A Quilt for Jenna (34 page)

After Henry took him home, Reuben sat in the darkened and quiet house. Where joy and love and peace had abounded, now there was only despair. He sat on a kitchen chair with his elbows on his knees and his fingers interlocked behind his head. The cradle his daughter had slept in as an infant now sat empty in front of him.

Reuben sat there all night until the morning sunlight began to creep in through the kitchen window. At last he stirred himself and stood up. He went quickly into the bedroom, opened the closet, and dug around until he found a small metal box. He opened it. Inside were several rolls of bills and a sheaf of papers. He put several of the bills in his pocket, looked through the papers, took a pen off the dresser, and signed them on the last page. He found another sheet of paper and began to write.

Jerusha,

I'm leaving. I know you hate me and believe I'm responsible for Jenna's death, and you are probably right. I'm leaving you $5000. It's part of the military pay I saved while in the hospital and never spent.

Don't worry, I won't come back. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me someday. I can only wish you truly find a happy life in the years ahead.

Reuben

Reuben went through his drawers and closet and gathered up some clothes and personal items. He packed them into a small satchel and looked around his home one last time. Then he walked out the door and closed it behind him. He walked through the field and crossed the small bridge between their house and the Lowensteins'. He went up on the porch and knocked. After a while Henry's father came to the door.

“Why, Reuben, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to see if Henry could give me a ride back to Wooster,” said Reuben quietly. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“I'm sure he can. I'll go get him.”

Mr. Lowenstein started to go back in the house but then turned and said, “Come in and wait in the living room. I'm so sorry about Jenna. Is there anything we can do for you and Jerusha?”

“Thank you,” Reuben said. “We'll be all right. It will just take some time.”

Reuben shifted from one foot to the other while Henry's father went to fetch Henry. In a few minutes Henry came out, pulling on a shirt.

“What can I do for you?” Henry asked. “A ride?”

“If you don't mind. I need a ride back to Wooster to take care of Jenna.”

“Sure. I'll take you wherever you need to go. Let me grab a jacket.”

They drove to Wooster and stopped at the mortuary. Reuben made arrangements for the mortician to pick up Jenna's body and deliver it to Jerusha's parents for burial. Then they went to the hospital, where Reuben signed release papers. He then had Henry drop him off at a used-car lot.

“Goodbye, Henry,” Reuben said as he got out of the car with his suitcase. “I won't see you again. Please keep an eye on Jerusha. She'll need a friend.”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Reuben? Don't you think you ought to wait?”

“This is for the best.”

Reuben closed the car door and walked into the dealership. He asked about a used Ford pickup in the lot and laid a hundred dollars on the counter. The salesman wanted to show him other cars, but Reuben shook his head and pointed to the pickup.

In half an hour Reuben was on the road.

He stopped at a motel on the edge of town and rented a room. After he took his things inside, he went next door to a grocery store and bought a razor and some shaving cream. He went back to his room and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror for a long time, and then he lathered his face and shaved off his beard. He went into the room and pulled a wool shirt and an old jacket out of his suitcase and put them on. He left his hat and black coat on the bed and went out to the truck. He threw his suitcase in the back, climbed in, and started the motor. He sat there for a few minutes with his head down, not moving. Then he sighed deeply, raised his head, and without looking back, pulled onto the highway and headed west.

Bobby Halverson drove down the county highway thinking about Reuben. He had been gone for a year now. After Jenna's death, he had just disappeared. Henry had come to his house the morning after the tragedy and shared his concern with Bobby.

“I left him at a used car lot in Wooster. He didn't look good, Bobby. He was saying all kinds of weird stuff about killing Jenna and being a murderer. I got a bad feeling about all of this.”

I'm sorry I didn't see it coming, Reuben. I knew something happened to you up in that trench on Guadalcanal, but I thought you'd get over it. When you went back to the Amish, I figured you'd be okay. You and Jerusha were so happy, and when the baby came it was like your life got on the right track. But I should have talked to you about it—made you talk about how you were feeling. I guess I failed you as a friend. I sure wish you'd come home. I need your help...and so does Jerusha
.

The last piece of wood from the shed was burned. The light was dying outside, and Jerusha knew the two of them probably wouldn't survive another night without a fire. The cold continued to close in on Jerusha and the little girl like circling wolves. The wind howled as the day crept on into night. Jerusha huddled under the quilt with the child and stroked her brow.

