Love Inspired November 2013 #2 (9 page)

Rebecca scrambled up into Caleb's buggy at the hitching post. He unsnapped the rope, gathered his reins and got in. In less than five minutes, Rebecca was guiding him along the back lane to the woods road that led to her uncle's farm.

Caleb drove the horse at a sharp trot. Leaves crackled under the buggy wheels and the horse's hooves thudded softly on the packed dirt. Rebecca clung to the edges of the seat, and her heart raced.
Please God, let Uncle Reuben be all right,
she prayed silently. She hoped that Dorcas was just being Dorcas, overreacting to a minor incident, but there was no way to tell.

“Money is tight for everyone, but more so for Aunt Martha and Uncle Reuben,” Rebecca explained. “That's why Dorcas didn't want us to call an ambulance. But knowing her, it wouldn't be reasonable to call without seeing for ourselves first.” She glanced into Caleb's face. “Sometimes Dorcas exaggerates.”

“Not about something as serious as this, I would hope.” His hands were firm on the reins, his back straight.

It was clear to Rebecca that he wasn't a man who jumped to conclusions or made hasty decisions. She was glad that Caleb had been at the Yoder farm when Dorcas had come. It made her feel that whatever they found at her uncle's, they would be able to deal with the situation together.

“There's a gate around the bend, just ahead,” she told Caleb. “This is where Uncle Reuben's property line starts. I'll get down and open it.” He nodded and she went on. “The pasture is low-lying, but if you stay on the trail you won't get stuck.”

Once they were through the gate and Rebecca had closed it to keep the cows in, it was only a short distance to her aunt and uncle's barnyard, where the buildings were in various states of disrepair.

Though he had never said so, Rebecca knew her father had always thought that his sister's husband had inherited a good farm but hadn't put in the work that was needed to maintain it. Both of Martha and Reuben's sons had married young and moved to Kentucky, leaving their parents with only a daughter to help out. Uncle Reuben had always held out hope that Dorcas would find a hardworking husband to take the place in hand, but so far, that hadn't happened.

Rebecca felt a twinge of guilt that she would have such uncharitable thoughts about her uncle at such a time, but at least she hadn't expressed them to Caleb. Truthfully, she was embarrassed by the peeling paint, loose shingles and sagging doors that caused her aunt and cousin so much unhappiness. Had Uncle Reuben been ill or handicapped, his church members would have gladly come to his aid, but her uncle was as healthy as a horse. And no farmer who rose at nine and left the fields at three could expect the results of others who were more industrious.

As one of two preachers in the congregation, Uncle Reuben commanded the respect of his flock because of his position. But Rebecca had often felt that Aunt Martha's criticism of her Yoder sister-in-law, Hannah, and nieces was as much envy as an honest wish to see them live a proper Amish life. If Uncle Reuben was a better provider, maybe her aunt would be a happier person and Dorcas might have found a husband, instead of remaining single.

When they reached the main barn, Rebecca and Caleb climbed out of the buggy and she led the way inside. They had to thread through an assortment of broken tools, a buggy chassis with a rotting cover and missing wheels, bales of old, mouse-infested hay and a rusty, horse-drawn cultivator that hadn't seen a field since Rebecca was a toddler. Pigeons flew from the overhead beams and chickens scattered. A one-eared tomcat hissed at them and Rebecca cautioned Caleb not to trip over a bucket of sour milk.

“Uncle Reuben?” she called. The shed where he kept the heifers leaned at the back of the barn, but reaching it by way of the paddock would have meant walking through a morass of cow manure. This path was strewn with obstacles, but high and dry.

“Reuben!” Caleb added his strong voice to her plea. “Are you there, Reuben?”

“Here!” came a pain-filled plea. “I'm here.”

Rebecca ducked beneath a leaning beam and through a low doorway cut in the barn's back wall. Her uncle lay sprawled on the dirt floor in a pile of odorous straw. The culprit, a black-and-white heifer with small, mean eyes, stood in the far corner of the shed, chewing her cud.

“Uncle Reuben!” Rebecca cried, running to kneel by his side. One leg lay at an unnatural angle. A tear in the fabric of his trousers revealed an ominous glimpse of white that Rebecca feared was a broken bone protruding through the flesh. “Oh, Uncle Reuben.” She glanced back at Caleb.

He stared down at her uncle's leg. “You need to get to the hospital, Reuben.” He crouched down and took the injured man's wrist. After a moment, he asked, “Anything else hurt but the leg?”

“That's enough, wouldn't you say?” Uncle Reuben snapped.

