The Forgiven (12 page)

That first summer, some people had wanted to use the farm as a sort of base for exploring the surrounding area, and that was fine. As Paul had said, the whole idea of a farm-stay vacation was that folks could enjoy living on a real working farm in a rural setting. They could join in and help if they wanted to, but that was entirely up to them. Guests could do exactly as they wished when they were here.

Roy and Melissa had chosen to book supper for tonight, maybe because Friday was a short day since they'd arrived in midafternoon. The meal, at least, didn't have Rebecca worried. It was every other part of entertaining their guests that made her want to shrivel up inside her shell.

Hearing footsteps overhead, she turned to the kinder. “I want you to stay with me and the guests at least until we've introduced them to Onkel Simon. After that, if you want to slip away you can. But remember, they are our guests, and you should try and make them feel at home, ain't so?”

They both nodded, Katie with a little more emphasis than Joshua. Katie would do her best, Rebecca felt sure, because she'd remember how much her daadi had enjoyed having people here. Joshua was a little too much like his mother to enjoy having them in the house, but he was obviously trying to be brave about it.

Roy and Melissa came downstairs, Roy having changed to a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and shiny boots that looked as if they'd just come from the store. He rubbed his palms together in what Rebecca supposed was enthusiasm.

“Well, let's get going. What do you have for us to do this afternoon?”

“All I want is to sit in the shade with my book,” Melissa announced, showing the fat volume she held under her arm. Its glossy cover was bright red with a bold black illustration. Rebecca couldn't quite make out what it was, but she suspected it wouldn't be a book she'd care for, even if she had time to read much of anything these days.

“If you wouldn't mind coming along on a short walk first, I'd appreciate it.”

Rebecca feared she was being too tentative. Paul had insisted that each party of guests had to be taken around when they first arrived, just so they'd know where everything was and what was off-limits. The last thing they wanted was someone having an accident.

“I suppose so.” Melissa hugged her book against her chest. “Lead on.”

“You'll remember the downstairs.” Rebecca tried to copy Paul's words. “Please make yourself comfortable down here. If you need help turning on the gas-powered lights, just let me know.”

She led the way through into the kitchen where she paused, glancing at the baked goods lined up on the counter.

“You can have a snack and something to drink anytime you like. There will always be something out on the counter for you.”

She led them on out the back door and then stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “The porch swing is a nice spot for relaxing.”

“That's new, isn't it?” Roy was staring toward the stable, and Rebecca had to swallow before she could answer.

“Yes. We built the stable shortly after you were here, I believe. It's now rented out to an Amish friend who makes handcrafted furniture.”

“Ooh, I'd like to see it.” Melissa's face lit up, apparently at the thought of buying something. “Can we go there now?”

“I'm afraid Matthew isn't in the workshop at the moment, but anytime you see a buggy parked outside, please feel free to go over.” Matt might not be overjoyed by visitors, but they were potential customers, after all.

“Later, Melissa.” Roy put his hand on his wife's arm. “You can spend some money later, okay?”

Melissa pouted a little, but nodded. Rebecca suspected the woman was a dedicated shopper to judge by her expression. That was a thing Rebecca would never understand. She bought something because she needed it, or because she was giving it for a gift, not just for the sake of buying something. They had a roof over their heads and plenty of good food to eat—what else did anyone need?

Shepherding the pair along, she showed them the vegetable and flower gardens, pointing out that weeding was always appreciated, and that the fresh lettuce, spinach, and spring onions would be on the supper table tonight.

If there had been children along, she'd have had to show them the creek, pointing out where it was safe for a child to splash around and where the deeper parts were. She judged that was not necessary for Roy and Melissa.

The carriage horses were in the field next to the barn, and they moved to the fence at the sight of people coming, probably anticipating a handout.

“Oh, look, isn't he sweet?” Melissa reached over the fence to pat Star's glossy face, and Ben leaned over to get his share of the caress.

“Katie, why don't you show Mrs. Strickland how to feed an apple to the horses?”

Nodding, Katie darted to the barrel near the barn door and rushed back with a double handful of small, withered apples.

“See,” she said importantly. “Put the apple on your hand and hold it out flat, like this, so the horse doesn't get a finger by mistake.” It was, word for word, how Rebecca had taught her.

