Rebecca's Return (The Adams County Trilogy 2)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  She continued, “Tell Sally that Mike Richards from state handled the scene. She’ll know how to get the information to him.”

  He nodded his head, then left. As simple as that, she thought. But was he going to the station? She heard his truck starting up.

  Pacing the bedroom floor, she realized she had to know. Picking up the phone, she dialed the number and waited for someone to answer it. “Sally,” she said.

  “Yes…Beatrice.”

  “Andy’s supposed to be on his way there. Call me and tell me what he told you when he’s done. Right away. It’s about the accident tonight.”

  “Oh, Beatrice,” Sally gasped, “not Andy?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “Want to tell me more?”

  “No. Let’s see what he says.”

  “Okay. Will let you know.”

  “Call me in ten minutes if he’s not there.”

  “Nasty deal, huh?”

  “You could say so.”

  Beatrice paced the floor to calm down, then got ready for what was left of the night’s sleep. Still there was no return phone call. So far, so good. She was wondering why she hadn’t stuck to her plans of forcing Andy to leave when the phone rang.

  “Yes,” she said, lifting the receiver.

  “He told me everything,” Sally said, without saying hello.

  “Read it to me.”

  Sally sighed and said, “You should trust him a bit. He’s a nice man.”

  “Just read it,” Beatrice snapped.

  The reading of Andy’s statement took five minutes, and when Sally was done, she asked, “Was that what he told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he’s not lying.”

  “No.”

  “Then you have a good night’s sleep. Take care of that man—will you?”

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  A few minutes later, she heard the sound of Andy’s Ford in the driveway. The bedroom door opened soon afterwards.

  Andy stopped halfway across the floor. “Can I stay?”

  “I suppose,” she said, still not certain why. The confession had taken courage, something Andy hadn’t displayed too often in his life.

  Andy cemented her decision by saying, “I want to talk to the holy people in the morning. The one I hit. I want to apologize and pay for the damage.”

  “He’s in the hospital,” she said. “The state will charge you.”

  “I know,” he said quietly, but his hands weren’t trembling anymore. “I want to make it right. The insurance will cover the damage—the hospital bill.”

  “You have it paid up?” she asked, knowing his weakness.

  “Yes.”

  “Andy, you can’t talk to the victim. It doesn’t usually turn out well. And it’s against department policy.”

  “But I need to do this, Bea. Help me make things right.”

  Beatrice looked at Andy. In some ways he was like a child. But his desire to make this right was a step toward being a man. “I could lose my job for this, but I’ll talk to the father of the victim and see what I can do. But I can’t promise anything. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Andy said. He then approached Beatrice and offered himself for an embrace.

  She slowly extended her arms and wrapped them around him and repeated, “I’ll do what I can.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rebecca woke with the alarm clock, a sleepy fog on her brain. She reached out to shut off the racket, frustrated that it had taken such a noise to awaken her on her first full day home. She ought to be fresh and enthused to be here, not needing help to get up.

  All night she had tossed and turned, trying to sleep. John’s anger had left her in a turmoil. The talk with her parents afterward had done little to resolve the situation. She was still surprised that last night had been so upsetting.

  Rebecca had thought that when she arrived home, she’d have a fresh start, a new capacity to love John and to leave the memory of Atlee behind.

  The memory of how John had acted rose before her. It was simply not right, the way he had talked to her. She had hoped by this morning things would be looking different, but now, if anything, it was looking worse.

  Rebecca stared at the dark ceiling, wondering how things could have gotten so bad, so quickly. Has John been like this all along? Have I just not noticed, or have I pushed him into something by my actions?

  Guilt and worry played with Rebecca’s mind until she resolutely pushed them away. There was simply no way she was completely at fault. Maybe she had not done everything right, but she was trying, and such an outburst from John was simply over the edge.

  Rebecca got up and lit the kerosene lamp. The glass chimney warmed in her hand once the wick was burning. The flame danced wildly, then calmed down within the safety of the glass. A last puff of black smoke rose from the top before the wick burned steady.

  What about the upcoming Sunday evening? That was the evening she had promised to go into the details about Atlee. Why did I promise John I would tell him everything?

  From across the hall, she heard Matthew’s door open and his footsteps going down the stairs. He was doing real well, getting up on time, developing into a right good young man. She wished with all her heart she could say the same things about her own life.

  Well, Da Hah would just have to help her. That was all there was to it. She certainly was in deeper than she could handle.

  Sunday would come, and then she would have to face John. If John made too big a fuss, she would simply tell him the engagement was off, her heart missing a beat at the thought, sorrow filling her.

  What would John do if she dared to take such a bold step? Declare her damaged material, spread word around the young people’s circle she had a Mennonite boyfriend hidden away somewhere?

  That could be quite damaging. It could make her prospects of finding another boyfriend among the Amish slim. Not that she wanted to, she quickly told herself. Although she was filled with shame at the thought, she also took comfort remembering Emma’s happiness as a single Amish woman.

  It was strange. Did John know that the very thing he feared, he was causing by his actions toward her? Hardly would he believe it.

