the knoll, red barn in the background, both built twenty years ago, still in good condition for the most part. It was the place he wanted so desperately to call home—not just his home but home with Rebecca.

  He had purchased the property late last year, with careful thought and knowing that he wanted to ask Rebecca the question. Waiting to buy until he asked hadn’t been an option because such places sold quickly along Wheat Ridge. The place had been offered to him without a realtor, the family knowing his family.

  Renters were living there now and would stay until the summer before the wedding. There was no sense in living there alone, when a little income could be realized on the side and while he was still welcome at home. Miriam and Isaac had gladly lent him the money for the purchase, at a little better than the interest rate they could get from CDs at the bank. The purchase had been a little scary, considering Rebecca had not said “
yes” yet, but it was worth the purchase, he had figured, even if she turned him down. He had been so certain that they were right for each other and meant to spend their lives together, that his imagination failed him when he tried to consider any other girl. Being turned down would have been devastating, and he knew that with a certainty that sent chills up and down his spine.

  He felt like pulling back on the reins again, but slapped them instead. What was wrong with him, he wondered? Why couldn’t he be a little more self-confident—unafraid of losing? Was it because there really was a danger? Or was it just him and his fears making shadows out of nothing?

  It must be him, he decided, and urged his horse on. Pulling past the first houses in Harshville, the sound of the horse’s hooves on the pavement echoed in the trees.

  Lights were on in the houses around him. He could tell most of them were English because of the brightness of the lighting. It was different in the Amish homes, which had the soft glow of lanterns. Looking at the lights, he wondered if Rebecca could ever go English. The question made its way into his consciousness and stirred up his fears again.

  Surely not, he almost said out loud. She was such a decent girl, beautiful and committed to the church. He was sure it simply couldn’t happen—she would never go English. Rebecca was his now, in a manner of speaking, and someday she would really be his. The thought took his breath away. The wheels of his buggy rattled across the bridge, the racket thundering in his ears.

  Pulling around the sharp bends in the road, John stilled his fears and prepared for what might lie ahead. He willed himself to stop thinking, concentrating instead on searching for Rebecca’s driveway. Considering how often he had been there, the task should have been easy. Yet tonight, surrounded by the familiar, he felt alienated and in uncharted territory.

  Thinking that he would need to turn on his bright lights, he was thankful when it proved unnecessary. Any Amish person watching would know why he needed the extra light. Couldn’t find his way into his girlfriend’s yard. Lost on the way to love, as usual… The imaginary teasing chilled him.

  Turning in, the gentle slope of the Keim driveway led upward. John let his horse walk, finding the familiar tying place on its own. Memories from the past were flooding his mind. He saw the times he had come here with Rebecca, certain then of what was ahead. Evenings, afternoons at times, he delighted in the anticipation of spending time with her.

  John forced himself to slide open the buggy door and place his foot onto the step. Surrounded by his fears, he sensed Rebecca’s presence before he could see her. Between the house and the buggy, he saw the faint form in the darkness. He tried to halt his downward movement but couldn’t. Continuing toward the ground, his foot reaching, nearly stumbling, his mind and body were off balance.

  John righted himself, looking in her direction. The light from the living room window found its way out to the buggy and lit up her face.

  “Hi,” Rebecca said. “I saw you coming. It’s so good you could come over tonight.”

  In a rush of emotions, John wanted to reach out, to touch, but he restrained himself. He might do things that he would later regret, so he simply cleared his throat.

  “How’d you know I was here?” Rebecca asked, but he couldn’t see her face anymore, the weak light lost to some unseen object.

  “Guessed,” he got out, regretting the word because it wasn’t quite the truth. “Really…” He tried again. “I didn’t know, but I wanted to—I mean—to see…whether you were home.”

  “That’s nice,” she said, her face still in the shadows. “On the way home from Milroy, I realized that I should have contacted you. But things were so busy with the baby and all, and I didn’t have your address. You want to come in?”

  “I have to tie the horse,” he said, not directly answering her question, anger stirring in him now. Why didn’t she offer to explain more? So cheerful as if she has done nothing wrong, while I am suffering.

  “I’m glad to see you,” she said, her voice sounding happy, making things worse. How can she see me? It is so dark. Angry voices in his head filled the places where fears had been just moments before.

  Am I to demand to know? The outburst inside grew, surprising John with its strength.

  “You didn’t call,” he said, hoping none of his anger was showing.

  “I know. That was thoughtless of me, but I would have had to go to the schoolhouse. Leona doesn’t have a phone shack close,” she said, sounding concerned.

  “I was worried,” he said into the darkness, a glad perverseness running through him that she cared, but hoping those feelings didn’t show either.

