Rebecca's Promise

by Jerry S. Eicher

“I thought of that too,” Leona muttered. “I sure hope so because I don’t have a place for it inside, and we have to wash.”

  She wrinkled up her face and said, “Rebecca, I’m so glad you could come early.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Watching the children walk down the road toward school, swinging their lunch pails, brought back memories for Rebecca. Elmo walked behind the younger ones, who ran ahead, as if he already felt his responsibilities as the oldest of the family.

  “They do grow up fast,” Leona said from nearby, having walked up to watch too. The two smallest boys, Leroy and James, were leaning on the front window.

  “I was just thinking about walking to school,” Rebecca said. “It’s funny how the simple things make the memories.”

  “Yeah,” Leona agreed. She smiled at James and Leroy as they tired of watching out the window and went into their room to play. “Yet it’s probably times like this that will bring tears later. Simple things. I rarely have time to watch them go. You think the Lord sometimes gives us trouble so we’ll slow down and notice what’s really important?”

  Rebecca frowned. “I don’t know. You know more about those things than I do. There does seem to be plenty of trouble in life.”

  “You have trouble?” Leona laughed at the thought. “You haven’t even had children yet.”

  “No, that’s true,” Rebecca allowed, thinking of her own trouble.

  “I guess the Lord gives us what trouble we need,” Leona concluded.

  “You think He gives us the strength to bear it?” Rebecca asked.

  “Always has for me,” Leona said. “I don’t know what everyone else would say, but that’s been my experience. And I think the plain life has less trouble in it too. I don’t know how the English handle it with all the things they have going.”

  “I don’t know either,” Rebecca agreed. “Not that I know that much about it.”

  “I don’t either. God help us once we think we know everything.”

  Rebecca chuckled, “You think that’s ever going to happen?”

  “No. But, oh my! I shouldn’t even say that. Like the preacher said on Sunday, Wer denkt, dass er steht, Acht geben, damit er fällt. Let him who thinks he stands, take heed lest he fall.”

  “It’s a scary walk. This God thing.”

  “But He helps us. He always does.”

  “You weren’t there on Sunday,” Rebecca said, changing the subject. “The English driver was there. Her name is Mary. She’s an older girl—thirty or so, I would guess. Never married. Mennonite.”

  “That’s surprising. The drivers are usually older people.”

  “Yes, I know. But Mary isn’t. I got to know her a little on the trip. She’s a missionary in Haiti.”

  “You didn’t get to know her too well, did you?” Leona raised her eyebrows. “Don’t want any of that Mennonite rubbing off on you. You’re doing fine mission work right now just by helping me out.”

  “That’s what Dad would say,” Rebecca agreed, then continued. “Mary goes down for lengthy stays in Haiti. Six months at a time. She’s thinking of marrying a native.”

  “Oh, no!” Leona’s eyes got big.

  “Yes. Isn’t that something? She’s not that bad looking either. Said that Mennonite boys just never interested her. Something about being too boring.”

  Leona gasped. “Now I have heard everything. I thought Mennonite life would be mighty interesting. What with all the modern things they have.”

  “Just goes to show that everything gets boring after awhile, I guess.”

  “So is she actually going to marry this native man? What if he runs away on her?”

  “She seems to think he won’t. His name is Marcus. He’s been a Christian for a while already, she said. Pastors one of their churches down in Haiti.”

  “Is he divorced?” Leona asked with suspicion.

  “No, his wife died not that long ago.”

  “Well, that sounds a little better. He might be more stable than most, then.”

  “She didn’t say she was going to marry him—just that he had been looking at her.”

  Leona gasped again. “Well, I would think so. A white woman has no business down there in the first place. I hope you haven’t gotten any ideas from her.” She glared at Rebecca. “You wouldn’t, would you? Go Mennonite?”

  Rebecca laughed. “Of course not!”

  “You never know. One has to be careful when making friends.”