Caleb released his wrist, glanced at Rebecca, and nodding reassuringly. “Good, strong, steady pulse. Any bleeding?”

“Some. Nothing a vet can't deal with,” Uncle Reuben said. “You'd be doing me a favor to call one of the Hartmans. Set this and slap some plaster on it, it'll heal well enough.” His talk was bold, but Rebecca could see the pasty hue of his face and the fear in his eyes.

“You don't need a veterinarian, Reuben. You need a doctor,” Caleb pronounced. “And a hospital. Likely, you'll need surgery on that leg. I'm going to go down to the chair shop and call for an ambulance.”

“You'll do no such thing,” her uncle said. “I've no money for—”

“No need for you to worry yourself about money right now,” Caleb assured him, getting to his feet. “And no need to take chances with your leg or your life.”

“I told you, I'm not paying for any English ambulance or any of their fancy doctors,” Uncle Reuben insisted.

“We'll worry about the doctor bills when they come in,” Caleb said. “Your neighbors will help, as I'm sure you've helped others in your community. As for the ambulance, I think you need one and I intend to see it comes for you.”

“You'll ruin me! Do you know what they charge to carry you ten miles?”

“Ease your heart, Reuben.” He rested his hands on his hips. “I'm making the decision, and I'll bear the cost of the transportation myself.”

Chapter Nine

B
y nine o'clock Saturday morning, Caleb, Samuel, Eli, Charley, Roland and a half dozen other men and teenage boys were hard at work in Reuben's cornfield. A field that should have been cut a month ago. Teams were cutting the drying stalks with corn knives, a sharp-bladed tool much like a machete, and stacking them in teepee-shaped structures. The English used massive machines to harvest their fields, but in Seven Poplars, the Amish still practiced the old ways whenever possible. If the crop was to be saved, it would be due to the work of Reuben's friends and neighbors, because it would be a long time before he would be physically fit enough to do manual labor again.

As Caleb had suspected, Reuben's leg had been badly broken. Once Rebecca's uncle had reached the hospital by ambulance, he'd been examined and rushed up to surgery. Reuben was still hospitalized, but was hoping to be discharged later that day. Calling the ambulance had been the right decision. According to the EMTs who responded, any attempt to transport Reuben by buggy could have resulted in the loss of his leg or worse.

When one of the congregation became ill or injured, it was the custom of neighbors and relatives to come to his or her aid. It wasn't considered charity; it was what was expected. To do otherwise would be unthinkable in the plain community. For the next weeks, perhaps months, volunteers would tend to Reuben's livestock daily, milk the cows twice a day, finish bringing in his harvest, cut firewood and ready the farm for winter.

Caleb had spent most of Wednesday night at the hospital with Reuben and had taken off work Thursday and Friday to look after the details of seeing that his family and farm were taken care of. Somehow, because Caleb had been the first of the elders in the church to respond, it fell to him to organize assistance for Reuben's family. He'd made a schedule of regular volunteers, plus arranged for backup when the regulars couldn't be there.

Paying for the ambulance as he'd promised would cut deeply into Caleb's savings, but he had given his word. It was the right thing to do for Reuben and his family, who were—from all appearances—in reduced financial circumstances. Fortunately, Caleb had some money left over after the purchase of his farm and the expense of moving, money that had come from an unexpected inheritance. A childless uncle had died in Wisconsin, leaving his entire estate to him, making the move to Delaware possible. Helping Reuben's family seemed little enough to ask, considering the gift he had received.

Caleb fell into a steady rhythm—swing and chop, step, swing and chop, step, moving down the row. Behind him, another man gathered armfuls of corn stalks and tied them together for stacking. Cutting corn was strenuous, but Caleb didn't mind. Since he was a boy, he'd worked long, hard hours in the fields. The repetitive motion taxed the muscles, but left a man's thoughts free to roam where they would. Today, however, that might not have been a good thing.

Somehow, Caleb couldn't keep his gaze from lingering on Rebecca Yoder as she strode gracefully from one laborer to another, carrying a ladle and a bucket of cool water flavored with slices of lemon. How fine she looked this morning in her robin's-egg-blue dress, dark sweater and crisp white apron and
kapp.
Modest black stockings flashed below the hem of her full skirt as she stepped lightly over the raised rows of cut stalks, and her laughter rang merrily in the brisk fall air.

Rebecca said something to her foster brother Irwin, and Caleb heard him chuckle. As she walked away, Irwin tossed a ball of fodder at her back, and Rebecca whirled around and threw a nubbin of corncob at him. The missile struck the brim of Irwin's felt hat and knocked it off. He yelped and made an exaggerated show of retrieving it.