  “You didn’t have to be—I was taking care of the baby,” she said. “It’s hard to plan things around babies.”

  “I know,” he heard himself say, tying the rope, the lights from the house now in his eyes. “A little jumpy,” he added, allowing a chuckle.

  Rebecca approached. Coming close her fingers found John’s in the darkness. She pulled on his hand, turning him so the light played softly on his face. “You are a dear, John,” she said softly, her voice gentle. “I’m back now.”

  “Yes,” he said, letting go of her fingers. “I just had to come and see—make sure.”

  “A sure maker.” She now smiled, her voice vibrating against the side of his buggy and bouncing back. The sound seemed more alive than when it left her mouth.

  “I think so—but not a good one,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted to cover his surging feelings.

  “Why don’t you come in?” she asked him. “Catch up on the news. It’s more comfortable on the couch.”

  “Your family still up?” he asked, not certain that all the things he wanted to know could be asked in front of them.

  “Sure,” Rebecca said. “They’ve heard the story. It won’t bother them.”

  So there was nothing to do but agree. John sighed, wishing they could talk outside.

  “You were worried,” she said, finding his fingers again.

  “You didn’t see anyone else?” he blurted out, regretting the words but unable to help himself.

  Her laughter sounded softly beside him. “You are silly, John. Of course I didn’t see anyone—not how you mean.”

  “Is there someone to see?” he asked, the question bursting out.

  “Not in that way,” Rebecca said, after a slight pause.

  Her statement caused his fears to leap forward, demanding an answer. “So there was someone?”

  “Don’t you trust me?” Rebecca’s face was now in the shadows. “I really do love you.”

  John felt like stumbling, clawing the air with his hands, her question wrenching at his heart. Trust her? Yes. But blind trust? That’s what she seemed to be asking of him. Demanding that he close his eyes to his fears and simply follow her around—whatever she chose to do.

  What if she is hiding something I need to know about? The fears danced around in his head, mocking him.

  “I love you too,” he replied, trying to keep a lighthearted tone. “And trust you? Of course, I do.”

  “You sure? Another boyfriend?” Her voice didn’t sound as soft as before. “You really think I would?”

  “No,” he said, the thought seeming to shrivel away in the light of exposure. “Just checking.”

  “You didn’t have to check.” Her voice was soft again. “I like you.”

  “Oh,” John said quietly, standing at the door, not wanting to say more. Their words could now easily be heard inside.

  Rebecca stepped in front of him, reaching to open the door. As the light from the lantern on the living room ceiling caught her face, John saw the smile of welcome. The softness warmed his heart.

  “It’s John!” Mattie’s voice came from the couch. “Just as Rebecca thought. We heard the buggy coming up the driveway.”

  “Heard the news already?” Lester asked, chuckling in the recliner. “Had to get right over?”

  John nodded, then corrected himself. “I didn’t really know
—that she was back. Just thought I’d stop by and see.”

  “Make yourself at home then.” Lester straightened up his recliner. “This might call for popcorn, don’t you think?”

  Popcorn was the last thing on his mind, but John didn’t feel like saying so. He wished again for time alone with Rebecca, but she was already disappearing into the kitchen. Awkwardly he stood there. “Don’t want to be a bother,” he finally managed.

  “No bother in the least,” Mattie assured him. “Rebecca just went to get a chair. I’ll get the popcorn on. Just give me a minute.”

  “You sure?” John asked, expecting no reply.

  Rebecca appeared at the kitchen door with a chair and set it beside the couch. “Best we can do,” she said, smiling at him. “Not enough couches.” She took a seat on the couch beside her mother.

  “So you were worried about Rebecca?” Lester asked, grinning and watching John take his seat.

  “Don’t tease,” Rebecca chided her father.

  “Know how it is.” Lester still had the grin on his face. “It gets better though.”

  John wanted to ask how Lester could be so certain but decided not to. It might sound foolish and lead to other questions. “When did Rebecca get home?” he asked, thinking that angle of conversation safe.

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “Dad.” Rebecca’s voice had a warning in it.

  Lester ignored her, chuckling. “Just like a woman.”

  “What’s like a woman?” Mattie asked, coming in from the kitchen. “Popcorn’s on.”

  Before Lester could answer, Rebecca asked, “Yeah, what’s like a woman, Dad?”

  Mattie stood looking at Lester, half turned to go back toward the kitchen.

  Lester was waiting. When Mattie didn’t move, he grinned again, a little lopsided this time. “Oh, nothing. They just—you know—forget to mention things sometimes.”

  “Sounds fishy to me,” Mattie said, moving toward the kitchen door.

  “Don’t let him get away with it,” Rebecca said to her mother’s retreating form. “He was insulting us.”