Rebecca's Promise

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Reaching out for one of the sandwiches, Leona motioned to the couch, saying, “Sit down. Eat. Tell me about it.”

  “There’s the wash yet to do,” Rebecca protested.

  “Then talk fast.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Just tell me.” Leona glanced at Jonathon, who was puckering up his face to cry. “Just wait, little man. You can’t be hungry yet.” Leona reached down and turned him over onto his stomach. “That better?”

  It must have been because Jonathon made no more efforts at crying, his head turned to the side, as he weakly tried to lift it up.

  “John can be a little jealous at times,” Rebecca said, remembering John repeatedly questioning her. “And men don’t seem to want to keep their promises,” she added, thinking of Atlee. “It might be better to just stay single.”

  “You really want that?” Leona was already halfway through her sandwich.

  “That’s just it. I don’t know,” Rebecca said, grinning a little. She bit into her sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and then said, “How do I know I shouldn’t stay single?”

  “You must leave that to God,” Leona said firmly. “He knows the future. If He wanted you to be single, He wouldn’t have sent you John.”

  “Maybe,” Rebecca managed.

  “You should be happy,” Leona said. “I’ve never met John, but I’m sure he’s good for you. Your mother would have said something if he wasn’t.”

  Rebecca glanced at the clock, and it reminded her of her unfinished duties. “I have to get back to the wash.”

  “Finish your sandwich before you go. I’ll just rest again till Jonathon wants his feeding.”

  Rebecca nodded, rising quickly. “I’ll eat it on the way.”

  “Wake me to help with the folding then, when the laundry is dry.”

  Rebecca looked skeptically at her aunt.

  “Yes,” Leona replied, nodding firmly, “the girls can help when they come home from school. I’ll do what I can too.”

  Knowing that protests were useless, Rebecca left with quick steps. She knew that the afternoon would be over before she wanted it to be.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The wind had picked up vigorously an hour earlier, and the wash was drying rapidly. Rebecca already had piles of diapers dumped out on the living room floor in front of Leona’s recliner. At least three more hampers full of wash were still on the line.

  Verna, who was busy folding the wash, asked, “What is there for supper? Not soup again, I hope. We’ve just been having too much soup lately.”

  Leona sighed, her face tightening up. “I’ll make something special tonight,” she announced. “What will it be? Who wants something special?”

  “You really shouldn’t,” Rebecca protested. “It’s too soon for that. Tell you what…we’ll make it together. But I must do the hard work.”

  “A good supper,” Leona proclaimed. “A good supper would taste so good. Stephen—poor man—would certainly appreciate it.”

  “What will it be then?” Rebecca looked at the two girls.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t let them pick,” Leona said. “They might want pancakes for supper.”

  “Yes,” Verna agreed, exactly on that point. “Let’s have that.”

  “See what I mean?” Leona groaned. “What have I been doing wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Rebecca said firmly. “They’re just children.”

  “Mother wasn’t serious,” Lois informed her sister, trying to help out. “I think a meat loaf would be the thing. Maybe a salad and canned corn, with a cake for dessert. I can stir up the cake.”

  “That’s not bad.” Leona looked impressed with her daughter, her mood lighter now. “I think that’s what we’ll do. It can be a frosted meat loaf. Lois can make a chocolate cake.”

  “Let’s do it then,” Rebecca said quickly. “Supper will be ready before we know it.”

  “I’ll keep working on the wash for now,” Leona said, a little more cheerful. “The girls can start helping you.”

  “Let’s have Verna stay and help you,” Rebecca said. “Lois and I will be fine in the kitchen.”

  “Works for me,” Leona sighed, getting up off her chair. “I really have to be moving around some, though.”

  “I’ll help you,” Verna offered. “Then you can stay sitting.”

  “I need to walk, dear,” Leona said. “My leg needs it. Let me take the boys’ folded laundry to their room.”

  Verna bent over to reach for the clothing when Leona stopped her. “No, I need to bend over too. It’s good for me.”

