DC03 - Though Mountains Fall (21 page)

Rachel was glad to be home, but it seemed to her now that her world was fractured, divided into three distinct pieces. Part of her was with Jake in Ohio, and part of her with Miriam in
San Rafael. Miriam hadn’t come around since the ban letter arrived, so Rachel hadn’t seen her at all. Her name was rarely even mentioned at home. Her name brought the darkness back to Mamm’s face, a thing which they all learned quickly to avoid. Better not to speak of Miriam at all.

But ban or no ban, she was still Rachel’s sister, and Rachel missed her sorely. Already, after only a week at home, she’d caught herself turning over in bed a hundred times to say something to Miriam, only to remember that she was gone. She loved Leah, but Leah was not Miriam.

She finally got a chance late one afternoon to take the buggy into town to do the trading at the
mercado
and pick up the mail. Leah went with her, talking the whole way, but it occurred to Rachel as she was tying the horse to the rail at the mercado that she couldn’t recall a single thing her seventeen-year-old sister had said.

Rachel traded her eggs and butter for a bag of salt and the cloves that Mamm had requested, then hurried back to the buggy, but Leah wasn’t back from the post office yet. She untied the horse and drove slowly down the main street, watching for her sister. As she passed a narrow alley she happened to glance down it and saw Leah coming toward her, escorted by an Amishman. The man didn’t look up, but that pointed black beard and small stature were unmistakable. Atlee Hostetler. He was holding Leah’s arm, and the look on Leah’s face was one of abject horror. Rachel could also see a little group of uniformed men farther down the alley, staring at Leah’s back, laughing and gesturing.

Before they emerged into the main street, Atlee looked up and saw Rachel waiting there with the buggy. He gave Leah a little shove and then turned about, ducking his head as if he thought he could keep from being recognized.

“What happened?” Rachel asked as her sister climbed up into the seat.

Leah only shook her head, pale as a ghost. “Go,” she said, waving at the horses. “Go!”

By the time they were clear of the town Rachel finally got her sister calmed down enough to talk.

“I was on my way back from the post office,” she said, drawing a packet of mail from the deep pocket of her dress, staring at it. “Three of those soldiers stopped me, took my arm and dragged me into that alley.”

She broke down and cried for a minute, then sobbed, “I thought they were going to kill me! I don’t know what would have happened if Atlee hadn’t come along. He told them to leave me alone, and they let me go.”

“What was Atlee doing there?” Rachel asked.

Leah shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I don’t know, but I did smell liquor on his breath. I think they were all drinking.”

“Atlee was drinking with the federales?”

“I guess so. I don’t know what else to think.”

Rachel thought about this for a minute, and nodded. “It makes sense, I guess. There are rumors about Atlee’s drinking. They say that’s why he came down here, to get away from his reputation and maybe straighten up. I guess if you’re looking for a drink, a bunch of soldiers would know where to find it. Are you okay?”

Leah nodded. “Those men are pigs. You should hear the things they said.”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t want to, but I can imagine. It’s okay. You’re safe now. I think from now on we’ll have to have a man come with us when we go to town. Dat will hear about this, and I’m thinking he’ll want to have a word with Atlee.”

Despite the problem with the soldiers they’d made good time in town, and when Rachel came to the crossroads, instead of going on straight toward home she turned right, toward the little town of San Rafael.

“Where are we going?” Leah asked, still upset.

“To see Miriam.”

“Really?” Leah said, a little shocked.

“Jah, she’s still our sister.” She gave Leah a hard stare. “You’re not to tell Dat about this, you understand?”

Leah shook her head, still sniffling. “I won’t.”

———

They found Miriam in her kitchen with Kyra, canning the last of the produce from the garden. Kyra opened the door, and when Miriam heard Rachel’s voice she almost knocked over the big boiling pot in her excitement.

Miriam gave Rachel a big welcome-home hug, but when she went to hug Leah she held her at arms’ length for a second.

“Have you been crying? What’s wrong?”

So Leah told her the whole story about the soldiers while Rachel pitched in with the canning.

Kyra listened in. Wiping her hands on a rag, she said, “You mustn’t go to town unescorted. Any of you. Those soldiers are no better than bandits, especially when they’ve been drinking.”

“Sometimes I think they’re worse,” Rachel said over her shoulder. “But at least they haven’t killed anybody yet.”

“They killed a whole bunch of bandits,” Leah said. “Dat was pretty upset about that.” But now she was craning her neck, already distracted. “Your little house is very nice, Miriam. I like it a lot.”

As she helped fill jars with peppers Rachel remembered one of her main reasons for coming.

“I have some really good news, Miriam. Abe Detweiler is
coming down in the spring.” And then, as if Miriam needed a hint, she added, “He’s a bishop, you know.”

“I know,” Miriam said quietly. There was a trace of sadness in her eyes. “I know exactly what that means for you . . . and for Jake. I only regret that I can’t be there for you.”

Miriam’s kitchen was very small. There was only room for two at the stove, so Leah stood back and watched. But now Rachel stepped aside and wiped her hands, beckoning Leah to take her place. She went to Miriam and took her hands.

“Miriam, you know there’s nothing in the world I’d like better than to have you at my wedding,” Rachel said. “It won’t be the same without you, and I know you would be there for me if you could.”

Miriam’s eyes fell away for a moment, thinking. “Maybe I
can
be there—in a way,” she said pensively. “Come to the bedroom with me. I want to ask you something.”

Rachel followed her back to the bedroom. A crude, handmade chifforobe stood in the corner. Miriam opened the door and brought out a dress.

An Amish dress.

“I wore this the morning of my wedding day,” she said. “But only to leave home. It’s new. Mamm made it for me when I was courting Micah. It was supposed to be my wedding dress, but . . . well, you know.”