  “Mary’s nice enough.”

  “Those are the dangerous ones.” Seeing the look on Rebecca’s face, Leona quickly changed course. “There are nice Mennonite people who are just fine. I know some. Although we have been blessed not to have too many as relatives, that’s when you are most tempted to let go of your convictions.”

  “You say we don’t have too many in the family,” Rebecca stated and then asked, “Why do you think that is?”

  “The blessing of the Lord, I guess. It sure takes His help to stay true to the faith even without having Mennonite relatives trying to persuade us.” Seeing that the breakfast cleanup still needed doing, Leona said, “Well! We had better get busy. The day is wasting away.”

  “I think I saw the washing machine out in the garage, didn’t I?” Rebecca asked. “That’s what you’re using as your washroom?”

  “Yes. But if it’s too cold out there, just leave the door into the house open. There’s only one register in the garage. We keep it open just enough so things don’t freeze.”

  Carrying the hamper that the girls had filled, Rebecca stepped into the garage, leaving the door open behind her. The brisk cold would have been bearable, but this definitely made it more pleasant.

  Empting the hamper onto the floor, she went back for more. Five hampers later and with wash all around her, she began sorting things out—whites and linens together, colors, pants in a separate pile.

  Stopping as soon as she had a pile big enough to start a load, she turned the dial on the back of the Maytag, dumped in a cup of soap, and waited until the tub had filled with warm water—little bubbles from the soap forming one on top of the other. She watched them float, her eyes glancing every now and then at the water level because there was no automatic shutoff. It would be nasty work to mop up the floor if she neglected to turn the water off on time.

  When the level of the water was just right, she turned the knob to off, stepped back toward the gasoline engine, and choked and started it. On the second jerk, it roared to life, filling the garage with its racket. Stephen must keep things in shape, she thought, watching the little motor vibrating.

  Stepping over the extended muffler, which took the fumes through the outer wall of the garage, she grabbed the handle, which tightened the belt that stretched from the motor to the Maytag, and pulled it down. Things snapped into place, the washer sprang to life, and the noise lessened a little as the motor pulled on the load.

  To the roar of the motor and the swish-swish of the Maytag, she sorted the remainder of the clothing. With the heat generated by her own movements and that of the motor, she soon shut the door to the main house. That racket had to carry into the house pretty loudly, she figured. Now that it was warmer, Leona might be grateful for a quieter version of washday.

  With the load done, she stopped the plunger by disengaging it with the pullout button on the side. She then swung the wringer into place and set an empty hamper behind it. The two rollers churned without a sound when she turned them on. Ivory colored and made of soft rubber, they squeezed every drop of water from the clothing she fed through.

  They could be murder on fingers if one got caught in them. Nothing would stop their roll except the on and off lever or the safety release on top, which was not obvious to the eye of untrained persons. Many an Amish child had his first introduction into terror when his hand followed the piece of wash into the wringer.

  If mother was around, it was usually just a matter of a serious scare. If not, the entire arm would enter up to the shoulder. Th
e machine would then spin on the armpit until the child’s screams brought an adult who knew how to hit the safety bar. First and second degree burns were not unknown from the experience.

  With the hamper full of clean wash, she placed a box of wooden snaps on top of the clothing and set it away from the washer. Before heading outside, she refilled the machine and started another load of wash.

  Stepping outside, the sun was already climbing fast and trying to heat things up. From what she could tell, it would only get better. Behind the house and to the south of the garage was the wash line. Its three wire strings were dripping from melting frost.

  She took out the first pair of pants and shook them in the morning sunshine. Pleasure ran through her as she pinned the pants onto the line. There was something primitive and satisfying about the moment, increased by each item that got snapped onto the line.

  When the hamper was empty, the line hung heavy from the load, its contents unmoving in the morning cold. Little shimmers of steam rose from the first few pieces as the sun caught them in its warmth. She took a deep breath, taking a moment to rest and run her eyes down the line of clothing. In that moment, standing there and looking at her wash, she felt feminine—like a woman, like the world was made for her, like she belonged here among children, home, and love.