I'm sorry, little one. I tried to save you, but I can't do it by myself. I'm sorry, Lord. I see now that You didn't kill Jenna, and Reuben didn't either. It was this world, fallen from grace and filled with evil and disease. If only I could see Reuben one last time. I would tell him that I forgive him...and that I need him.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-S
IX

A Place to Hide

L
OWELL
J
ACKSON
'
S RANCH SAT HIGH
on a ridge outside Fairplay, Colorado. From his front porch he could see cars on Highway 9 in the valley below him. One day in January of 1950, he watched from his porch chair as an old Ford pickup turned onto his road far below and began the circuitous passage up the mountain.

A light dusting of snow had covered the road earlier that morning, but the afternoon sun had melted it, and now the gravel road was in good shape. Lowell had lived on this ranch since retiring from the army in 1939. He raised horses and some cattle, but mostly he watched as the world went on its way far below. He didn't get many visitors, so the old Ford crawling up the hardpan road was of some interest to him.

“Manuel, looks like we got company,” he called out. “Better set another place for dinner.”

An old Mexican man limped out on the porch with a fry pan in his hand. He was as grizzled as Lowell and wore a Detroit Tigers baseball cap.

“Why we got to make a place, Señor Lowell?” he grumbled. “I only cook enough beans for you and me.”

“Don't argue, you old cactus,” Lowell said. “Just put on some of those steaks you been saving and get some potatoes from the cellar. It'll take that truck a while to get up here, so git!”

Manuel went back in the house, muttering as he went.

“And don't you be callin' fire down on my head,” Lowell hollered after him. “I speak Spanish, you know.”

About twenty minutes later, the Ford pulled up in the front driveway in a cloud of dust. A tall, dark-haired man got out.

“Howdy, stranger,” Lowell called from the porch. “What brings you to the Eagle's Nest?”

“I'm looking for Lowell Jackson.”

“You're lookin' at him.”

“Mr. Jackson, I'm Reuben Springer. I got your name from the man at the general store in town. They said you might be looking for someone who's good with horses.”

“Where you from, Reuben?” Lowell asked.

“Ohio,” Reuben said, “and I sure could use some work. I've just about run out of money. I'm headed for California. I had a job waiting for me outside Denver, but the man sold his ranch while I was in the Marines, so I'm headed west.”

“You're a vet?” asked Lowell.

“Yes, sir,” Reuben replied. “I served in the First Division of the Marine Corps in the Pacific theater. I saw action on Guadalcanal.”

Lowell considered this and said, “I lost a son on Guadalcanal at the Tenaru River. If you served with my boy, you're welcome at my table. Come on in and sit a spell. Manuel's cookin' up some steaks. We'll talk about a job while we eat.”

A smile cracked Reuben's stern features. “That sounds more than good to me, sir.”

“Lowell,” said the old man as he led Reuben into the house. The walls were made of peeled pine logs, notched and set into place. To the left around a corner was the kitchen, and Reuben could hear someone rattling around in there. Snatches of a song in Spanish and the welcome smell of frying steak drifted into the dining room. There were large windows and the room had a big plank table with rough-hewn chairs around it. To the right was a large open room filled with sagging couches and rustic old chairs set in front of a huge stone fireplace that took up the entire end of the house. A stack of fresh-split pine logs and a box of kindling sat to one side of the fireplace. A stairway went up and around out of the foyer where they stood.

Manuel came out of the kitchen with a two-pronged fork in his hand.

“Hey, mister,” he said, looking Reuben over, “how you like me cook your steak?”

“Medium rare would be fine,” Reuben said.

“You think this is a French restaurant maybe, señor?” Manuel grumbled as he went back in the kitchen.

Lowell laughed. “Don't mind Manuel. He's just pretending he's polite. He doesn't have a polite bone in his body. You're gonna get your steak medium no matter what you say.”

Reuben laughed, but even as he did, Lowell sensed something about him.
Sent me another wounded one, huh, Lord? He's running from something, and I guess You got him up here for me to find out what it is.

A few minutes later Manuel came in with some plates on a tray. The steaks were still sizzling, and there were country potatoes and some refried beans. Reuben sat down to dinner with more anticipation than he had felt in a long time.

“So where'd you learn horses, Reuben?” Lowell asked.

“On my dad's farm in Ohio. I've broken them, trained them, and everything in between.”