The Forbidden (19 page)

Downstairs, he found Mom in the kitchen, taking a rare coffee break with her latest issue of
Good Housekeeping.
She offered to make him a sandwich, but he told her he was glad to make his own. While he leaned into the refrigerator and pulled out ingredients, she asked, “How’s Zach doing, do you think?”

Chris hesitated. Part of him wanted to unload everything, all his worries about Zach’s obsessions with Suzy, her photograph, and now the bracelet. But he didn’t want to worry their mother, who had enough to be concerned about with three older sons away at college.

“Zach’s a little better, I think.”

“I offered to buy him a scrapbook for all his mementos of Suzy—the photo, the revival meeting flyer you were handing out when you met her, the newspaper clippings. But he’s really defensive about that bulletin board of his.”

“I know.” Chris stacked roast beef, Swiss cheese, and lettuce between two pieces of bread.

“How long has it been now?” Mom asked.

Chris sighed, his appetite suddenly gone. “Seven months.”

Seven long months.
How long would it be until Zach was himself again?

In the backseat of Jonathan Fisher’s Rambler Marlin, Rhoda began to doubt her resolve. Her brother James was behind the wheel and Cousin Jonathan sat in the passenger seat beside him, issuing nonstop instructions and advice as if he’d had a license all his life. Feeling the wheels slide across the icy road once more—and her stomach slide, too—Rhoda wished she had waited to ride with a more experienced driver.

It was James who’d egged her on, saying it would be good for her to ride along while Jonathan gave him driving instruction. James had applied for his permit even before purchasing a car, so he was one step ahead of her—legally able to practice with a licensed driver. All Rhoda could do in the backseat was grab the door handle and hang on for dear life.

“That’s right. Now tap the brakes gradually. Never slam them on a slick road, or—”

Too late. Seeing the T-intersection ahead, James had already hit the brakes, and the car spun around. Rhoda cried out and gripped the seat in front of her, sure they were about to crash. Instead, the car straightened and rammed nose first into the pile of plowed snow at the edge of the road, cushioning their stop. Rhoda felt queasy and wondered if this was how it felt to spin around in one of those carnival rides she’d seen at the Lancaster County fair.

James tried to back the car out of the snow, but the wheels squealed and spun.

Jonathan put on his hat. “I’ll get out and push.” He let himself out and positioned himself on one side of the car, leaning down with hands against the hood. He pushed and James gave it gas, but still the wheels spun. Giving up, Jonathan motioned to James. “Come and push on the other side. We’ll need to get ’er rocking. Rhoda, you’ll have to take the wheel.”

Rhoda was startled. “What? No. I don’t—”

“You won’t be driving. Just hold the wheel and push on the gas pedal when I tell you.”

Rhoda couldn’t believe it. This was not at all how she had imagined her first time “driving” a car. Feeling shaky, she climbed out of the back and slid into the driver’s seat. She checked the rearview mirror. The Kraybills’ yard was behind her across the intersection. She could see the snowman and small fort the children had built earlier in the week. She was relieved the family was not home to witness this scene and that no other cars—or carriages—were approaching.

She rolled down the window to better hear Jonathan as James took up his position on the other side of the vehicle. Both men began pushing in rhythm.

“When I tell you, give it a little gas, Rhoda,” Jonathan called. “Not too hard.”

“Jah . . .” Rhoda answered. But she had never pushed a gas pedal before. How would she know how hard to press it?

“Okay, push!”

Rhoda did, but the car stuttered to a halt. She’d hit the brake pedal instead.

“Sorry!”

She saw Jonathan shake his head and James roll his eyes.

Hey, I wasn’t the one who got us stuck in the snowbank!

This time, she’d be ready. She checked the rearview mirror again and then glanced down, lifting her hems slightly and poising her right boot directly over the gas pedal. Again, the men pushed.

“All right . . . now!”

Rhoda pressed—hard. The car lurched away from the men and flew backward across the road. She heard James grunt. Saw a blur as James fell face first into the snow. She whipped her head up to look in the rearview mirror . . . just as the car plowed into the Kraybills’ yard. She had only a second to glimpse the snowman—jaunty hat, carrot nose, and coal smile—before she flattened him.