Ben reached over the fence to snaffle the apple while Brownie, the pony, trotted over, obviously afraid he was missing something. Roy fed the animals without hesitation, but Melissa squealed and dropped the apple the minute Star's lips touched her hand. Star picked it up daintily with her lips, and Melissa was persuaded to try again with Brownie, Katie helping by holding her hand.

Rebecca relaxed enough to smile more naturally. Katie was her father's daughter, it seemed.

Simon came toward them from the barn. His fresh young face was clouded with a little uncertainty, but he grinned when he saw what was going on.

“Katie is being the teacher, ain't so?” He flicked her cheek with his finger, making her grin. “I'm Simon Lapp, Rebecca's brother.”

Rebecca hurried to make the introductions, relieved to see that Simon conquered his reluctance very quickly once he started talking. He took over, answering Melissa's questions about the horses and the pony without any hesitation.

Rebecca breathed a little more easily. She should have known she could count on Simon. While he wasn't as outgoing as Paul had been, he did seem relaxed around Englisch people.

And he was good-looking, if she did say so herself. She could see that Melissa thought so, tilting her head to the side and hanging on his words.

Ach, she wasn't going to start worrying about women flirting with her little brother. Simon was old enough to deal with that himself, and she had plenty of more sensible concerns.

“I'll leave you with Simon now, so that I can get supper started. Please remember that you can do just what you want.” She glanced at the book, still tucked in Melissa's arm, but the woman seemed to have forgotten her desire to sit and read.

Rebecca glanced at the children to remind them that they didn't have to stay with the guests any longer right now. Joshua, predictably, darted off in the direction of the apple tree, but Katie hung on Simon's hand.

The relief Rebecca felt as she hurried back to the house gave her a flicker of guilt. She was the one who'd insisted on opening the farm-stay. She probably shouldn't be so eager to leave her guests behind.

Paul had been skilled at coping with their guests. He'd answered endless questions about what it meant to be Amish, even though they were repeated time after time by each new set of guests. He'd kept the conversation going at the supper table, making sure that everyone was drawn in, telling stories, making jokes.

She couldn't possibly copy him in that respect. It just wasn't in her nature. She loved feeding people, and it would make her happy to prepare their supper and watch them eating it with enjoyment. But she didn't have the social gift Paul had, and now that the time had actually come, she was afraid that what she had to offer wasn't going to be enough.

•   •   •

Matt
was spending his Saturday morning working on a small chest of drawers. His teacher, Asa, used to say that a craftsman could sometimes earn more making several small pieces instead of one large one, because people were quicker to make up their minds over something small. This one had a curve to the top that added a touch of something different, it seemed to Matt, and the fine grain of the maple had been a pleasure to work with.

When he heard a step in the doorway, he knew he'd been waiting for it all morning. But when he glanced up, it wasn't Rebecca. An Englisch couple stood there, lingering in the doorway as if not sure whether to come or go. Rebecca's guests, no doubt.

“Komm in. Were you wanting to see what's happening in here?” He rose, smiling as they approached.

“Rebecca said you wouldn't mind if we had a look around. My wife wants to see what you're making.”

“I'm happy to have you look around all you want. If you have any questions, just ask. I'm Matthew Byler.”

“Are you another of Rebecca's relatives?” The woman paused in her inspection of the rocking chair he'd recently finished.

“Just a friend.” At least, he hoped he was. “She rents the building to me for my workshop.”

The man had already turned away, casting a cursory glance at the few pieces Matt had set up on display. Until the furniture he'd had in storage in Indiana arrived, he didn't have much that he could sell, so he hadn't bothered to try to drum up any business yet. Time enough for that later.

It was the woman who was the buyer, he'd guess. She went from piece to piece, keeping up a running commentary to her husband on what she liked, what would fit into her decorating scheme, and whether she had space for another chair in her bedroom.

The man made indeterminate sounds indicating that he was listening. Matt hid a grin. They were much like his daad and mamm when they went to an auction.

“Roy, look at this one.” She stopped at a small wooden piece that could be either a stepstool or a child's chair, depending on what a buyer wanted. “It's the perfect stool for the kitchen.”

“Do you really need . . .” he began in the tone of one who'd said the words many times before.

“Of course I do. You know how I'm always calling you to reach things on the top shelves for me. This is just perfect.” She patted it, and then stepped up on the stool by way of demonstration. “See?”