  Oddly, there was no particular man associated with her thoughts, just the nebulous feelings of being held close by strong arms. Moments later, she remembered her duty with a start and reached down and into the hamper.

  Back in the garage, she found the next load of wash almost done. She waited for a few minutes, then pulled the button out to shut it off. From there it was back to running dripping wash through the wringer and hanging it out on the line. By eleven thirty everything was on the line, and she was ready for lunch.

  Leona had prepared two sandwiches and had set them on the kitchen table with glasses of orange juice.

  “My, you are a fast worker,” she exclaimed.

  Rebecca smiled. “And tired,” she replied

  “Well, I would think so. I have the sandwiches fixed. When do you think the wash will dry?”

  Rebecca thought about it and said, “I would say late this afternoon.”

  “You think it will dry completely?”

  “Maybe you’d better go out and see,” Rebecca said doubtfully. “I think it will. But Mom is always better at knowing those things than I am.”

  Leona nodded. “I’ll go out and look after we have something to eat. You certainly need it more than I do.”

  “But you’re feeding someone else,” Rebecca said.

  “And what about us? We’re hungry too,” James piped up.

  “Yes, I suppose you are,” Leona chuckled, taking a seat and motioning for Rebecca to take one too.

  As they ate, Rebecca decided to pose the question she had been harboring since she arrived.

  “Do you think I could visit the schoolhouse this afternoon? Before the wash is dry?”

  Leona thought, did a few calculations, and replied, “I don’t know why this wouldn’t be a good time. I figured you would want to visit sometime. The boys are behaving themselves, at least for now, the wash doesn’t get dry till around four or so, and that would give you plenty of time. We can’t possibly put it all away tonight at that hour, but once it’s inside, we can take our time tomorrow. I hope I’m well enough to help then.”

  “I’ll do it myself if you’re not,” Rebecca assured her.

  Leona nodded. “I’ll go out and take a look at the wash. This afternoon may be the best time for you to walk on over to the school.”

  “Well, finish your sandwich. I’m not in such a hurry,” Rebecca said.

  So Leona did take her time, grinning openly at her rounded stomach when she was done. “I hope he’s satisfied. Now, let’s go see about that wash.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Leona carefully stepped down the two steps and into the garage, gasping as her foot landed on the concrete floor. “I guess we could have gone out the front door, but this is closer.”

  “You don’t have to come out at all,” Rebecca assured her.

  “Ach! Ya! It does me good. I’ve been in the house way too much—baby coming or not.” Leona opened the outside door, breathing the cold air in deeply. “I need this.”

  Carefully Leona walked around the back to the wash line. Touching the first few pieces of wash and brushing her fingers over them, a pleased smile crossed her face. “They’re already drying quite well.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you would say,” Rebecca said.

  The verdict was the same with the other lines and also on the farthest end, which Leona insisted on checking also. “I need the exercise. Maybe it will hurry things up.”

  “Will you be okay then for an hour or so? What about Leroy and James?” Rebecca was still concerned.

  “Oh! Ya! I’ll watch them. You go on up to the school. It will be three o’clock or later before everything’s dry. The girls can help you carry the wash in when they come home.”

  “I’ll go right away then,” Rebecca replied.

  As Leona went inside, Rebecca took a deep breath and began her walk toward the school.

  Out on the road, she stayed close to the shoulder in case a car came, but the road was empty.

  To Rebecca’s right, she noticed that the English farmer had recently worked the field. It was plowed under, the rows of soil fully exposed to the wind and weather. To her left were the hay fields of Emery Stoll, if she remembered correctly. She could see his place coming into view at the corner of 500 and the state road.

