Rebecca's Choice (14 page)

“We have given a lot of mercy to him,” Isaac ventured. “Maybe some more is in order?”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Bishop Martin said nodding. “Anyone else have any ideas? We can’t just continue ignoring this problem.”

“Maybe a new confession would help. That might wake him up,” the deacon offered. “Maybe one on his knees and in front of the church.”

“Eli?” Bishop Martin allowed himself another chuckle, which turned into a laugh by the time he was done. Several of the others joined him. “Excommunication wouldn’t wake him up.”

“You think it’s that serious?” Isaac asked.

“Maybe you ought to try it,” the deacon offered again.

“What? Excommunication?” Bishop Martin turned in his direction.

“It might help,” the deacon said, apparently uncertain where his thoughts would lead him.

“Never heard of anyone being excommunicated for tractor driving,” Bishop Martin snorted in exasperation. “Something must be done with the man, though. His oldest son was in town without a hat last week. One of the girls saw him. Did you hear about that, Deacon?”

The deacon shook his head.

“Spreading his laxness around, I would say, to his children,” Bishop Martin said. “That’s what comes of these things if they are left alone. Apparently Eli thinks your little talking-tos are pretty harmless.”

“Maybe you should go,” the deacon said but didn’t meet the bishop’s eyes.

“So what are you here for?” the bishop said staring at him.

The deacon squirmed and obviously felt the heat. “I’ll try again,” he managed to say.

“Tell Eli how serious this is,” Bishop Martin instructed. “His son is involved now. Maybe that will make an impact. Thank God we don’t have a Mennonite church around here yet.”

“Yet,” Isaac said. “We can be thankful we’re just a young community.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Bishop Martin said. His voice contained both instruction and hope.

“We can’t be too hard on people,” Isaac said, warning in his voice. “That’s what gives Mennonites their chance.”

“Or being too lax,” Bishop Martin told him. “That gives them a chance too. We have to be careful both ways.”

They all nodded, Isaac included, because they all knew this to be true.

“That brings us to something else.” Bishop Martin cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you won’t be too happy, Isaac. I have bad news.”

“Really,” Isaac said, giving the bishop his full attention.

“I received a letter.” With a rustle of paper, Bishop Martin produced the object from his suit-coat pocket. “I thought it important enough to bring along. I wanted all of you to see it.”

“It must be important,” the deacon offered.

Bishop Martin silenced him with a look. “It’s quite a serious matter—one that I have no idea how to handle. It’s quite beyond me, and yet we have to deal with it.
Da Hah
will have to give us
gnawdi
on this one.”

“Maybe you should read the letter,” Isaac said, knowing he obviously was involved in this startling news.

“That would be best,” Bishop Martin said and glanced in Isaac’s direction. “You sure, though? If you would prefer, I could let you read it first.”

“No,” Isaac said, “let’s just hear it. I don’t think I have anything to hide.”

“I suppose you don’t,” the bishop said shaking his head, “but someone seems to.”

Isaac couldn’t keep the puzzled look off his face. What this could be was beyond him, even though he searched his mind completely. John and Rebecca’s situation didn’t quite merit treatment in a Sunday morning ministers’ council—at least not from the information he had read in
The Budget.

Bishop Martin opened the letter and began to read the words.

As you have likely read by now, an incident from our community has been reported in
The Budget.
My aunt Emma left her inheritance, which is considerable, to one of your members, Rebecca Keim, of whom she was close to. She did this on the condition that Rebecca marry Amish.

Bishop Martin glanced at Isaac, then continued.

I am writing to inform you of things you perhaps don’t know. There is much background that goes with this news. Rebecca apparently has a history in this community with someone by the name of Atlee Troyer, a Mennonite boy. There are even reports that he gave her a ring, which she might still have.

While I don’t know many details, of course, it is possible that Emma made her decision in an attempt to keep Rebecca, who was her former student, from disgracing herself by marrying outside the faith. Because this matter has already been spoken abroad by
The Budget
article, I decided it best not to keep the rest of this information private. It might be better for all concerned if you knew first.

“Signed, Rachel Byler.” The bishop folded the letter. The crinkle of paper sounded loud in the silence of the bedroom.

“Does she mean Lester’s Rebecca?” the deacon asked, his voice full of surprise. “Reuben’s a deacon in Milroy.”

“Did you know of this?” Bishop Martin asked Isaac.

“Of
The Budget
article, yes. The rest, no.”

“You think John knows?”

“I don’t know,” Isaac answered, his mind riddled with hurried thoughts. “We talked at length, after we read the article. John even went over to speak with Lester and Miriam that night. He has never mentioned anything like this.”

“He might not know,” the deacon offered.

“I suppose not,” Bishop Martin ventured.

“This is serious,” the deacon continued. “We have to do something—at least find out if it’s true.”

“What if it’s true?” Isaac asked.

The deacon wasn’t at a loss for words. “If she has the ring still in her possession, then the rest must be true. We can’t let that stand.” His eyes were wide.

“That’s what I thought,” the bishop said nodding. “It’s not easy, though. You are dealing with matters of the heart. It’s Isaac’s son too. You know how this might make him look.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Isaac said. “This might not be true at all. They have been through a lot, with John’s accident and all. They seem to be quite close. I’ve never seen any signs that Rebecca would marry for money. That would surprise me greatly.”

“The ring, though,” the deacon said, “that’s the problem beyond the money and how this all looks. What’s going to happen when the news gets out? If it’s in
The Budget,
it’s just a matter of time.”

