by Emma Miller
She lifted her lashes to look at him in the dim light. Grossmama and Amelia were both present, but it suddenly seemed as if it was only she and Caleb. “Do? About what?”
He looked down at Amelia. “Rebecca and I will get your toast and jam. We’ll be right back, sweetie.” He rose from his chair, took Rebecca’s hand and led her out of the room. He closed the door before he spoke again, keeping his voice low. No one else seemed to be awake in the house, but it was obvious he wanted their conversation to remain private.
“About us,” he said. “What are we going to do about us?”
“Us?” she repeated. Her voice sounded breathy. Did he mean what she thought he meant?
He groaned aloud. “Must I say it?” he whispered. “What are we to do about these feelings between us? I’ve tried to deny them and I think you have, as well, but after tonight, I feel...”
Rebecca looked away from him. Part of her heart was singing; she had not been mistaken. Caleb did care for her. But part of her heart was breaking. What did he mean what were they going to do? They were going to do nothing. He was going to do the right thing. How could Caleb not propose to Dorcas? He had let the matter go on too long. Rebecca felt as if she had let it go too far. She could never hurt Dorcas or shame her family by stealing Caleb out from under her cousin.
Rebecca returned her gaze to Caleb’s face. “What will we do?” she asked, slowly taking her hand from his. “What we have been doing. What is right. Trying to live as the faith teaches us.”
This time, Caleb was the one who looked away. “Are you telling me you don’t feel the same—”
She reached out and squeezed his big, warm shoulder, silencing him. Then she released him. She was afraid that if she didn’t let go of him now, she would never be able to let go of him. “Dorcas expects you to ask to marry her. Her mother and father, Grossmama... Everyone, Caleb, expects you to ask Dorcas to marry you.” She pressed her lips together, afraid she might cry, willing herself not to. “I can’t hurt my cousin. And neither can you.”
He hung his head. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. We’ve done nothing wrong, Caleb. Nothing to be ashamed of.” Her voice quavered. “But this has to stop. Now.” She took a deep breath. “You need to find someone else to look after your house.” Her voice cracked. “And Amelia.”
“But Amelia loves you.”
“It’s not fair to her. She should begin getting to know Dorcas. You’ll have to find someone else to work for you until you can be wed.” She almost blurted out that she was going to Brazil but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, Rebecca made herself walk down the hall, away from Caleb. “I’ll stay until Christmas, then I’m done.”
Chapter Sixteen
It was just after lunch on December 24, the day before Christmas, and Rebecca was scrubbing the kitchen countertops in Caleb’s house. She and Amelia had made trays of Moravian sand tarts, cinnamon crisps and black walnut cookies. Together, they’d packed assortments into brown paper bags, tied them with green yarn bows and were preparing to deliver them as gifts to her mother, sisters and their families.
Naturally, there would be holiday excitement and visiting at each home, so the process might take all afternoon. Rebecca was determined to leave the house and kitchen spotless, especially because she knew this would be her last day here. Wiping her hands on her apron, she paused to look around. Everything was in its place: dishes dried and put away, a chicken potpie staying warm on the back of the stove and the floor shiny clean.
She glanced at the large, colorful wall calendar with its cheerful painting of an old-fashioned, horse-drawn sled crossing a snowy farm field and felt a twinge of guilt. Where had the month of December gone? Every morning when she came to Caleb’s, she’d meant to tell him that she would be leaving for Brazil a few days after Christmas. But somehow, it had never seemed the right moment. Rebecca’s promise to her mother weighed heavily on her conscience, but still she’d held her secret, wanting just a few more days. The fault was hers and she took full responsibility, but Caleb hadn’t made her unpleasant task any easier.
Amelia’s illness that had worried them so had passed as quickly as most children’s ailments. Her pediatrician diagnosed the rash as roseola. Children her age were generally too old to contract it, but the doctor had told Caleb there was nothing to worry about. Within a week the rash was gone and Amelia had been as bubbly as ever.
Caleb was a different story.
Since the night of Amelia’s illness and the confession that Rebecca and Caleb had shared in the hallway, he had barely spoken to Rebecca. Before Amelia’s fever, Caleb had often shown a lighthearted side. They’d laughed together over small things, and he’d brought home from the shop fine articles of woodwork to show her. He’d even told her about the doll cradle for Amelia’s beloved doll and the small four-wheeled cart that Fritzy could pull that he was making for her for Christmas. Not only had Rebecca not seen Amelia’s Christmas gifts, but when she’d hinted that she wanted to stop by to see the progress, Caleb had told her to stay away from the chair shop. He’d even started packing his lunch the night before and carrying it with him, putting an end to her and Amelia walking over at noon to bring him a hot meal. Now the only time he attempted a conversation with Rebecca was when he was forced to discuss a household matter, or one that related to Amelia.
“I’m ready! Can we go now? Can we?” Amelia dashed into the room with Fritzy right behind her.
“Ya,” Rebecca answered. Her heart warmed at the sight of the child. It seemed as if she was growing every day, no longer a baby but a strong and healthy girl. How different Amelia seemed from what she’d been when Rebecca had first come to work for Caleb. The sulking and sullen face had been replaced by smiles and an eagerness to learn new skills and make new friends. Parting with Amelia would be so painful...as painful as parting with Caleb.
Rebecca knelt to retie Amelia’s shoe and apron. How neat she looked in her new blue dress, white apron and black stockings. Mam had fashioned a white kapp just Amelia’s size, and Susanna had carefully starched and ironed it. The hooded cloak was Rebecca’s Christmas gift. It was calf-length, navy blue wool, lined against the cold and hand sewn with tiny, almost invisible stitches.
Amelia hugged her. “I love you, Becca,” she cried.
Rebecca pulled the child into her arms and swallowed hard. “I love you, too, Amelia,” she murmured. If only things were different, she thought, this would be her very own daughter.
Not that she’d completely given up hope. Because she truly believed God had a plan for her. But neither she nor Caleb had spoken of what had happened that night. Sometimes, she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. Caleb continued to accept Aunt Martha’s invitation to Wednesday-night suppers. With every passing day, it had become clearer to Rebecca that Mam was right—she couldn’t keep working for Caleb, feeling the way she did about him. She and Susanna would go to visit Leah, and when they came home, maybe...
The back door opened and the big poodle ran barking to welcome Caleb home. Rebecca looked up from where she was still kneeling on the floor. “Caleb? Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?” He removed his hat and hung it on a hook by the door. He looked at Amelia. “What are you doing down there?”
“Dat! Dat! We made cookies!” Amelia bounced from one foot to another. “We’re taking them to Anna’s and—”
“It’s bitter cold. I’m not sure you should go out in this wind,” Caleb said.
Hastily, Rebecca got to her feet. “We were going to deliver our Christmas cookies. I have our buggy, and I promise to keep her bundled up.”
Caleb pushed a big cloth bag with something heavy in it into Rebecca’s hands. “For you,” he said brusquely.
“Thank you.” She’d made him a fruitcake, but it
was at home. Mam had invited Caleb and Amelia to come by tomorrow for dinner.
There was no Christmas Day church service. There would be family prayers and Bible readings in the morning, but the afternoon would be shared with friends and family. They would exchange gifts, sing songs together and enjoy each other’s company. Most of the gifts were practical ones, but Mam always managed to provide something special for each of them. On Christmas, it was the men who washed dishes and made coffee, and the women sat around the stove and teased them.
“Are you going to look and see what it is?” Caleb stroked his close-cut beard.
Heart pounding, Rebecca reached into the bag and retrieved a cedar box inlaid with hearts and tulips in darker pieces of cherry, oak and walnut. The box was about twelve by fourteen inches and fastened with brass hinges and a brass latch. “Oh, Caleb, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed. The box smelled of cedar, and she could see the hours of patient craftsmanship that had gone into making it. “It’s wonderful.”