“Watch yourself, Irwin,” Eli teased good-naturedly. “Next, you'll be getting a dipper of ice water down the back of your shirt.”

“Ya,”
Charley agreed. His wife, Miriam, approached and he quit cutting corn to lean close and speak to her. Whatever he said must have been funny because Miriam chuckled and pushed him playfully away. Then Charley began cutting again and Miriam tied the stalks into sheaves behind him.

I miss that,
Caleb thought wistfully—having a wife to share private moments and jests. Charley and Miriam were obviously a good match, despite Miriam's unusual practice of working alongside the men. The couple were strong supporters of the Gleaners, the young people's group, and they often chaperoned or hosted youth singings. They also had strong family values. The two were about to embark on a journey to Brazil to spend time with Miriam's sister, Leah. Leah's husband was a Mennonite, currently serving as a missionary for his church.

It wasn't envy Caleb felt toward Charley, more a yearning for the family happiness he had.
Maybe it was time I started to look for another wife.
He would always hold a special place in his heart for Dinah, but a man wasn't meant to live without a partner. Once a suitable period of mourning had passed, Amish communities expected a man of his age to remarry or he was considered as going against the
Ordnung
.

“Thirsty?” Rebecca held up her ladle and favored him with a big smile. A drop of water clung to the rim of the utensil, sparkling in the sunshine. “Would you like a drink of water?”

Startled, Caleb missed the cornstalk he'd been about to slice off and dug into the dirt with the tip of his blade. “
Ne...
I mean,
ya,
I would.” He'd been watching Charley and Miriam and hadn't noticed Rebecca coming up behind him.

Amusement lit her vivid blue eyes. “It's a simple question, Caleb. Are you thirsty or not?”

“I was thinking of something else,” he said. The words came out more harshly than intended, and he reached for the ladle. She handed it to him, but when he brought it to his lips, he found it empty except for a slice of lemon.

Smothering a giggle, she pursed her lips and offered the bucket. He frowned and then scooped up some water and drank. Without saying anything more, he helped himself to a second dipperful. His face felt hot, but the water was marvelously cool in his throat, and by the time he'd swallowed the last drop, he'd regained his composure. “What did you say to Irwin to set him off?” he ventured, trying to think of something, anything, other than how her rosy lips curved into such a sweet smile.

“I asked him if he knew how to catch a blue hen.”

Caleb waited, the back of his neck feeling overly warm, obviously the result of the bright sunshine. There were at least a dozen workers in the field, but it seemed as if he and Rebecca were all alone. He was acutely aware of just how vibrant and attractive a young woman Rebecca was.

She chuckled. “How else? A blue chicken net.”

“A joke.” Not smiling, he handed back the ladle.

She chuckled and shrugged. “Guilty.”

He'd noticed that she sometimes told funny stories to the children and women at church Sunday meals. And more than once, he'd caught sight of Rebecca using her handkerchief to make a hand puppet to amuse Amelia during service. Come to think of it, Amelia had been regaling him with rhymes, word teasers and silly jokes in the evenings. He didn't have to look far to see where they'd come from. “You like to make people laugh?”

She rested the dipper in the bucket and used her free hand to tuck a stray lock of bright auburn hair behind her ear. Golden freckles sprinkled her nose and cheeks, freckles that made her look younger than her actual years. “Chores go easier with a light heart,” she replied.

A light heart...
Caleb suddenly felt as if it was hard to breathe. He cleared his throat and stepped away from her, rubbing his free hand against his pant leg.

It was a mistake to be drawn in by Rebecca's winsome ways and easy laughter. She wasn't the woman for him. She was too young...too pretty...too sprightly. A woman like Rebecca would never want a man like him. Certainly not with his scars...or his past. He'd not been able to save Dinah. Surely that made him unworthy of a woman like Rebecca.

What he needed was a more sensible wife, one more suited to a staid and practical preacher. “
Danke
for the water,” he managed. “I can't stand here lazing when there's half a field to do.”

A pink flush colored her fair complexion. “I'll leave you to your work then, Preacher Caleb.” Back straight,
kapp
strings trailing down her neck, she moved away, leaving him oddly disconcerted.

Caleb began to swing the corn knife again, slashing with hard, quick blows that left a sharp line of stalk stubble behind him.
Ya,
he decided, he had put this off far too long. It was time a new wife came to fill his loneliness and tend his motherless daughter. Too long he'd clung to his grief for Dinah. She was safe in God's hands, free from all earthly pain and care, and it was his duty to pick up the reins of his life and carry on.