The car shuddered to a stop as Rhoda found the brake.

She squeezed her eyes shut, humiliated. Her first time behind the wheel, and she already had her first fatality. She shook her head. She would definitely wait until spring to learn to drive.

Reuben felt a certain weariness on this Lord’s Day morning, which was accompanied by more than a few aches and pains, the result of fighting an exceptionally spirited horse that had protested yesterday’s first-time hitching. His knees ached when he pulled himself out of bed. Later, when hailed by Nan’s best friend, Rebekah Yoder, his back pained him so much he nearly lost his balance while stepping down from the buggy.

Nan had only just mentioned that Rebekah was to meet them along the road, “for church.” Sure enough if David’s daughter wasn’t standing along the roadside, wearing snow boots, her black winter bonnet, and all wrapped up in layers, waiting.

Now, here’s an enthusiastic soul,
he marveled.

Rebekah quickly got settled into the carriage amidst joyful greetings from Nan, who seemed especially glad to see her friend, with Rhoda living at James and Martha’s—or so the grapevine had it.

All of them yearning for the world . . .

Picking up the reins, he considered what an upheaval Rebekah’s going to church with them would cause for David Yoder’s household. He considered his own family’s present disruption—Rhoda’s having left in a huff—which had more than added to Betsy’s pain of loss.
Dear wife of mine . . .

The two girls chattered happily in the second seat, talking in low tones. He leaned toward Betsy and whispered, “David Yoder might come a-callin’.”

“I was thinkin’ the selfsame thing.”

“Nothing to fear, love.” He reached for her gloved hand. “God is at work.”

She smiled sweetly, flashing her pretty blue eyes.

When they arrived at the host family’s farm and the
hostler
boys had unhitched the horse and led it to the stable, Reuben got himself situated in the house meeting, mighty pleased to see Elias King sitting in his frock coat a few rows away. He’d thought Elias was leaning toward the tractor folk, but so far, apparently not.

Curious, he gave a discreet glance toward the kitchen area, where the nursing mothers congregated, and there was Rosanna sitting with Nan and Rebekah, who each held an infant.
Rosanna and Elias’s twins,
he thought. Fatherhood was a heavy responsibility, Reuben knew, one that made a man more aware of his need for divine guidance. Reuben prayed that even today the Lord would call Elias to repent and open his heart to the Lord and Savior.

Betsy sat near the front of the large room, where the wall partitions had been removed, making a spacious enough area to accommodate the growing number of members.

Already, a good many of the youth had indicated they planned to join church come fall, after baptism instruction next summer, as she knew Nan would. And now it looked as though Rebekah Yoder, of all people, had an interest, as well.

Betsy was happy to see both Rosanna and Elias King in attendance. Rosanna especially appeared to be listening intently to all Preacher Manny was saying, her eyes fixed on his face. And later, when Elias went forward to surrender his life to God, tears streamed down Rosanna’s cheeks. Tears filled Betsy’s eyes, as well. How she wished she might see her own Nellie Mae heed the call one day.

Soon . . . very soon, they’ll all have to make up their
minds.

Betsy bowed her head and prayed silently. Along with Nellie Mae, Rhoda topped her mental list for prayer—poor, mixed-up girl. Surely she would tire quickly of the world.

She thought again of Nellie Mae’s heartfelt request for prayer.
May Nellie find you as her Lord and Savior in your
way and in your time. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

A new snowstorm began to squall around noon, blotting out the edges of the barren cornfield and nearly obliterating Nellie’s view of the barn and woodshed from her spot at the kitchen window. Sighing, she hoped Dat, Mamma, and Nan would arrive safely home from the New Order Preaching service. She fixed herself a light meal using cold cuts and some pickled beets and hard-boiled eggs, because it was the Lord’s Day. She had never questioned the unspoken rule of no cooking or baking on Sunday, simply taking it in her stride. As an avid baker, she believed the first day of the week was something of a fast day for her, since she was giving up that domestic task most dear to her.

Sitting alone at the table, she looked over at Suzy’s vacant spot, left so even when the whole family came together to eat, out of respect for her sister’s life . . . and her death.