“Nothing much,” he said. “For your Bible.” He absently rubbed the scarred side of his face as he scanned the stove. “There’s no dinner?”
Rebecca clasped the box against her. “I...I didn’t expect you. Didn’t you take your lunch this morning?”
“I did, but I didn’t have time for breakfast. I ate my sandwich.” He scowled. “You and Amelia must have eaten something. Isn’t there anything left?” His mouth formed a tight line.
Anger made her answer sharply. “Do you think I’m one of those snake-charming, crystal-ball-gazing gypsy women with rings in their ears? How was I supposed to know you’d come home and want lunch?”
He started to speak, but she didn’t let him.
“Amelia and I had peanut-butter sandwiches and apple slices. You’re welcome to that if you want to make your own. I promised her that we’d deliver our Christmas cookies, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
He looked stricken. “Ya...but...”
“But nothing, Caleb. Thank you for the Bible box. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.” She glanced down at Amelia. “Honey, I think you need your gloves. Be a good girl and go upstairs and fetch them.” Once Amelia had scampered off, Rebecca took a breath and then blurted out what she’d been holding back for weeks. “I’m going to Brazil. To spend three months with my sister. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.”
“Brazil?” He couldn’t have looked any more shocked if she’d told him that she was going to the moon. “You can’t go to Brazil. I haven’t found anyone to take care of Amelia yet.”
“I told you weeks ago that I would only be working for you until Christmas. You’ve had plenty of time to find a replacement for me, Caleb.” Her lower lip trembled, but her voice did not. “I have an opportunity to go to Brazil, and I’m going. And I think it’s better this way—since you can’t make up your mind whether you’re courting my cousin or not.”
* * *
“You’re just leaving us? Abandoning Amelia when she’s come to trust you? Abandoning us?” Caleb’s voice choked with emotion and his eyes clouded with tears. Was he losing the woman he loved? Again? His first instinct was to forbid her to leave. “Rebecca. You can’t go. I won’t let you.”
“Ne, Caleb,” she answered. “It isn’t up to you. I’ve made up my mind.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“Ne, it isn’t. Not to me. Not to Amelia, and certainly not to Dorcas. I’m going to my sister’s, and while I’m gone, you can work out your own problems.”
“But it’s Christmas. I made the box for you. I thought...”
“I don’t know what you thought.” Rebecca folded her arms and glared at him. “How could I know what you think? You never say anything to me anymore.”
“You must know...” Why were the words so hard for him? Why did it feel as though his world was crumbling? “...how much I care for you. I told you that night.”
“And I told you that I care for you, but I can’t hurt Dorcas and—”
Fritzy began to bark and scratch against the back door. Caleb heard the sound of a horse’s hoofbeats and the creak of buggy wheels in the yard and went to the window in the utility room. “Someone’s here,” he said to Rebecca. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Ne, we won’t. I’ve said my piece,” she replied. “If there’s more you want to say, tell me when I get back from Brazil.” She reached for her coat on the hook. “There’s a chicken potpie for your supper. I’ll bring Amelia home after we deliver the cookies.”
He was still looking out the window. “It’s Martha and Dorcas.” Not them, he thought. He couldn’t face them now—not when he was losing Rebecca. If only he’d told them weeks ago that Dorcas and he would never make a good match. He’d wanted to. He would have if it hadn’t been for the happy expression on Dorcas’s face that first Wednesday he’d come to supper. He’d seen something of himself there, had known what it felt like to be unwanted.
His childhood had been lonely, and he’d often wondered if he’d ever make a place for himself where he felt at home. When he looked at Dorcas, he saw the lanky, awkward boy he’d been, with big feet and bony shoulders, the man-child who’d been taken in out of duty rather than love.
