Rebecca's Choice (31 page)

“Is John coming?” Rebecca felt the weariness settle on her shoulders again.

“Yes. Miriam said she would send him. He’s at work, of course, at Miller’s, but Miriam should know if he can come.”

“What time?”

“After supper. I asked Miriam to work it into John’s schedule. She said it wouldn’t be too late.”

With the hope from earlier gone, Rebecca asked, “What made things worse?”

“The deacon’s wife saw you talking with the Mennonite man, Manny Troyer.”

“I thought it was her,” Rebecca said.

“You shouldn’t hold it against her,” Mattie said, her voice firm. “You must say it looked out of order. Thankfully the letters are out of the house.”

Rebecca nodded.

“Would they have made things even worse?”

Rebecca nodded again. Her eyes stung, as the tears came.

“I thought so.” Her mother’s hand came around Rebecca’s shoulder, as she drew her close.

Rebecca wiped her eyes on her sleeve. The bread needed to be punched down. She slipped out of her mother’s embrace and washed her hands before she kneaded the dough. Her arms soon ached from the effort, and her mind spun.

“Did Emma have secrets?” Her mother’s voice reached her.

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Did they shake your faith?”

“Maybe.” Rebecca glanced up. Her eyes found her mother’s, and she smiled in spite of the tears. “I’m not Emma, though.”

“You are wise beyond your years sometimes. You’ll make John a good wife.”

“Don’t say that,” Rebecca gasped. The tears came in a flood.

“Let me do that. You’ll have the bread all soaked in tears.”

“Wouldn’t Matthew complain about that.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Mattie said chuckling.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of action, with seconds too short and hours that seemed to contain less minutes than the day before. Rolls filled the counter, while the bread still baked. By the time the timer went off, white powdered sugar frosting had been spread and the soft cinnamon rolls were all tied in plastic bags, the air gently pressed out.

When the schoolchildren came home, the pies were still baking in the oven. Supper became soup, simple and easy to make. It turned into a chore to make everyone eat soup with the abundance of sweets on all sides.

Portions of pie were soon cut out, given with care, and eaten without much talk. Although Mattie forbade any seconds, she gave in after listening to Matthew’s tender pleadings. Lester pronounced himself satisfied, rubbed his stomach, and then took a third thin slice of pie. This provoked a rush on the cinnamon rolls by the children.

Mattie, apparently thinking all order had been lost, rescued the rest of the rolls from the table, slid them into the pantry, and bodily stood by the doors. Lester laughed heartily and told her the danger had passed. When Mattie was convinced they really could eat no more, she returned and sat down to eat her own piece of apple pie.

The rattle of buggy wheels brought Rebecca to her feet and made her rush to her room upstairs. She was not about to let John see her in her soiled apron. While she changed, Mattie welcomed John in and organized the younger girls in the kitchen. When Rebecca came downstairs, Mattie left the girls to join Rebecca, John, and Lester in the living room.

Rebecca felt a shyness creep over her at the sight of John. She hoped her teary face didn’t show. He looked so strong and determined tonight, sitting there on the couch as if he would take her in his arms if all else should fail. She felt weak, from the exhausting day and the emotions of the moment. With a smile, she sat beside him. Her hands trembled.

“I’m glad you could come,” her father said, nodding in John’s direction.

“Anytime,” John said but offered nothing more.

“Keep your voice down,” Mattie whispered.

“Yes,” Lester said. “Do you think the girls should go upstairs?”

“They have to finish the dishes,” Mattie told him. “Can we wait?”

“We shouldn’t keep John waiting,” Lester said.

“That’s okay,” John assured them.

“If we talk quietly, it should be okay,” Mattie said and smiled in John’s direction.

“I think so,” Lester agreed and cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you and Rebecca about… Well, you know what, of course. We want to see if anything can be done. I’m not a minister, but perhaps… maybe something could be done.”

“Do you have any ideas?” John said, moving forward in his seat.

“Your mother said the deacon’s wife saw Rebecca with the Mennonite man.”

“Oh.” John looked toward Rebecca, a question in his eyes.

“Your mother just found out today,” Mattie said.

“I was down at the bridge,” Rebecca told him because he still waited, his eyes on her face. “The man brought me some letters. Emma’s. He’s the executor of the property. Emma wanted me to read them.”

“Were they written to you?” John asked.

“No,” Rebecca said and paused. “They were written to him, but she wanted me to read them.”

John seemed satisfied.

Lester cleared his throat again. “I have thought of something.”

John turned in Lester’s direction, his face serious. Rebecca felt hope rise in her heart.

“Perhaps if the two of you separated—maybe till after fall communion—it would help calm things down a bit.”

“You’re not serious,” John said.

Rebecca gasped, her hand on her face.

“Lester,” Mattie told him, “that’s really not the correct approach. It would just make them look guilty for sure—like they had done something wrong.”

“I… really… I can’t do that,” John said. “I’m sorry.”

“Mattie’s probably right. It was just an idea,” Lester told him. “I wasn’t trying to make things worse.”

“I have a better idea,” John said, but Rebecca felt only despair, her heart still pounding.

“We should get married this fall—before communion,” John said, his voice firm. “I had suggested this earlier to Rebecca. Now perhaps, I’ll talk to my father. I really think it could be done.”