“Very nice.” He reached toward his pocket and pulled out a wallet, turning to Matt. “I guess it'll be a nice souvenir of our weekend. More useful than most of the things we bring home. How much?”

Matt made what he thought was a fairly accurate guess at what the couple would expect to pay for such a thing in the city, naming a price that would let him come down a little if the man proved to be a bargainer.

But he handed the money over without argument and gave Matt a man-to-man grin. “Let's get it in the car before she sees something else she can't live without.”

Rightly judging that he was expected to carry the stool, Matt picked it up. “Is your car over in Rebecca's driveway?”

The man nodded. “Come on, Melissa. We'd better get this loaded up if you want to go looking for that quilt shop you were talking about before lunch.”

Matt shoved the door farther open with his elbow and walked out into the sunshine. The woman fell into step with him.

“I suppose you must have known Paul, if you're a friend of the family.”

Matt nodded.

“We were so surprised when we arrived and found he was gone. I'm not sure we'd have come if we'd known.”

“Now, Melissa.” The husband frowned at her. “I'm sure Rebecca's made us very comfortable, and her brother is a nice young man.”

“I suppose. But Paul was so outgoing and friendly, he just made you feel like one of the family. It doesn't seem quite the same without him.”

Matt had to suppress the desire to give the woman a shake before he could speak. “Rebecca is doing her best to carry on without Paul.” What did they expect from her?

“I'm sure she is,” the man said quickly, probably thinking his wife had been tactless. “They haven't offered the same activities we did the last time, though. I really enjoyed helping to cut the hay, messy as it was.” He laughed. “I felt like I was getting the dust out of my hair for a week.”

Matt had to increase his effort to control his annoyance. It wouldn't help Rebecca if he alienated her first guests.

“That's how it is on a working farm. There are different jobs to be done at different seasons. It's not time for the first cutting of hay yet. Come back in several weeks, and I'd guess Simon would be glad to have your help.”

“I suppose.” Roy still sounded a bit disgruntled, as if they ought to be able to manipulate the growing seasons for his enjoyment.

They were approaching the car by this time, and Matt was only too ready to stow away the stool and return to his work. He stood back, waiting while the man opened the trunk and did some rearranging of its contents.

Just then Rebecca came around the back of the house, carrying a basket and heading for the garden. She stopped when she saw him, and his eyes met hers.

Matt was conscious of a quick disorientation, as if the ground had shifted under him. Rebecca. He'd been telling himself that he wanted to help her for old times' sake, and because she so obviously needed help.

But another motive had just become abundantly clear to him. He was attracted. Very attracted. Attracted enough to rock him off his balance for an instant.

But only for an instant. Some things were possible, and some weren't. And the idea of any relationship between him and Rebecca clearly fell into the category marked impossible.

I
f
only she could stop obsessing about everything she feared she'd done wrong with her guests over the weekend, Rebecca told herself on Monday, she might be able to figure out what to do next.

“I think we should put the dill along the back of the bed.” Grossmammi reached out as if to plant the herb on her own, and Rebecca pulled herself together and caught her hand.

“No, you don't.” She managed a smile. “Remember what we decided? You're going to plan your herb bed, but I'm the worker, ain't so?”

Grossmammi would be moving in soon, and she'd insisted she couldn't leave her herb garden behind. So Mammi had offered her flower bed, and Rebecca had agreed to do the transplanting. If it made Grossmammi more content with moving, it was certainly worth the time.

“Ach, it's a fine thing when I can't even transplant a few herbs without all this fuss.” Grossmammi settled back onto the porch steps at Mamm and Daad's place, but Rebecca could see she still wasn't convinced she couldn't do the job herself.

“You know what the doctor said. No lifting, no bending. Don't you trust me to do it right?” Rebecca, kneeling on the mat she used when she gardened, plunged her trowel into the earth and picked up the next plant.

“Not if you're going to put that peppermint there,” her grossmammi pointed out. “You should know how it spreads.”

Chagrined, Rebecca tried to focus. “I remember. After all, I had a gut teacher.” Memory gave her a quick image of the day Grossmammi had arrived with a basket full of seedlings to help Rebecca establish her own herb garden soon after she and Paul had moved into the farmhouse. “I'm just . . . distracted, I guess.” She clamped her lips closed.