  Yet with all the emotions spinning in her heart, life must go on, and the chores were calling. She must not let Matthew do them all himself. He would think she was shirking her duty if she waited much longer, and this her first morning home.

  The sounds of her mother stirring in the kitchen came up through the heat register as she slid it open. She smiled at the familiar sounds, letting the feelings of home soak in. How good it was to be home—so safe and secure, a place where things were as they should be, where others had made so many decisions for her, deciding what was right and wrong.

  But she was grown up now. She would leave one day soon. Either as John’s wife…or not. The time was coming, no matter what she did to stop it. Marrying or not marrying John would involve entering another world, a world where responsibilities would rest squarely on her shoulders. Having been in Milroy with Stephen and Leona, she felt with acute freshness what that might all include. Feeling a recoiling against it, she paused before leaving her room, drinking up the sounds coming through her register.

  “Home,” she whispered. “I don’t want to leave you. But I must. We can’t be children forever.”

  Glad no one was around to hear her talking to herself, Rebecca found her way down the dark stairs, taking care not to trip.

  She stuck her head in the kitchen, taking in a deep breath.

  Mattie noticed her daughter, still disheveled from sleep, and asked, “Good to be home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Matthew will be glad for the help.”

  “You need any help in here?”

  “No.” her mother said.

  “Don’t go all out on breakfast on account of me,” Rebecca said, suspecting her mother would anyway.

/>   “It’s your first morning home.”

  “I know, but you don’t have to.”

  “Lester will love it,” Mattie said, shifting the blame as if that would help.

  Rebecca smiled, knowing there was no persuading her mother. “Matthew’s wondering where I’m at,” she said, as she tugged on her coat and went out the door.

  True to her suspicions, Matthew spoke up before she had even shut the barn door behind her. “Where’ve you been, sleepyhead? Did you get spoiled, sleeping in late in Milroy?”

  “Oh, be quiet,” Rebecca said. What would he understand about the night she had just spent tossing in bed?

  “Troubles, have we?” Matthew looked in Rebecca’s direction, his nearly twelve-year-old forehead wrinkled. He hardly paused to ask the question while shoveling feed for the soon incoming cows.

  The thought that Matthew might have heard what was going on last night crossed Rebecca’s mind, along with a stab of fear. In that case there would be nothing like talking about dating troubles with a young brother. Matthew would never understand, nor was it any of his business. Rebecca wished she knew how much he knew before she said anything. Walking toward the milk house, Rebecca hoped that ignoring Matthew would work.

  Seeing his sister return, Matthew spoke up knowingly, “Baby troubles in Milroy.”

  His statement gave her relief and a new venue for conversation. Rebecca replied, “They always are.”

  “That’s why I’m never having any,” he pronounced, swelling out his chest and acting like he might thump it. “That avoids all the troubles.”

  “Huh! Babies aren’t the only cause of troubles.”

  Matthew stated firmly, “But most of them happen because of babies.”

  “I thought girls caused all the trouble,” Rebecca reminded him.

  Matthew snorted in disgust. “They start it, but babies are the end.”

  “So who told you that, wise guy?”

  “Boys at school. We figured it out.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Don’t you think it’s a little too soon?”

  “Soon for what?” he asked confidently.

  But she heard the edge of uncertainty in his voice. “You’ll get over it. All boys do,” she said in her best sisterly voice, while hanging the milkers on the wire.

  “Good morning.” The cheerful voice of their father came through the barnyard door, cows crowding in as he opened it.

  “Good morning,” she returned, not as cheerfully.

  “It’s good to have you home,” Lester replied, whacking a slow cow on the behind with his hand.

  The cow paid him no mind. Spotting the pile of feed Matthew had just shoveled out, the cow let out a low bellow, lurched forward, and stuck its head through the neck rods, tongue reaching out hungrily.

  “Mom got a big breakfast going?” Lester asked.

  “Of course. Because I’m home,” Rebecca said.

  “I thought so.” Lester grinned. “Good for all of us.”

  “Why don’t I get big breakfasts?” Matthew protested.

  “You will,” Lester told him. “Your turn is coming.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” Matthew protested again.

  “Because it’s true,” Rebecca said.

  “Let’s get these cows milked,” Matthew said quickly, “so we can get to that breakfast.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Lester said, shutting the barnyard door and reaching for the water bucket to wash the cows’ udders.

  Noting his dad’s agreement, Matthew grinned triumphantly.

  Rebecca figured Matthew deserved these few moments of satisfaction. Males need moral support too, she thought wryly, remembering John’s actions last night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Despite his late night, Isaac was up with the rising of the sun, needing no alarm clock to awaken him. There was plenty on his mind to disturb his sleep. Even in the light of day, things were still a little hazy. Is John really in the hospital, or did I just imagine it?

  The empty place in the bed beside him confirmed his memory. The whole house was empty and quiet. Yes, John really is hurt and in the hospital.

  The silence pressed in on Isaac. It dampened his spirits, and he tried to shake the sense of something missing. He reminded himself that life was in the hands of God and that in such faith he could rest secure. Feeling somewhat better, he got dressed and went to the kitchen, hungry for breakfast. It was there he missed Miriam again, the emotion striking him hard.

