Rebecca's Return (11 page)

R
ebecca turned to go into the house, giving one last look at John’s buggy lights leaving the driveway and then disappearing as he turned left onto the main road. Pain was wrapped tightly around her heart, the tears near the surface.
Is this what love is all about? Is this what happens when a woman gives her heart to a man? Is this what happens when I tell a man I love him?
The questions burned as she walked toward the house.

Mattie took one look at Rebecca’s face when she walked in the front door and quickly asked, “What’s wrong? Surely not…”

“No, Mother,” Rebecca answered, picking up on the unspoken question.

“Would you two stop speaking in riddles,” Lester said from the recliner.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Rebecca was biting back the tears.

“It wasn’t something I said?” Lester asked.

“Not all of it,” Mattie told him. “But you should have been more careful.”

“I wasn’t trying to make trouble,” he protested. “Atlee’s over with anyway.”

“I think I’ll go upstairs,” Rebecca said, glad the tears weren’t pouring down her face. There was no sense making a scene. That would only take a lot of explaining.

“It’s not that late,” Mattie commented.

“I’ll settle down before too long,” Rebecca replied, hanging her coat back in the closet, turning to go upstairs.

“Let us know if we can help,” Lester said. “These things usually blow over pretty soon.”

Rebecca nodded, her hand on the doorknob, wondering if she could trust her own voice. She decided she could. “He wants to talk about it more on Sunday.”

“That’s the way to do it,” Lester said quickly. “I’m sure it won’t take much.”

“Was he really upset?” Mattie asked, ignoring Lester’s assurances. Her eyes registered the pain on Rebecca’s face.

Rebecca quickly lost all confidence in her voice and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from running down her face. Numbly she nodded her head.

“Oh my,” was all her mother said.

“They’ll get it figured out,” Lester said, assurance still in his voice. “John’s a good boy.”

“Well, sleep on it,” Mattie said comfortingly. “Sometimes a good night’s rest helps a lot.”

Rebecca nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning then.” She opened the stair door and found the first step with her foot, her eyes not much use at the moment.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she opened her bedroom door slowly and stepped inside, wondering how the world could change so quickly. Only today she had been on her way home from Indiana, so happy to be back, certain the Lord was with her, directing and leading. How then had things gone so terribly wrong?

Things are terribly wrong, aren’t they? Is this normal living and am I—Rebecca Keim—just blissfully unaware of it? Is this pain that burns in me, the usual, the expected?

She sat down on her bed. The questions crowded her mind, but the tears were now gone.
Why didn’t I just tell John everything? Let it all out in a burst? Won’t it all come to that on Sunday anyway?

The question puzzled her first, then indignation started pushing into her emotions.
Why had John been so angry with me? What had I
honestly done to deserve it? Have I been the one in the wrong all along? I didn’t tell John everything. That much is true. I kept something from him. But with good reason,
she told herself.
Look how he acts when he finds out just this little bit.

Resentment now flooded in.
It just isn’t right. Getting angry like that. Look at what I discovered by going to Milroy and finding out what really happened. Was that not better to do now rather than after we married? Would John like that? Finding the truth out then, wondering forever—perhaps—if I had done the right thing?

Then her anger faded away.
How am I going to be a proper wife for John, if I am already questioning his judgment?
She got up from the bed, looked around the dark room, and lit the kerosene lamp. The flickering flame created soothing shadows that danced across the walls and brought a calming sense of familiarity in the midst of tumult.

Rebecca dropped to her knees beside the bed, buried her head in her hands, and searched for the words to say. God was everywhere, her faith taught her.
Is He here in the midst of this? Do I have a right to bother Him, with so many other things on His mind already?

She thought, lifting her head to study the light playing on the walls. Her heart hurt, but there were many who hurt worse. Of this she was sure. There were those with serious illnesses and in real trouble, living all over the world, and here she was, thinking the world was being unfair to her.

“God,” she began softly, “sorry to bother You, and I’m sorry I was angry with John, but I still am, a little. I haven’t done everything right, but I’ve tried. Not that that’s an excuse, I know, but You seem to be helping me. I’m sorry if I’ve been wrong about that. And I’m sorry I’m so much trouble. You have a lot to do, I’m sure.”

That’s a stupid prayer,
she thought, getting back up on her feet and feeling nothing.
That hardly got to the ceiling. Maybe I am nothing but a big mess. Maybe John has plenty of reason to be angry.

She would tell John everything on Sunday night, and perhaps he would understand. The thought that John wouldn’t understand presented itself with clarity and forcefulness, but Rebecca vowed that she would still tell him anyway and then let things go.

Life was simply getting much too complicated.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

J
ohn urged his horse up the hill, the clattering at the covered bridge still in his ears. His anger, now gone, was replaced with the fear of losing Rebecca if he carried on like this. How could he expect a girl to stick with him—love him—if he acted like he just had?