  “I’ll take this pile then,” Verna offered, going out of her way to be cooperative.

  “I’ll be better soon,” Leona groaned to no one in particular. “Thanks for being a help, Verna,” she added.

  “I think you’ll be better soon too,” Verna agreed.

  At the sound of buggy wheels, Verna ran to the window. “It’s Fannie.”

  Leona reached for her sweater and went outside to greet her sister-in-law.

  “I hear you’re having a rough time of it,” Fannie said sympathetically, still seated in the buggy. “I heard you were to the doctor today. Will you have Rebecca much longer?”

  Leona nodded. “Thankfully, yes.”

  “How long till the blood clot clears up?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Doctors give you any estimate?”

  “You know what they always say. A few days…a week…we’ll have to see.”

  “We’ll hope for the best then. Are you coming Sunday?”

  “Don’t think so. Sitting that long probably wouldn’t be good.”

  “We’ll catch up later then—I have to be going,” Fannie said, wrinkling her forehead. “Haven’t made supper yet.”

  “Same here,” Leona said. “Rebecca and Lois are getting it started.”

  “Let us know if you need more help.” Fannie shook the reins, alerting her horse that it was time to go.

  “Thanks,” Leona said and stepped aside as the buggy took off. She watched as Fannie pulled out to the blacktop and turned right.

  The late winter daylight was fading, the sun hanging low in the sky. Feeling a chill run though her, Leona pulled the sweater tighter around her shoulders, willing the darkness in her mind to go away, but the task felt as impossible as holding back the falling dusk.

  It will go away, she told herself. It will. I just need to hold on till it does. She would just have to try to get through this the best she could. At least Rebecca was here. For some reason that brought more comfort than even the thought of Stephen being home.

  He will be home soon, and I have to get the house in order before he arrives. The thought of the wash still lying around the living room made her move quickly back into the house.

  As she entered, Verna was just disappearing down the hall, her arms full of folded clothing. The noises coming from the kitchen told Leona supper was well underway. She almost bent over to work on the wash piles, but couldn’t resist. I have to see what they’re doing, she told herself.

  “Supper coming along?” she asked, glancing around the kitchen.

  “Of course,” Lois said, not looking up, her arms flecked with cheese from the block of Swiss she was shredding.

  “It’s coming,” Rebecca told her, draining white potatoes from boiling water.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have tried such a big task,” Leona said. “The meat loaf will take an hour to bake.”

  “That’s all right,” Rebecca said. “The potatoes were my biggest concern.”

  “They look fine from here,” Leona said. “Mattie did train you well. But I should leave you alone.”

  “Never hurts to check,” Rebecca said. “Mom says that too.”

  “Rebecca’s a good cook,” Lois assured her mother. “Daddy will like the meat loaf. I’m sure of that.”

  “Mom,” Verna’s voice hollered from the boys’ bedroom. “Where do these socks go? Their drawer is full.”

  Leona set off
to help, while Rebecca finished mixing the hamburger for the meat loaf.

  “Rebecca, I’m glad you’re still here,” Lois said.

  “Just because I make meat loaf?” Rebecca asked with a laugh.

  “No…but I suppose it helps,” Lois said sheepishly.

  When Rebecca said nothing, Lois asked, “Will Mom be better soon?”

  “Sure,” Rebecca said quickly, “the doctors are taking good care of her. Why?”

  Lois shrugged. “I heard her crying this morning.”

  “I should have noticed too,” Rebecca said. “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Lois said. “We’re just so glad to have you. You are the one making it better.” Lois stopped to wipe a tear.

  Rebecca gave her cousin a hug from the side, then said, “We’d better get this meat loaf ready for the oven, don’t you think?” She smiled, showing her appreciation of the younger girl’s efforts at making her feel better. “You can start making the bread crumbs. We need three cups for the double batch.”

  “Mom will get better though?” Lois asked, her concern returning.

  “I’m sure she will,” Rebecca said, then added, “but it is up to Da Hah, of course.”