“You want to
give
this to me?” Rachel asked.

Miriam shook her head. “No, you can’t accept a gift from me now that I’m banned. But if I leave it out back on the burn pile and someone takes it, well . . . it’s no great loss.”

Rachel giggled, holding the dress against her body, gauging the fit.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Miriam asked. “Would you
want
to wear it?”

Rachel’s grin disappeared. When she looked up, tears sprang to her eyes. “Miriam, I would be
honored
to wear your dress. It’ll almost be like you’re there with me.”

Miriam hugged her, the dress pressed between them, and Rachel whispered four words into her ear.

“No matter what. Always.”

Chapter 17

T
he rains were kind that year, and the bean fields yielded a bumper crop. But that fall, for the first time since coming to Mexico, Caleb Bender did not bring his Belgians and his spring-toothed harrow to help Domingo. The men of the church would have frowned on it.

Domingo and his cousins labored in the sun for two days, prying the vines from the ground by hand and piling them in neat rows to dry in the sun. Miriam and Kyra helped, and Kyra’s boys, who were growing into strong young men. Everyone worked long hours, for the beans were vital to survival. When game was scarce in the winter, when the canned vegetables ran out or worms fouled the cornmeal, the beans were always there. For every peasant household in San Rafael, dried beans became a hedge against starvation.

It was midafternoon and Miriam was bone weary, but the work was almost done. Nearly all the vines had been pulled and stacked when Miriam straightened up, pressing a hand against the small of her aching back, and saw Domingo’s mother. It was an unusual sight, the old woman standing like a statue in her full black dress with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders and a scarf
on her head. She rarely came out to the fields, because her knees were bad and it pained her to walk so far, but now she stood at the edge of the field with her back to them, staring at the sky.

“Kyra, look,” Miriam said, and her sister-in-law straightened up beside her, following her eyes.

“Something is wrong,” Kyra said. “She would not be out here otherwise. Domingo!”

On the far side of the field, Domingo looked around. Kyra pointed, and without another word the three of them made their way out of the field to the old woman.

“What is it?” Kyra asked, gently placing a hand on her mother’s shoulder.

The
anciana
glanced at them, and there was deep worry in the lines of her eyes as she turned her face back to the sky. “A storm is coming,” she said.

A little wind kicked up, rustling the sage between the bean field and the house.

Domingo glanced nervously at the gathering clouds and explained the danger to Miriam. “If rain comes after the beans are piled up for drying we will have to turn them over. It’s a lot of work, but we can do it. If a second rain comes we can turn them again. A third time will ruin the whole crop.” But then he shrugged it off. “One rain is not so bad.”

His mother shook her head worriedly. “My bones tell me this is no ordinary storm, Domingo, and the animals are restless. The wind is strengthening from the northeast and the sky is yellow. The birds are flying low, and there are seabirds among them, hurrying inland. I have seen this once before, when I was very young. A hurricane came from the Gulf and crept into the mountains. The winds died before it reached us, but rain fell for four days and there was no way to save the crop. We went hungry that winter.”

Domingo’s breathing quickened, standing next to his mother, staring at the sky. “Are you sure?”

The anciana nodded. “Sí,
estoy seguro
. It is coming.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning. Maybe before.”

“Then we must gather the plants and get them inside. If we can keep them dry until the rain passes we might save the crop.”

“We have no room,” Kyra said. “The loft of our barn is very small and half full of hay.”

He scratched his head. “You’re right. It’s not nearly enough. We’re going to need help. Miriam, I want you to ride to your father’s house and ask if we can store the vines in his loft for a few days. This must be done now, tonight.”

Miriam raised an eyebrow. “I will ask, but I know my father. I don’t think he will help us now.”

“Try,” Domingo said, and the urgency in his voice was enough to convince her. He turned his gaze to the north, where more fields lay scattered through the valley, rows of beans yellowing in the weakening light. Every peasant in San Rafael depended on the bean crop to get them through the winter. “Kyra, go and warn the others. I will hitch the cart, and the boys can help me. Go!”

———

Miriam saddled Domingo’s horse and rode hard to her father’s house. She found him in the tack room, mending harness. Caleb looked up from the workbench when she came in the door and his eyes hardened when he saw her.

“Dat, we need help,” she said. No sense beating around the bush. “Domingo’s mother says a hurricane is coming, that it will rain for three or four days.”

His head tilted and he shrugged. “Then it will rain,” he said. “You have a house with a roof. Go there.”

“You don’t understand. It’s the beans, Dat. Our vines are pulled and laid out to dry. If it rains for three days the beans will rot and we’ll go hungry this winter. Domingo wanted me to ask if we can store them in your hay loft.”

“My loft is full.”

“The second level, then. Or even the buggy shed—anyplace where they can stay dry for a few days. Just until the rain passes.”

“I cannot help you, Miriam. It wouldn’t be right. You and your husband will have to fend for yourselves.”

His stare was almost blank, but she felt sure she saw a trace of sympathy in his eyes. He wanted to help. It hurt him
not
to help, but he felt pressure from the others. They would be watching to see what he would do, and he was keenly aware of his position in the community. She would not plead or shed a tear, but neither would she hold any of this against her father. The respect of his brethren was vital to him. She understood.

“All right,” she said evenly, turning to go. “I’ll find someone else.” Climbing back up into the saddle she spurred her horse toward Emma’s.

Finding her sister in the kitchen cooking supper, Miriam laid out the situation as quickly as she could. Emma didn’t answer at all; she just stepped out the back door and called Levi. When he came in Emma did all the talking, explaining the emergency. Levi scratched his neck with a dirty, callused hand.