Why did I get so angry?
The question buzzed in John’s ears, making him feel dizzy. Embarrassment flowed through him as he remembered what just happened. He had let Rebecca see a side of him he hadn’t known was there…at least not to such a degree.

How stupid and idiotic could I be, to lose control like that in front of her? What all did I say anyway?
John shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. One thing he was certain, speaking in anger to Rebecca was not wise.

Then why did I carry on so?
It would be a wonder if she even went home with him Sunday night, let alone tell him about her past. What right did he have to even expect her to tell him after this?

Halfway to the top of the hill, the open fields spread out around him. He felt, more than saw, the dim shadows of the trees recede, no longer hugging the edge of the road.

She might well be hurt by my outburst.
The thought pressed in on him. He felt satisfaction in the knowledge that, at least, he had cared enough to notice.
Rebecca hadn’t always sounded hurt,
he remembered.
She had laughed at the start. How did she dare do that? Laugh at me, at my concerns? Was that not what she was doing?

John felt anger rising again. He told himself that it was because he cared so much for her. Other girls might not have bothered him like this, but Rebecca he loved. He settled back into the seat of the buggy, letting the horse set its own speed on the uphill climb toward Unity.

Love will triumph despite my anger,
he told himself.
It always does, doesn’t it? Especially when one has such an intense, deep love like I have for Rebecca.

John slapped the reins absentmindedly, not really meaning it. The horse didn’t increase its speed but just kept its steady pace up the incline.
It will all be better come Sunday. I apologized to Rebecca. That ought to count for something. Things might still get a little sticky when she tells me everything, and it better be everything. If we have to stay past midnight, she will tell me the whole story.

John wanted to hear it all, every little detail of this Atlee and what he meant to Rebecca. The pain cut again, giving him pause. Did he really want to know what they had felt for each other? The thought of Rebecca’s fingers reaching for another boy’s hand made him shiver and hunch down a little deeper on the buggy seat.

Perhaps she had done worse things. John envisioned Atlee as tall and handsome. He was confident as he reached out for Rebecca, a smile on his face, touching her gently, moving toward her. John’s anger flashed at the image. This would not be easy. Come Sunday he would have to find some way of controlling his feelings.

He simply could not lose Rebecca. She meant too much to him. They would be so happy together at the farm on the hill. That was where he wanted to live his life with her, where he wanted their children to grow up, where he would love her as only he could.
Better than anyone else. I simply cannot let her past stop us.

Deeply he breathed in the night air. Sunday would come, and he must hear her out. She would explain it so that he could understand. This keeping of secrets must come to an end.

That was how a man and wife were supposed to be. No secrets between them. It was only then that things would go the way they should. Without that, how could one trust another person?

John’s father had said it many times. With his arms stretched toward heaven, he stood and preached between the kitchen and living room doors on a Sunday morning. “We are children of light. The Lord God says so Himself, thundering from heaven, from the throne of God. It is to this we are called. We must open ourselves to the light of the Word of God, to walk with open hearts, and let its light shine into every corner of our hearts. Only then can we be truly His children. In this we must walk as He Himself walked in the world.

“All that is unholy walks in darkness. Hiding in the ways of the world. Hiding in the world’s excuses of why it loves its sin. We must leave sin and the excuses it brings and walk where God has called us to walk. Open before Him and each other. Those who want to hide from their brother do not walk in the light. We must not be afraid of what those of like faith see in us. To be afraid, to reject them, is to love the darkness.”

Yes. Rebecca must come clean no matter how much it hurts her or me. I can take it.
S
omehow I will. By God’s grace I will.

Ahead of him the lights of Unity were coming into view. It was late already.
That is another thing that will have to change. On Sunday nights it is okay to be out late, but these irregular evenings will have to stop. Rebecca can simply not be the cause of this much stress and trouble. It is totally unnecessary and uncalled for. We will have to find a way of working out our problems some other way.

If it were not for her, I would already be in bed, getting the rest I need so much. I would be preparing for what would no doubt be a full and busy day tomorrow at the furniture store. Other people depend upon me, and it is simply not acceptable to be tired and exhausted on the job.

Just thinking made John even more keenly aware of how tired he was. His head ached. His muscles felt tense from the evening spent with Rebecca. He had been concerned before he left, but now he was exhausted.

The horse snorted as the buggy came up the slight incline into town. Houses became visible, mostly because they had such bright lights coming from their windows. John heard a car coming up behind him but paid it no mind. His lights were on, and he was in town. There should be no problem with being seen. Besides, home was just ahead of him, not too far down the road.

But the speed of the approaching engine startled him.
Maybe some young boys out tearing around, trying to have their English fun.

John was turning around in his seat to get a better look, when it hit him. He heard the sound of splintering wood and he felt himself flying off into nothing. Then it all went black.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN