Rebecca's Promise

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “Cattle looking okay?” she asked him, nodding her head toward the falling snowflakes drifting past the window.

  “Okay,” he answered, staying by the opening. “They don’t seem to mind.”

  “Shelter and hay should keep them,” she said, “unless the weather turns worse. Let me know if anything looks unusual. I’ll want to go out myself and look.”

  He nodded.

  She swung her chair around to face him, strands of gray hair from beneath the head covering hanging loose on her forehead. “I need this envelope dropped off at the post office today. Do you think you can run it into town on your way home? There’s not much to do around here with the snow still coming down.”

  “Does it take special postage?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “but that’s not the reason I want you to drop it off. It needs to be mailed today. With the snow I doubt the mailman will make his rounds. I have extra stamps here and could take a guess at it, but if you’re in town anyway, you could get the exact postage.”

  “Sure,” he agreed, extending his hand to take the large brown envelope.

  She gave it to him, along with five dollars. “That should cover postage. Have it sent first class.”

  He nodded again, closing his fingers around the envelope.

  “Before you leave, I want you to clear the driveway,” she said. “If it needs it again this afternoon, I’ll do it myself.”

  That she was capable of it, he well knew and turned to leave. Then he remembered his mother’s concerns and cleared his throat. “Was there trouble with the cattle prices the other day?”

  She looked at him sharply. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Oh,” he said offhandedly, as if it were of no great matter, “it’s just that I noticed a big car in front of the house last week.”

  “No,” she said, “it had nothing to do with the cattle. The markets are good right now. We hope they stay so. Your father probably knows that too.” She looked questioningly at him before continuing. “It was just someone I asked to come out.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “You’ll see that the envelope gets right in,” she reminded him, turning her chair back toward the desk again.

  Knowing he was dismissed, he turned to leave. Walking out to his buggy, he placed the envelope on the front seat, shaking off the snow from the brown paper before setting it down.

  It was then that the address caught his eye. Carefully he gave the envelope a half turn to get a better look. Reading out loud, he sounded out the words, “Bridgeway & Broadmount, Attorneys at Law, 1058 Bridge Street, Suite A, Anderson, Indiana.”

  For the first time, a twinge of fear ran up his spine. Maybe Mom was right. But what could it mean? It was a lawyer’s office alright, and Emma must have real business with them. Yes, he told himself, the snow swirling around his head through the buggy door, she no doubt did. Surely it was nothing serious.

  Then why go to Anderson for an attorney? There were good lawyers in Ridgeway and even one in Milroy. It would have to be left for his mother to figure out, he supposed. His job was to deliver the letter for Emma safely to the post office. That was what she paid him to do.

  Then the thought occurred to him, Open the envelope. See what’s in it.

  I can’t, he told himself, it’s not honest. Emma trusts me, and I won’t break that.

  But what about what your mother wants? There might be money involved in it for you too, the voice whispered.

  I don’t know that, he told himself. The word “money” kept going through his head, an image of green bills slowly growing with each passing second. In moments he saw pockets full of it, then buildings full of it, money hanging out of the windows and doors.

  He shook his head to make the vision go away. The falling snowflakes came back into focus, and he took a deep breath. “I have to clean the driveway,” he told himself out loud, pushing the sight of the envelope from his mind and turning to move his eyes away from it.

  He climbed down from the buggy and walked over to the New Holland, turned the key, waited for the warm-up to complete, and then finished turning the key. The machine roared to life, shutting out any thoughts of money and the envelope.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After the breakfast dishes were cleaned up and the house was put in order for the day, Rebecca knew what she had to do. She headed upstairs to her room, shut the door, and turned the lock. There was no one home, but she wanted her privacy. She had to think this thing through. There simply had to be some way of coming to terms with the fear that had come upon her yesterday before John proposed.

  Walking to the window, she drew the blind. For some reason the darkness of the room made her feel safer. Then she lay gently on the bed and began to think—and remember.

  It had been no more than a schoolgirl crush. That’s what she had decided it was. Why then couldn’t I just let it go? Surely Atlee wouldn’t really expect me to keep my promise. She had John now. She loved John.

  Then it came to her. It was the love for John that had brought back feelings I had thought I had forgotten—a schoolgirl’s desires, first hopes, longings that Atlee had satisfied. Perhaps Atlee had been only a simple schoolgirl’s first love, but those feelings had run deep. And now they were being replaced. My heart has become my enemy. Those feelings for Atlee must not remain while I love John.

  Looking at the ceiling, she remembered Atlee’s face, the freckles on his chin, his utter joy in living. With him she too had found utter joy.

  With John was she leaving that behind? Did she want to forsake Atlee’s memory? No, she did not. And yet, for John she had to.

  On impulse, Rebecca let her feet slide down the side of the bed until her knees hit the floor. It was then that the tears began. And the prayer.

  Oh, God, she groaned, You have to help me. I know I am an evil person, just like Your book says, but I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong. I was just a child when I liked Atlee, but we were not meant for each other. Help me, please.

  She looked at the ceiling, imploring the heavens, but there was only silence. Outside a gust of wind hit the window, moving the drapes she had drawn. What if someone saw them drawn at this time of the day, knowing she was usually not in her room?

  A fresh wave of fear swept over her. Oh, please, God. You have to help me. I don’t know what to do. Is loving a sin? I know I promised Atlee…but he’s surely not coming back, and I can’t destroy what I have with John for someone who is gone forever. Yet my heart doesn’t want to let go.

  Swaying silently from side to side on her knees, she reached for her pillow to bury her face in. She continued praying, I love John. I never have met anyone I liked more. It’s different, though, than with Atlee. Is my promise to Atlee going to destroy that?

  Lifting her head and opening her eyes, she saw nothing but the white painted wall in front of her. Staring at it, her eyes lost their focus, and the wall became a door, a door that opened into her memories. She saw Atlee running in front of her, waving, his face lifted skyward in his joy at Rebecca’s promise.

  And there…over by the schoolhouse…another image…Emma standing by the door watching, shaking her head.

  Then she saw herself, as if from a distance, follow Atlee. There was grass beneath her feet, its leathery softness between her toes. The trees along the road stood out, green branches bending down, reaching as if to hold her back, but she kept going.

  Her body trembled at the memory. And then the wall became normal again. She let go of the pillow and clutched the sides of the bed. Beads of sweat misted her face.

  “What can I do?” she asked aloud. Why not just go and tell Mother first, and then tell John what happened? Tell them how I had felt about Atlee.

  Surely they would understand. Understand that it had been long ago and that feelings change. Yet deep down, she wondered if her feelings really had changed. And that made her afraid. The whole jumble of memories ran together in her head—Atlee, the school, Emma, the ring, and the
bridge. And the promise.

  Getting to her feet, Rebecca walked to the dresser and opened the third drawer. This might be a good place to start. With a glance first toward the door, she dug into the clothing. From underneath she pulled out the ring and held it up to the little light available in the room. She would have to tell John about the ring of course.

  Even in the darkened room, the ring’s one stone, set atop the gold circle, gave off deep colored light, as if it were alive and communicating Atlee’s love down through the years.

  She ran her finger gently over the stone, the smooth surface slid effortlessly beneath her touch. The wonder of it moved her deeply, just as it had the first time she saw it.

  Was this what she was afraid of, to have this taken away from her? It was forbidden, she knew, at least to wear it. Turning the ring, its colors changed. She searched her mind for the answer and decided that no, it wasn’t the ring. It wasn’t the source of her fear.

  Yes, it was beautiful and lovely, but even in Milroy, she hadn’t thought of it much, other than to keep it hidden and in a safe place. It simply did not mean enough to be causing her this fear.

  Was it what she had done then? Rebecca searched her memory, letting her mind run where it wanted to. The river came into focus. She saw more flashes of Emma in the schoolhouse and of Atlee, his face delighted at the sight of her.

  Holding out his hand to motion for her to come, she saw herself walking beside him. School had been dismissed. The other kids had gone. Walking together was not unusual; after all, they lived in the same direction. He lived a little further down the road than she did. Most of the time, both their brothers and sisters walked home with them, but at other times, they got to walk alone.

  Then there were the Saturday afternoons they played together in the woods, at times wandering as far across the fields as the Moscow covered bridge that spanned the Flatrock River. Those times were rare, she remembered. Mother objected if she was gone too long, even on lazy Saturday afternoons after the work was done.

  What was it she had with Atlee? Yes, it was a love they shared. Yet would love cause the way she felt now? There seemed no reason why it would, and yet it was there, springing up with renewed force.

  “I can never love him anymore,” she whispered. “He’s gone. Keeping the promise won’t do any good. It will just destroy what I have now.”

  Dear God, she prayed silently, I don’t know how to let go of something so beautiful that I felt back then. I don’t know how to make myself want to. If loving him was something terrible to do, please forgive me. Just please make this fear go away. I love John and don’t want anything to destroy our love. Please help me.

  Tears were in her eyes, and she reached up to wipe them away. The ring sparkled as it moved with her fingers. Walking to the window, she watched the snowflakes swirl by the glass.

  Glancing at the ring again, she considered simply throwing it away. She could do it now. This very minute. If someone saw her, no one would think her strange to be walking in the snow. It would be most common and ordinary for her to be enjoying the weather fully. With the ring stuck firmly in her pocket, she could walk down to the little bridge and get rid of the thing forever.

  Then she remembered that she was going to Milroy on Saturday. Maybe that was the answer. The Lord might already have His plan in place, working through her mother. Aunt Leona’s place was right beside the Flatrock Amish School. Perhaps she could find peace and let go of the past at the very place where she had loved him. The idea burned in her. It was surely God’s answer to her prayer.

  It would be good to go back. To see the school. To see where she had made so many good memories. Perhaps in seeing the old again, the glow would lessen, and she could be where she ought to be, by John’s side. Emma, no doubt, would no longer be teaching. She couldn’t be by now. She would be too old. But the memories would be there.