“Spunky fellow,” Lester said chuckling.

“This fall.” Mattie’s breath came sharply. “That’s soon. How in the world would we get ready? Oh, my… I just knew something like this would happen.”

“Do you think you could convince your father?” Lester asked.

“I do,” John said.

“Would you really?” Rebecca asked.

John turned to look at her. “Yes,” he said, his eyes glowing. “I would.”

“Then I could give the money back before next communion.” Rebecca felt like she could breathe again. The room faded away, and she saw only John, as hope rose strong and vibrant in her heart.

“Good enough with me,” Lester grinned.

“Have we got time?” her mother asked.

“Sounds like you’d better start planning,” Lester said chuckling again.

“That was wonderful of you,” Rebecca whispered thirty minutes later. She stood beside the buggy. John stood with her, ready to climb in.

He said nothing, but his fingers lightly traced her lips in the darkness. Then he was gone. She listened as the sound of his horse’s hooves lingered long on the night air.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-THREE

J
ohn drove east, his buggy rattling across the Harshville covered bridge, the noise rolling out into the darkness.
So it comes down to this,
he thought, a rush of emotion filling him. He would marry Rebecca not in the spring but this fall, ahead of schedule.

He slapped the reins. Did not the preachers say many times that
Da Hah
works out all things for good. The stress of the past few months oozed out of him. He took deep breaths, as the night air moved across his face.

Rebecca had been so close. He let his thoughts dwell on the earlier moments, but then he always had to leave—had to go away from her presence, from the joy she stirred in him. Soon it would not be so. He would no longer go home without her.

The lights in Unity were already shut down. Because only a few of the home windows had lights, he thought it must be late. He searched his watch pocket, found the watch, and held it up close to his face, as he passed one of the lit homes. It was only nine twenty. His father and mother would still be up. He slapped the reins to keep his speed up the incline of Wheat Ridge.

Isaac and Miriam would be glad to hear the news. He was sure of that. His mother liked Rebecca, as did his father. They had told him so, and nothing, he was sure, had changed their minds. Even this fuss over communion hadn’t. He pulled left into the driveway, unhitched his horse, took the harness off, and slapped the horse on the rump to send him out through the barnyard gate.

The door opened quietly, as he stepped inside. He returned his mother’s smile, then sat on the couch. She paused in her knitting because normally he would have gone upstairs for the night.

“Everything go okay?” Miriam asked.

“I think so,” he said, taking a deep breath.

“I’m glad to hear Lester got involved. Things are getting serious.” His father dropped the page of
The Budget
to his lap, the crinkle of the paper loud in the silence.

John paused but decided his father was just concerned. “I think we’ve found a solution.”

“Oh.” Isaac looked relieved. “Did Lester come up with it?”

“Ah… no, I did.”

“You did?” Isaac’s eyes went to Miriam’s face. “I hope it was a good one.”

“Let him tell us,” Miriam told him. “We can just be thankful for anyone who has ideas right now.”

Isaac sighed. “I suppose so. What’s the idea?”

“You don’t think my ideas are okay?” John made no attempt to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“You are a good son.” Isaac smiled. “I have no complaints. You love the girl. A lot, I think.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” John asked.

“No.” Isaac smiled again, but his eyes were weary. “It tends to cloud the judgment.”

“Don’t be too hard on the boy,” Miriam spoke up.

“He stayed back from communion,” Isaac said.

“I wasn’t going to let Rebecca stand alone. It wasn’t right to begin with. You know that.” John half rose off the couch, then sat down again. His pleasant memories from moments before now gone.

“Perhaps,” Isaac spoke slowly, “if it was up to me, I wouldn’t have asked her to stay back. She’s a decent girl, and I trust her. It’s just that we can’t expect others—those who don’t know her as well as we do—to feel the same, not when things look the way they do.”

“But there were reasons,” John insisted. “Rebecca explained herself.”

“I know. And I believe her,” Isaac said. “But we are not alone. We must work with the church. Our people have always done so, even in difficult times like this. It may be hard, and others may be wrong. In the end, though, it cannot be any other way. We act as one people. This is our unity.”

“I’m the one who loves Rebecca,” John said.

“We know,” Miriam told him. “Believe us. We like her.”

“Then why this fuss?” John asked.

“That’s what I said,” Isaac said. “You are in a poor condition to judge or decide the matter. Believe me, son, it would be best if you let cooler heads handle this. That’s why I hoped it was Lester who came up with the idea—the plan you talked about.”

“What did you decide?” Miriam asked.

“Lester agrees with it,” John said, his eyes on the darkened front window. The light of the gas lantern lit the ceiling behind him. An early summer fly, lately awakened from his winter sleep, popped into the glass shade. Stunned, it fell to the floor and loudly buzzed his complaint to the world.

“But what?” Miriam’s eyes sought his face.

“We want to marry this fall,” John said. His eyes didn’t leave the windowpane.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Isaac’s voice was weary.

“You could help.” John looked up, his gaze desperate. “I know you can. You can persuade Bishop. He respects you. If we marry by fall, before communion, Rebecca can give the money back before pre-communion church. It’s the only answer.”

“It’s too late now,” Isaac said. “I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”