  There was no hot meal waiting, so Isaac reached for the cold cereal that Miriam kept for occasional use. Bringing it out, he thumped the cereal down disgustedly on the table. From the picture on the box, the cereal looked edible, but he knew from past experiences how such prepared food tasted.

  Isaac halfheartedly poured the cornflakes into the bowl, the dry flakes rustling as they tumbled from the box, sounding like his bones trying to get going in the morning. Adding milk and sugar, he ate, but his spirits were sinking again.

  Aden would be over soon, checking for news before opening his store. Isaac really didn’t want to be caught eating this stuff, so he kept glancing out the kitchen window.

  In the old days, the folks didn’t even know what cornflakes were. Well, the real old folks, he amended his thoughts. He ate faster than he should have, the cold milk hurting his teeth and forcing him to slow down. He finished just in time to see Aden walking across the front yard, frosty mist rising with each breath.

  Opening the front door, Isaac let him in.

  “Any news?” Aden asked, standing just inside the front door, rubbing his hands together.

  “Left Miriam at the hospital for the night,” Isaac said. “John was still in a coma then, and the doctor didn’t really know anything beyond a severe skull facture.”

  “They doing more tests?”

  “A scan this morning. He got hit in the head pretty hard.”

  “Figure it’s serious?”

  A worried look crossed Isaac’s face. “Da Hah knows, I guess.”

  “Whose fault was the accident?”

  “Officer was sure it wasn’t John’s. I talked to one of them at the scene.”

  “Has Rebecca been told?”

  “No. Miriam thought we’d better wait.”

  “Engaged—aren’t they?”

  Isaac nodded. “John just told us. Someone needs to tell her soon, I suppose.”

  “I’ll send Sharon down right away.”

  Isaac wrinkled his brow. “It could be quite a shock. Maybe someone else should go. Someone older.”

  “Well,” Aden allowed, “You’re probably right. Sharon’s a little young to deliver such news. I’ll send my wife.”

  “Esther would be better.” Isaac looked relieved. “Tell her everything we know.”

  “You think that’s wise?” Aden didn’t look too certain.

  “It’s best,” Isaac assured him. “She’ll find out anyway. Better that she hear it as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll tell Esther then. You want to call the hospital?”

  “Yah.” Isaac didn’t have to think long on that. “I’ll be down in a little while. Probably visit later—depending.”

  “You need a fresh horse? Yours is probably worn out from last night.”

  “I could.” Isaac nodded his appreciation.

  “You can use ours then—after you call. Let us know if you need anything else.”

  “I will,” Isaac assured him, as he watched Aden open and go out the door. Glumly Isaac returned to the kitchen and rinsed out his cereal bowl. This day looked long and weary, stretching out in front of him as one long hard road.

  The thought of hospital bills came to Isaac suddenly and forcefully, even as he noticed a police cruiser pull up the driveway. No doubt they were coming to ask questions about the accident. But neither John nor he had money for large hospital bills. Yet Da Hah would surely see to the need, perhaps through help from the church. Still the load felt heavy on his shoulders.

>   He recognized the female officer climbing out of the cruiser. A man accompanied her, which was puzzling, but maybe he was a detective, come to find the man who had done this to John. Hoping the questions for him wouldn’t go there, Isaac walked to the front door. Last night he had found a peace about the accident. Da Hah had allowed it, and there would be no prosecution effort from him or John even if the officers knew who had done this. Isaac believed that vengeance was in the hand of God and so was the seeking of justice.

  Isaac opened the door before his visitors knocked.

  “Good morning, Mr. Miller,” Beatrice said, greeting him. “I was the officer you spoke to last night.”

  “I remember,” Isaac told Beatrice, adding nothing else. It would be best, he figured, to see what the law wanted before answering any questions.

  “This is my husband, Andy,” Beatrice said rather uneasily. “Mr. Miller, my husband has something he’d like to tell you.” And then she stepped back slightly so that Andy was in front of her.

  “Yes?” Isaac looked at the man.

  Andy fidgeted a little, glancing quickly up at Isaac and then back to the ground. Isaac figured he must look strange to the man, his white beard still a little unkempt, his shirttails half-tucked in, one suspender up on a shoulder, the other hanging to the side.

  “Mr. Miller, I was the one who hit your son last night,” Andy stammered. He quickly added, “I’m very sorry.”

  There was silence as Isaac processed the information. “You must come in then,” he stated simply. “It’s more comfortable in the living room.”

  “But…” Andy was clearly flustered.

  Isaac held open the door. Beatrice shrugged her shoulders but led the way in.

  “I would serve you coffee,” Isaac said, motioning them farther inside, “but the wife’s not home.”

  Andy took the couch, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m not sure you understood me, Mr. Miller. I really shouldn’t be in your house.”

  “I understood you,” Isaac told him in a patient tone. “You hit my son. The Lord has allowed it.”

  “I got scared and ran,” Andy added, a look on his face implying he wanted to tell it all.