Dorcas was a decent girl, getting no younger, ruled by an overbearing mother and shunned by eligible suitors in the community. Caleb had sensed that she had a loving heart, even if she sometimes spoke out thoughtlessly. She wasn’t as pretty or as clever as Rebecca, but she was a devout daughter of the church. She had as much right as any other young woman to be a wife. And now, because he hadn’t had the courage to reject her, things had escalated and people believed that his intentions were serious.
How could he have been such a fool? All the time he was searching for someone to fill the emptiness in his life, Rebecca had been right there in front of him. He’d misjudged her badly. He hadn’t thought that she was the proper choice for a preacher, the one to heal his grief and fill his life with joy.
“Rebecca, wait,” he said. “We can still fix this.”
She stopped and met his gaze. “At what cost, Caleb? Do you think we could ever be happy if we break Dorcas’s heart?” She glanced back toward the interior of the house. “Amelia! Let’s go, sweetie!”
“Rebecca, please,” Caleb said. He reached out to take her arm but she brushed past him, opened the back door and stepped from the utility room out onto the open back porch.
“Just the person I wanted to see,” Martha said, trudging toward them. “Ne, not you, Caleb. My niece. We need to talk. Privately.”
As she approached, Caleb saw that Martha’s eyes were swollen and bloodshot. She looked as if she’d been crying. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Has something happened to Reuben?”
Martha’s chin quivered and she brought a man’s handkerchief to her nose and blew loudly. “I just need to...talk to Rebecca.”
Bewildered, Caleb looked from her to a grim-faced Dorcas standing beside the buggy. “You’re welcome to come into the house, too,” he said to her.
“I want to talk to you,” Dorcas called to him. “Alone.”
“What is it? Is someone ill?” Wind cut through Caleb’s shirt. He’d come out without his coat and the temperature was freezing. It was beginning to snow. Big flakes were falling on the ground, the horse and the buggy.
Dorcas shook her head. “The problem is you.”
“Me?” He looked from Dorcas to Martha to Rebecca, then back at Dorcas. “Maybe we’d all better go inside,” he suggested.
“Get in the buggy.” Dorcas climbed back in.
“All right.” He glanced toward the house, wondering if he should go back for his coat, but Martha was already pushing past him on the porch and through the doorway into the utility room. Deciding that freezing to death might be the lesser of evils, he hurried to the closed buggy and got
up into the seat beside Dorcas. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“Everything.” She looked at him and scowled. “Where’s your coat? Do you want to take pneumonia?”
He rubbed his hands together. “Say what you’ve come to say.”
“Very well.” She looked him in the eye. “I’ve come to break off our courtship.”
Caleb blinked, certain he had misunderstood. “What?”
“You heard me.” She held up her hand. “And you can’t change my mind.” Her cloth gloves were worn, one finger mended with an off-color thread. Her nose glowed scarlet in the cold.
“Dorcas.”
“Now hear me out, Caleb. I don’t mean to hurt you. You’re a good, respectable man, even a passable preacher, although your sermons are still too short. But the truth is, I’m not romantically attracted to you, and I never will be.”
He stared. Had she just said what he thought he’d heard? “I don’t—”
Dorcas’s right palm rose inches from his face, cutting him off in midsentence. “Give me the courtesy to allow me to finish. You won’t change my mind.” She pressed her chapped lips together. “I know that this will disappoint you. And I know that you may be my last chance to find a husband—not to mention how upset my parents are. But I refuse to settle.”
“I—”
She eyed him sternly and then went on. “Think me foolish if you like, but I want a marriage like Ruth has, like Anna, Johanna and Miriam. I want what my Yoder cousins have. And if God doesn’t send me a man that I can love with my whole heart, then it’s clear He intends for me to remain single.”
* * *
In the kitchen, Rebecca pulled out a chair and helped her weeping Aunt Martha into it. “What is it?” Rebecca asked. She’d never seen Aunt Martha cry. “Has something bad happened? Please tell me. You’re scaring me.”
Aunt Martha buried her face in her hands. She was still wearing her heavy wool cloak and bonnet. She’d refused to take them off.