  Emery’s farm had a prosperous look to it—a red-roofed smaller barn on 500 and a large two-tiered brown one on the state road. The white two-story house was in a typical Amish rectangular shape, but without a front or back porch.

  Behind that was the schoolhouse, its worn roof looking no better than it had on Sunday. In the back was the baseball field. She could see children bursting out of the back doors for their lunch-hour playtime, having just finished eating inside.

  Quickening her pace, she wanted to arrive in time to watch. Thinking of cutting across the fields as she would have done when younger, she decided against it. If someone should see her, it would look strange indeed to see a nearly twenty-one-year-old Amish girl walking across a hay field in the middle of the day.

  But she wanted to do it—badly wanted to do it. Why did big people no longer do what they wanted? Now they had to consider how it looked. When she had been younger, she wouldn’t have thought about it for a minute. Then, she was sure, anyone seeing her would have thought of her as adventurous, courageous, maybe even seen a sign of a bright future in a child who took the straight way to her destination. Now, it was different. She was an adult.

  Walking as quickly as she could, her breath was soon coming in short jerks. This would not do either. Sweating under her coat would make for a miserable time watching the ballgame behind the school-house. Taking off the coat was not an option either because it was simply too cool for that.

  She wanted to watch the game because it would take her back to another day when she and Atlee had played on this very ground. Back then when the sides were picked, the captain who picked Atlee would usually pass on a boy for his next pick in favor of her.

  It was highly unusual for any girl to be picked until the best of the boys were already chosen. But the risk was usually taken because of her reputation as a first baseman. She consistently caught the balls Atlee threw to her from his position as shortstop. Groans would sometimes break out at the pairing, but the opposing captain was not about to waste his pick of a boy by choosing her without Atlee.

  She smiled at the memory. She enjoyed it…yet why did these memories make her afraid somehow? Was it that they inevitably led to memories of the promise? Was this what she was afraid of?

  With renewed courage, she walked on. She would just have to face what might lay ahead and go wherever the fear was hiding. And then it would be over, wou
ldn’t it? Comforted, she slowed down as a car passed her.

  As she resumed her speed, she remembered that this was where she and Atlee had walked so many times. Right here but in the opposite direction of course…so many years ago now. He, a freckle-faced, brown-haired boy, blue eyes shining—and she with her thin knees pumping up and down under her dress as she tried to keep up with him.

  “Hurry, Rebecca!” he would say on a blustery afternoon with rain clouds threatening. “I have to get home to my traps.”

  “You checked them this morning,” she would tell him, knowing how conscientious he was about getting up early, lest an animal suffer all day from being trapped the night before.

  “But they move around more in bad weather.”

  “Well, then you just have to go fast on your own. I’ll walk with the other girls.”

  “Ah,” he would say, regret in his voice and blue eyes, but he would hurry on. He would quicken his pace and leave her behind to walk with her older sister and friends.

  She watched him go again even now in her memory, her heart aching. But was that something to be ashamed of? Everyone had known about them. Even Leona remarked on the couple they made. Nothing was hidden. Hadn’t it been a perfectly normal first love? The kind everyone had—one that would pass with time? But why had it not passed for her? Why couldn’t she leave it behind as others had? And leave it behind was what she must surely do. A new life, holding promise and hope, lay in front of her.

  Resolutely she turned into the schoolhouse circle driveway, gravel crunching under her feet. Shouts from behind the schoolhouse were already beginning as the game got into full swing.

  Before she walked around to the back, she took a good look at the front of the schoolhouse. This was her school, her school and Emma’s. That was how she would forever see it, she supposed. It looked common and plain enough now, but without much effort, it became a grand structure, mighty and tall, seen from the height and mind of a sixth grader.

  Glancing through the windows as she went by, it looked the same. More desks were lined up in the central open room, but they were either the same desks or more just like them. Little desks for little students and larger ones for larger students. The same blackboards hung on the front wall with white chalk set in the trays underneath and erasers hanging half on and half off.