“You are feeling bad about your first guests,” Grossmammi said. “Everyone can see it, even though you haven't said a thing about it. Now, it's time you talked.”

“No, I . . .”

“Rebecca Lapp Fisher.” Grossmammi grasped her shoulder, forcing Rebecca to look at her. “You are fooling no one. Now, tell me what you are brooding about. Was it Simon? Did he do something wrong?”

“No, no, Simon was fine.”

“Then what?” Her grandmother was gently persistent, her soft, wrinkled face filled with loving concern. “What is the problem? No one can help you to fix it if we don't know what it is.”

“I was the problem.” The words came out even though Rebecca tried to hold them back. “It was
my
fault the weekend didn't go as it should. I just can't do what Paul did so well. I couldn't relax and talk and tell stories the way he did.” She wiped away a tear with the back of her gardening glove. “I keep thinking it should get easier to go on alone, but it doesn't.”

Grossmammi patted her cheek. “Ach, Rebecca, I know. Do you think I didn't feel the same after your grossdaadi passed?”

“At least you didn't let anyone else down. It's been well over a year. I should be doing better.”

“Nobody can put a time on how long it takes to grieve.” Grossmammi gestured to the plants Rebecca had already set out. “Those will wilt at first from the shock of being transplanted, ain't so? But in a day or two they will come back and start to grow again. People take much longer to put down new roots, and you can't rush it.”

Rebecca nodded, absently pressing the warm soil down around the basil plant she'd just put in. As Grossmammi said, its bright green leaves were drooping, but they would come back quickly with a little water and a little time.

“I have Katie and Joshua to raise. I can't wait until the season of grieving is past. I have to do better for them.”

“You will. You know you always let Paul take the lead.” Grossmammi patted Rebecca again, the way she did when Rebecca was a small child who'd taken a tumble. “That's not wrong, but . . .” She paused, as if trying to find the right words. “You would not put that tiny basil plant right next to the dill, because if you did, it wouldn't grow strong. The dill would shade it out, ain't so?”

Rebecca wanted to protest at the comparison, but she understood what her grandmother was saying. “I always followed Paul and relied on his strength. I know.”

“That's true, but it's not all I mean.” She hesitated, as if she was going to say something Rebecca might not want to hear. “Dill and basil are both gut, useful plants, but they grow better if they're not too close together. Leaning on Paul might have kept you from growing as strong as you could have.”

“If so, it wasn't Paul's fault. He loved me and wanted to protect me.” Surely Grossmammi wasn't saying that Paul had been wrong to love and care for her.

“Of course he did.” Her grandmother frowned slightly. “But sometimes when we love someone, we protect them too much. Sometimes each of us has to try things and succeed or fail on our own.”

She wanted to argue, but unfortunately she could see the sense of what Grossmammi was saying. If she'd protected her children from falling, they'd never have learned to walk.

“If you want your Katie to grow into a strong woman, you must give her an example of it.” Grossmammi seemed to be reading her thoughts.

Rebecca sat back on her heels, looking up at her grandmother. “I know. I'm just afraid that I'm going to fail with the farm-stay, and then what will I do?”

“This was Paul's dream, ain't so? It doesn't have to be yours. But if you want to do it, then maybe you should find someone to help. Even with Simon doing the outside work, you're still taking on everything else Paul did, besides all the cooking and cleaning for the guests.”

“I suppose you're right.” She hadn't realized until she'd tried it just how big the job was. “But that would mean someone who could be there whenever the guests are, who can talk easily to the Englisch and make them feel at ease, even make them laugh the way Paul did. I don't know—”

“Your cousin Barbara,” Grossmammi exclaimed. “She would be perfect at it.”

“Barbara?” Rebecca couldn't conceal her dismay. “Barbie wouldn't be right. She's too young, for one thing. And she's too frivolous, not responsible enough . . .” She ran out of steam, but surely Grossmammi couldn't be serious.

Her grandmother just smiled. “You think about it. Those are all things Barbie will outgrow, ain't so?”

“I guess.” She hoped so, certainly.

“You'd be surprised at how long people can keep growing in ways you don't imagine. And Barbie is outgoing enough to do what you need done, that's certain-sure.”

At Rebecca's expression, Grossmammi chuckled softly and patted Rebecca's cheek. “People keep on growing even when you're as old as I am. Chust think about it. All right?”