  To forever let go, a voice told her, that is what you need to do, and there is where it can be done.

  Yes, she decided, this might be the answer.

  In Milroy, among the roads and woods of her childhood, she could let go of a love that no longer fit her heart. A love that would shame and defile her if her dear ones were to ever find out. They must never find out, she resolved. It would hurt them too much, all for nothing and to no gain.

  Taking the ring, she carefully placed it back under the pile of dresses in the third drawer.

  “I promised,” she whispered at it, “to keep you. So I will, but you must go away soon, and I will no longer be afraid of my heart.”

  She smiled to herself, pulling the stack of dresses over the ring, completing the task with one final dress, and spreading it as a thin layer over the top.

  As she closed the drawer, everything just missed the top frame, sliding in smoothly. If her mother, by some chance opened this drawer, everything would seem to be like it was supposed to be. Like my life, she thought ruefully, opening the door to go downstairs.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Luke pulled the New Holland out of Emma’s driveway as snowflakes whirled around his head. The last thing he wanted to think about was that large, brown envelope lying on the seat of his buggy, yet, it was the very thought he couldn’t get away from.

  What am I supposed to do with it? he thought to himself, slowing as he came to the main road. Carefully he turned left, then right with his bucket lowered to push all the snow into the ditches. Emma would want things looking neat even in a snowstorm.

  Behind him, the flakes were already landing again, quickly piling on top of each other. Luke, in backing away from the road, crunched his tire into the white snowdrift.

  “What am I supposed to do?” he asked again, this time out loud.

  Just mail it, was the thought that came to mind most readily. He wondered why he didn’t just do that. He liked Emma. Liked her a lot, in fact. She had always been good to him. Paid him on time, even a little extra on the side sometimes. “Don’t tell anyone,” she would say, handing him a twenty or even two of them at a time. Her smile was communication enough, as if she were his fellow conspirator. Both of them knew that until he was twenty-one, all the money he was paid was supposed to go home.

  He had felt a little guilty about not mentioning the extra money, but Emma surely knew what was right. The extra she gave him was all stored away in his savings bank—in a tin can in the haymow under the last bale on the side away from the house.

  The money was wrapped in plastic, although the tin can had seemed protection enough. What he really was concerned about was his mother finding out. He doubted very much if she would approve of Emma giving him money to keep on his own. Only if it added to the general household fund, would it be okay. This way it most certainly was not and would likely meet with her disapproval.

  A savings account at the bank was out of the question, though Luke vowed he would have one as soon as he turned twenty-one. The money in the tin can would be the opening deposit. Neither his mother nor his father ever need know how much he placed in the first deposit. Anyone knew, he had told himself many times, that savings accounts could be opened with one dollar, if one wished. It would then remain his secret whether he opened his account with just a few dollars or with many.

  So the tin can’s contents came from Emma, secret money stashed away like a pirate stashes his gold in a cave. The thought reminded him of the book on pirates in the school library he had once read. That particular book had lasted only part of one school year. From what he remembered, Emma had brought it in, and most of the boys had passed it around to each other with rave reviews.

  Maybe that was why the head of the school board, Herb Mullet, made a surprise visit one afternoon on the pretense of seeing how things were going. Where he spent most of his time, though, was in the library. The long and short of it was that when Herb left that afternoon just before school closed, with several books under his arm, the pirate book must have been among them because it was never seen again.

  So now his hear
t was really for Emma in this matter of the envelope. She always seemed to know what she was doing, and if it really was true that Emma might be giving away all of this to someone other than family, might there be reason for it?

  Turning the New Holland around to head back toward the house, he pulled back on the twin levers to bring it to a halt. He sat looking at what lay before him—the old homestead, its white two-story house muted in the falling snow, and the red barn, its colors deepened from the same effect. This was what was at stake or at least part of what was at stake.

  Did he really want to lose this? Not that he had ever really thought of it like this before, his thoughts on money usually rose no higher than the contents of his tin can. That seemed like gobs of money already. He was not totally certain, but at the last count, there had been over five hundred dollars. Even that amount made him stagger.

  But this, he shook the snowflakes from his eyes, was really another matter. His mind raced to fit it into a thought he could handle. The farms Emma owned could hardly fit into tin cans. Yet if they could? His mind spun. There must be thousands and thousands of dollars involved. Maybe he ought to reconsider his feelings for Emma if he was about to lose something this big.

  Would Emma actually give the farms away to some unknown person and not to him and the rest of the family? He found it hard to imagine. From what his mother said, the money should by all rights go to the family. Would not the Emma he knew, who snuck him money on the side, money she felt he deserved, do the right thing?

  Yes, she would. He would stick with Emma for now. This lawyer stuff his mother was worrying about could or could not be true. He would deal with all that later. He would inform his mother about the envelope, but for now he would not open anything belonging to Emma.

  If he were to open the envelope, and it should ever come back to Emma, the amount in the little tin can in the haymow might not continue growing, and that would simply be too great a tragedy to chance. The decision then was firmly set.