“I know that,” the bishop told him, then turned back to Isaac. “Do you trust your son? Do you think he would have picked up on the ring if Rebecca has one?”

Isaac pondered the question. “I don’t know. He likes her a lot.”

“There you go,” the deacon said. “How can you expect the boy to know. It could slip by any of us. In my days, I would never have thought it either. Never once did such a thing cross my mind. Who was this boy anyway—the one who gave Rebecca this ring?”

“The letter doesn’t say,” the bishop told him, “other than he’s Mennonite.”

“He probably went to school with her,” Isaac ventured. The information came from somewhere in the recesses of his mind. His head felt like it was underwater.

“So do you know that?” the bishop asked.

Isaac shook his head. “Well…yes, I heard that somewhere, but I think they straightened the matter out. Miriam mentioned it after John’s accident. John told her a little bit, but I didn’t pay much attention.”

“Did he mention the ring?” the deacon asked.

“No,” Isaac said shaking his head, “she only talked about her school days and that same boy. John seemed satisfied with the situation.”

“Maybe he knows about the money—what she is to receive,” the deacon said.

“I don’t think so,” Isaac told him.

“We must be careful here,” Bishop Martin said. “We can’t just go throwing things around. Someone must look further into it, though. That is for sure. It’s simply too serious to ignore.”

The deacon opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.

“Not you,” Bishop Martin told him. “Isaac had better handle this.”

“But the ring,” the deacon got out.

“Yes,” Bishop Martin said looking at Isaac, “make sure you ask about it. Find out if she still has it.”

“If she does?” The deacon apparently couldn’t let the subject go.

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Bishop Martin said firmly. “First, let Isaac talk with them both. Isaac, don’t try to get information only through John.”

Isaac nodded.

“Communion’s coming up,” the deacon said.

“I know that,” Bishop Martin said, glancing around the room.

“We can’t go to communion if she has a ring in her possession. That’s worse than the Mennonites moving in,” the deacon gasped.

“Not quite that bad,” Bishop Martin replied and chuckled, apparently in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood in the room. “We really need to get back downstairs.”

The deacon fumbled in his pants pocket and produced his pocket watch. “Yes, we’d better,” he said. “It’s a quarter after ten already.”

“You read the Scriptures, as usual,” Bishop Martin said in the deacon’s direction. “Henry will have the opening, and I’ll preach the main sermon.”

Isaac was deeply grateful for the reprieve. He knew that in accordance with their unspoken schedule, it would have been his turn to preach the sermon the bishop had just taken. Isaac nodded his thanks, as the others took notice of the bishop’s action.

They rose and followed Bishop Martin downstairs. Their Sunday shoes sounded loud on the hardwood stairs, made even worse since the singing had halted. Isaac felt the burden on his shoulders, the weight almost more than he could bear. His earlier gratitude had already worn off. The knowledge of what lay ahead stared him in the face.

Bishop Martin must have had this in mind when his turn came to preach. The bishop said God gives grace for the task at hand. That no matter how dark things seem, there is always light ahead in the tunnel. Isaac listened and was grateful, even though the words failed to remove the feeling of dread.

It was not that Isaac doubted. When the time came for testimonies, he pronounced the bishop’s sermon to be in accordance with God’s Word. Thinking about John and Rebecca and their obvious love for each other, Isaac desperately wondered what this could mean for their future.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

J
ohn brought the buggy around to the front walk, remembering his father’s request, spoken to him after church. What could Isaac want to speak about this afternoon? He made it clear that he needed to speak with both Rebecca and him. Surely, he thought, the matter could wait and didn’t need to interrupt his time with Rebecca. Isaac had been insistent, though.

Delight filled him when he saw Rebecca coming down the walk, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her bonnet firmly on. Next spring seemed like an awful long time to wait to marry this girl, to call her his wife.

“Hi,” he said, as Rebecca deftly stepped in. She settled herself on the seat and let her shawl drop behind her. The bonnet came off too as he drove out the lane.

He drank in the emotion he felt as she turned her eyes to his face.

“We have to go to our place,” he said. “Dad wants to talk with us.”

“Serious?” she asked still facing him.

“I don’t know.”

“Did we do something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he said and didn’t really want to know at the moment. It was enough that he was with her, wherever that was.

“I have to tell Mom,” she said. “She’ll be wondering.”

He nodded. “We can stop in as we go by.”

“They’re not home yet,” she said. This was information John hadn’t known. His attention had been elsewhere.

“Maybe we should leave a note.”

“Is it that important?” Her face was puzzled.

John shrugged and replied, “Dad seemed to think so.”

“Then we’d better. I was going to show you paint chips and my choices. They’re at my place. Remember? I took them home.”

“You can bring them along,” he said. He made no attempt to hide his eagerness.

“At your place,” she said, and made a face, “maybe your parents don’t want us talking about paint on a Sunday or fixing up the house.”

“It’s not really work,” he assured her. “They won’t mind.”

“Okay,” she said, settling back into the seat.

He slapped the reins and urged his horse onward. At the Harshville junction, he turned west toward the covered bridge. His horse didn’t object, even though it was away from home. These were familiar roads.

At the Keim house, John waited in the buggy while Rebecca rushed inside. She soon came back out, her hands full, and her face flushed.

“I left the note,” she said, “but couldn’t find a bag for these. Are you sure your parents don’t mind? They’ll see these because I’ll be carrying them in.”