* * *

“What was that... You and Caleb?” Miriam whispered.

Rebecca and Miriam had returned to Aunt Martha's kitchen to help the other women set out the midday meal. Rebecca was slicing meatloaf, and Miriam had stepped close to her, a platter of warm
kartoffel kloesse,
potato croquettes, in her hand.

Rebecca's eyes widened. “What do you mean, me and Caleb?”

Miriam elbowed her playfully in the side. “Come on, it's me. I know you too well. Don't try to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I saw the two of you together in the field. You like him, don't you?”

Rebecca put down the knife, glanced around to be sure no one was watching them and pulled her sister into the pantry. “Do you want everyone to hear you? I took him water like I did every other man.”

Miriam shook her head and chuckled as she set the platter on the counter in the pantry. “
Ne,
little sister. Not like every other man. If my Charley looked at you like Caleb did... Well, let's say he'd better not if he knows what's good for him.”

The pantry was shadowy, the only light coming from a narrow window. High shelves filled with jars of canned fruit and vegetables lined the walls, and a wooden bin held cabbages, potatoes, onions and carrots. Aunt Martha was not known for her housekeeping skills, but this one room was always clean...if you didn't notice the cobwebs overhead or the fingerprints on the windowpanes.

“There's nothing between us.”

“So why does he look like a lovesick calf and why are your cheeks as red as pickled beets every time his name is mentioned?” Miriam asked. She hesitated. “You know, he's perfectly acceptable, if you do like him. I could have Charley talk to him. He could—”

“What would make you say such a thing?” Rebecca grabbed her sister's hand. “Caleb hasn't said anything that would make me believe... At least, I don't think...” She let go of Miriam's hand and let her words trail off as she remembered the strange sensations she'd felt when she and Caleb had exchanged words in the cornfield.

Excitement made her giddy. Maybe it hadn't been her imagination. If Miriam had noticed the way Caleb looked at her...then maybe it wasn't just her own foolish fancy. Maybe he did like her.

Miriam planted a hand on her hip. “Do you like him or not?”

“I don't know,” she blurted, looking up at her. “I think... Maybe I do...but...”

“He wouldn't be my choice for you,” Miriam remarked. “He's too serious, too stuffy.”

“Caleb isn't stuffy. He is serious at times, but he has a lighthearted side, too. You should see how he plays and laughs with Amelia. And he's had so many sorrows in his life. Can you blame him if he's sad sometimes?”

“The scars on his face? His hand? They don't bother you?”

Rebecca shook her head, thinking. “It's odd to hear myself even say it, but the truth is...I don't notice them. He has such nice eyes, and—”

“You don't
notice
them,” Miriam groaned. “One half of his face and you don't see it.” Then she smiled. “You've got it bad. I can have Charley talk to him and see what's what.”

A little thrill passed through Rebecca. “Charley would do that for me?”

“Of course he would.”

“Even if you don't think he would be a good choice for me?”

Miriam smiled kindly. “Love is love, little sister. There were some who would have chosen John over Charley for me....”

“But Charley was the right husband for you,” Rebecca finished.

“He was. So say the word and I'll have Charley speak with Caleb. Of course, if he's interested in getting to know you to see if you might be a suitable match, different arrangements will have to be made with your job. It wouldn't be seemly for you to be working at the preacher's house and courting him at the same time.”

Courting Caleb? Just the sound of the words made Rebecca nervous...and a little giddy. Was that what she wanted? Was that the direction God was leading her? She looked at her sister. “Let me pray about it for a day or two. It's too soon—”

“You know Mam would like it if you married close to home, and we all love little Amelia.” Miriam chuckled softly. “Of all my sisters, you're the last one I'd expect to be a preacher's wife.”

“I
said
I'd pray on it,” Rebecca answered. “I'm not going to rush into anything. And don't you dare tell Anna or Johanna or—”

“I know, I know.” Miriam grinned. “I'll keep your secret, but don't wait too long. A lot of mothers would consider Caleb Wittner a good catch for their daughters. You wait too long to make up your mind and someone could snatch him right out from under you.”

* * *

When the dinner bell rang, Caleb walked back to the Coblentz house with the other men. As he approached, he couldn't help noticing that one of the back porch posts was leaning and the rails, on their last legs, were sagging. He climbed the rickety steps, thinking that while Reuben was laid up with his injury, it wouldn't hurt to have some of the neighbors do some work on his house. It pained him to think that a family in his church was living like this when others were clearly doing so much better financially.