“It’s hard to believe you’re gone sometimes,” she whispered. “The truth of it is slowly dawning on me, though.”

Considering her losses, Nellie contemplated Caleb and the evening’s Singing. If she chose to attend, she faced the prospect of going alone and having to drive herself back home. Caleb wouldn’t ask her out tonight—nor any night for ever so long, she realized anew.

She fidgeted, thinking about going through the whole winter long, and possibly the springtime, too, without Caleb near. How she missed him!

No sense even bothering to go to any of the youth gatherings,
Nellie decided. She would simply stay home and keep Mamma good company.

Rhoda was thankful to ride home from the Beachy church with James and Martha and the children instead of having to walk, what with the blowing snow already creating near-blizzard conditions. Balancing Jimmy on her knee in the front seat, next to Martha, who held Matty, she stared out the window. The wind was so fierce it seemed to lash the color right out of the sky. The stone walls along the roadside were nearly impossible to make out.

She thought again of her Buick, getting snowed on over at the Kraybills’.
So good of them to let me keep it there.

Had she been less impulsive, she wouldn’t have made the jump to getting the car before the license, somewhat equivalent to getting the cart before the horse. Even so, she had what she wanted now. Come summer, she could drive a whole carload of folk to the Beachy meetinghouse.

Rhoda liked the idea of a separate church building, as opposed to the same old approach to things—turning the first level of a house into one enormous room and cramming in two hundred grown-ups and oodles of babies and children.

To her way of thinking, it made perfect sense to live in your home and attend Preaching in a separate church building. It wasn’t that she appreciated the sermon or the prayers and hymns any more—none of that was terribly important to her. Her mind had been on the several good-looking young men sitting over on the right side. She knew which ones were married and which weren’t based on whether or not they wore a beard. Courting-age men were clean-shaven and sat with others their age, rather than next to their fathers—not at all different from both the old church and the New Order, come to think of it.

Won’t I be something?
Rhoda thought, anxious for winter to roll into spring. Anxious, too, to drop a few more pounds. Then she’d show the fellows what they’d missed!

Nellie watched from the front room window, choking back tears as she kept looking for Dat’s buggy. The after- noon snow was so heavy, she could hardly see the road. Strangely, she felt the urge to pray for her family’s safety. In silence, she asked the Lord God to guide the horse home if Dat had any difficulty directing with the reins in these white-out conditions.

Recalling Dat sometimes concluded his spoken prayers with a grateful addition, she said right out, “And I’ll thank you, Lord. Amen.”

She sat on the wide windowsill, reaching into her pocket for Suzy’s Kapp strings. Holding them up to the frosty window, she caressed them. “Oh, Suzy . . . you’d prob’ly giggle if you knew I kept these.”

Clutching the long, ribbonlike ties, she held them against her heart and wept. It had been quite some time since she’d felt so helpless to stop the flow of tears. Missing Suzy and not finding much solace at all in her prayer, Nellie rose and went to the next-door Dawdi Haus, going from one east-facing window to another, her heart in her throat. She wouldn’t let herself think that something dreadful had happened to her family. In due time, Nellie returned to the kitchen of the main house to make some hot tea, hoping to get her mind on other things.

Opening the cupboard where Mamma kept her many herbal teas, Nellie pulled down a package of chamomile leaves. She glanced out the window yet again as the wind shook the house. Then she set about adding logs to the woodstove and brewing some nice hot tea in an attempt to calm herself.

By the time Mamma walked in the back door, Nellie had already drunk three cups of tea, waiting for the herb to take effect. In her relief, Nellie was taken by surprise at the sight of Caleb’s sister coming in the door along with Nan, snowflakes dusting her shoulders and black candlesnuffer hat.

Well, for goodness’ sake!
Given the weather, she had not expected Rebekah to follow through with her plan to attend Manny’s church, though Nellie was glad for another opportunity to see her again so soon. Rebekah and Nan sat down at the table for some tea, as well, after removing their coats, scarves, and boots and laying them out near the stove to dry.

Dat stood with his back to it. “The Lord saw fit to spare us out in that storm,” he remarked. “I daresay only by His providence did we make it home.”

Mamma nodded, going to run water over her cold hands.