  “Why is everything up to Him?” Lois asked.

  “Because He is God,” Rebecca said simply.

  “Who made Him then?”

  “No one.”

  “Did He just make Himself?”

  “I don’t think so.” Rebecca reached over to help Lois break the bread crumbs. “He just always was.”

  “That’s an awful long time, then,” Lois said more than she asked.

  Rebecca nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “He’s pretty big too. Isn’t He?”

  Rebecca nodded again.

  “Why can’t He run His world right, then?” Lois asked, bread crumbs falling into the bowl, her fingers reaching for another slice.

  “Maybe He is,” Rebecca said uncertainly.

  “But there’s so many things going wrong all the time.” Lois sounded unconvinced.

  “I think He must have trouble figured into His plans somehow,” Rebecca ventured.

  “I guess that would take a big God.”

  “Pretty big,” Rebecca agreed.

  “A little one couldn’t work with trouble, right?”

  “I suppose so,” Rebecca allowed, mixing the ingredients of the meat loaf together in a larger bowl. “From what I’ve heard, the false gods only promise health and wealth or use trouble to scare people.”

  “I hope He knows what He’s doing, then.” Lois wrinkled up her face. “If I were God, I wouldn’t work with trouble.”

  “I guess that’s why you’re not.” Rebecca had to chuckle at her own statement. “Let’s get this meat loaf into the oven—then we’ll help your mom with the wash.”

  “Rebecca, now that you’re twenty-one…are you going to marry soon?” Lois asked, abruptly changing the conversation.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Rebecca was caught completely off guard.

  “You wouldn’t tell me anyway, would you?” Lois asked knowingly.

  “Let’s just say that when I marry, I’ll be sure to invite you,” Rebecca answered quickly with a smile.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Darkness fell as those around the kitchen table bowed their heads in prayer. “Unser Geliebter Gott, der Schöpfer des Himmels und der Erde, darauf die Einstellung des Tages, machen wir Pause, um Ihnen Dank zu geben…”

  When Stephen finished, they lifted their heads but waited, the reverence from his words constraining their movements as if they had not yet made the transition from hearing spiritual nourishment to partaking of the physical.

  “Well,” Stephen pronounced, to no one in particular, “the meat loaf is getting no warmer. And such a meat loaf. We have good eating tonight.” His smile stretched across his face as his eyes once more took in the prepared supper.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca watched Leona’s face darken. She wished Stephen were a little less excited about the food, but then she decided he was not to be blamed. Men did like to eat.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t done better with the meals,” Leona said quietly, doing her best to keep her voice steady. “Even tonight, if it weren’t for Rebecca…”

  “It’s not your fault,” Stephen said, glancing at her, a healthy serving of the meat loaf already on his plate. “You’re a good cook. You’re just a little under the weather right now.”

  “It’s good Rebecca came,” Leona said. “At least you’re getting some decent food.”

  “Now, now,” he said, turning sideways, his chair scraping on the hardwood floor, “you have no reason to feel bad. There’s no one better than you in the kitchen.”

  Leona offered no response, the meat loaf bowl in front of her.

  “You have to eat,” he said. “You’re still recovering.”

  “I’m too fat. I’m not losing the extra weight,” she said so quietly Rebecca could barely hear it.

  “Look,” he said, noticing that the children were beginning to squirm, “you have nothing to worry about. Really.” Reaching over, he put two spoonfuls of meat loaf on her plate and passed it on. He then started the corn and salad, taking plenty for himself and then some for Leona’s plate before passing them on. “Eat,” he said quietly in Leona’s direction.

  Leona glanced up at him, her face still dark, but meeting his eyes now. Uncomfortable, Rebecca looked away, took a helping of meat loaf, and passed it on. When she turned back, Leona was eating. Her face still held a trace of melancholy but was more peaceful than Rebecca had seen all day.

  “So what’s the news from school?” Stephen asked, the comforting sound of the gas lantern hissing on the ceiling above them.

  “I got a 97 on spelling,” Lois announced.

  “I did too,” Stephen Jr., the first grader, proclaimed.

  “You sure about that?” Stephen was skeptical of his son’s recollection of things. He glanced at Lois for confirmation.

  “I did,” Stephen Jr. insisted. “It was a good grade.”

  Lois shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t see his grade. First-grade spelling is a little easier than the hard words we have to do.”

  “Teacher almost broke her arm at lunch playing ball,” Thomas announced, injecting fresh news into the conversation.

  “She just fell,” Elmo corrected him. “It wasn’t broken.”

  “I heard her say it hurt like it was broken. I heard her say so.” Thomas made a valiant effort to convince the family of his version of the events.

  “That’s not the same as broken,” Stephen corrected him.

  He gave in to the force of his father’s eyes on him and turned back to his plate.

  “You’d better be careful about such things,” Stephen said, not willing to drop the topic yet. “We have to tell the truth. Always. Even when it might sound better to tell more than what really happened.”

  “I wasn’t lying,” Thomas protested, his pleasure in the meat loaf on his plate temporarily suspended.

  “Maybe not,” Stephen allowed. He watched Thomas sigh in relief and resume eating. And then he continued, “Stretching a story or adding to it can be just as bad.”

  Thomas rapidly nodded, wanting to demonstrate his absorption of the lesson. He stopped long enough to add corn to his mouth full of meat loaf. Picking up the buttered bun beside his plate, he bit into it.

  “We are having a math contest next week,” Elmo said, not too much delight in his voice. “Each grade against itself.”

  “You don’t sound too excited,” Leona said. “You’re usually pretty good at that.”

  “He’s studying hard,” Lois said to the others. “I see him with his nose in his math book. I think he wants to win this time.”

  “Really.” Leona smiled at her oldest. “What’s the prize?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Verna announced. “Teacher isn’t telling.”

  “Last year it was a
real nice tablet with drawing pencils. The first grade got little bags of candy,” Thomas volunteered. “It’s usually different each year.”

  “So what’s your weak point?” Leona asked Elmo. “Still long addition?”

  Elmo nodded despairingly. “That and the story problems. We just have two minutes to solve each one.”

  “That’s all you get,” Thomas added. “When the time is up, you have to stop even if you’re not done.”

  “That’s Martha’s idea,” Lois said. “Last year we had three minutes.”

  “She’s from Daviess County,” Elmo muttered. “There’s strange ideas coming from down there.”

  “Now, now,” Stephen spoke up, “they’re no different from us.”

  “Sometimes they are,” Elmo insisted. Then glancing at his father’s face, he added, “She just has different ideas, I guess.”

  “That’s good sometimes,” Stephen told him. “We can learn from each other.”

  “I suppose so.” Elmo must have thought it better to agree but couldn’t help himself. “Two minutes is mighty short. Especially when you’re trying to think fast.”

  “Maybe if you’d just relax, your mind would work better,” Leona suggested.

  “Then it stops completely,” Elmo declared, sounding horrified. “I have to push it.”

  “You should try that.” Stephen seconded Leona’s suggestion. “Might surprise you.”

  “Is that true, Rebecca?” Elmo turned in her direction, his face skeptical.

  “It does work,” Rebecca said, thankful she didn’t disagree with Stephen and Leona. “You don’t stop thinking. You just relax a little beforehand and then let your mind work on the problem.”

  “Did you ever win any math quizzes?” Elmo still wasn’t convinced.

  “I’m afraid not,” Rebecca lamented. “Wasn’t too good at math. Emma tried to teach me, but…well, I guess I did okay.”

  “I like math,” Elmo stated firmly. “Maybe if this relaxing thing works, I might win. You think it works on long addition too?”

  “I suppose so,” Rebecca allowed. “Being tense doesn’t work well on anything.”

  “Worry doesn’t either,” Leona said for everyone’s benefit. After a few moments of eating, she added, “If we’re just about done, it’s time for the cake.”