All Rebecca could do was nod.

•   •   •

Matt
ran his hand along the edge of a drawer. If it didn't slide smoothly, it would be a reflection on his work. He'd come straight into the workshop when he'd arrived, not so much as letting himself glance toward the farmhouse. But his restraint didn't seem to be doing him any good. The feelings he'd discovered he had for Rebecca were growing stronger without any encouragement at all.

Any relationship with Rebecca was out of the question. She was still mourning Paul, who'd quite clearly been the only man in the world for her.

As for him . . . well, he knew how tenuous a grasp he had on being truly Amish in his heart. His reckless temper was still likely to flare up just when he thought he'd beaten it down. The last man Rebecca needed was someone like him.

He tossed aside the cloth he'd picked up to rub down the finish on the chest, wincing at the word his mind had chosen to describe his battles with his temper.
Beaten.
Even in his thoughts, he used images that were not Amish. If a man did not embrace nonviolence in his heart, how could he live in peace? And if he did not live in peace, how could he call himself Amish?

Feeling the dark memories rise, he stalked to the doorway and stood looking out at the late-afternoon sun. The time he'd spent in jail had given him a need to feel the breeze on his skin frequently. If that experience hadn't taught him the need to conquer his impulses, what would?

He'd fled back to the Amish community afterward, seeking refuge where violence had no place. He'd found a commitment he hadn't known when he was a restless teenager, eager to taste all the world had to offer. But until he could be sure, beyond a doubt, he couldn't—

A sound cut off his fruitless train of thought, and he frowned. Maybe the kinder shouting while they were playing? He took a step or two clear of the stable so that he could look back toward the house and the fields beyond.

No one was in view but Rebecca's daad, James Lapp, heading toward the house. Even as Matt began to turn away, he registered something odd about the man's pace. He looked almost as if he were stumbling. Then, slowly, the lean figure crumpled to the ground.

Matt ran toward him, heart thumping, shouting for Rebecca. Where was Simon? He usually worked with his daad . . . either Simon or the next younger boy, Johnny. Matt shouted again and then saved his breath for running.

Matt skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees beside the figure. James's fingers dug into the grass, and he seemed to be trying to raise himself.

“Easy. Just lie still. Let me help you.” Matt put his arms around James's shoulders, raising him just enough to see the man's face.

Concern tightened its grasp. James's lean face was ashen above his beard, the skin seeming drawn against the bones. His eyes flickered open and then closed again.

The door of the house slammed, and Matt heard Rebecca's running footsteps.

“Daadi!” She fell to her knees next to Matt, reaching for her father. “What's happened?”

“He's fainted, I think.” Matt put his hand against James's skin, finding it clammy. Cold perspiration was soaking his hair. Apprehension growing, Matt felt for a pulse. It was weak, fluttering under his fingertips. “We'd better call for an ambulance.”

He'd barely gotten the words out when Simon joined them, his face white. “What did you do?”

Matt's muscles tightened. Even in a crisis, Simon was determined to blame him.

“He might be having a heart attack,” Matt said bluntly, and heard Rebecca's quick, indrawn breath. “Simon, go to the phone shanty. Call nine-one-one. Ask for the emergency squad to come immediately. Understand?”

The instant antagonism faded from Simon's face, and he looked very young and frightened. He nodded, then turned and sprinted away.

“What can we do?” Rebecca took her father's lax hand in both of hers. “There must be something.”

“Maybe a blanket.” Matt frowned, trying to remember what he'd heard about heart attacks. He didn't want to do the wrong thing, but it couldn't be a mistake to keep him warm.

“Right away.” Rebecca scrambled to her feet and ran to the house. No sooner had she gone than the kinder appeared from the barn. They came running and stopped a few feet from their grandfather, faces white, looking very alike in their fear.

“Grossdaadi.” Katie's eyes filled with tears, and she looked to Matt as if begging for assurance.

“He's sick,” Matt said quickly, not knowing what else to say. “Katie, do you think you could run to his house and get your grandmother?”

She seemed able to fight back tears at the prospect of helping. “I'll get her.” She took off running, the strings of her kapp flying behind her.

“Can't I help?” Josh stepped cautiously around his grandfather and squatted next to Matt. “Please?”

“Mammi went to get a blanket. Can you run and tell her to bring a pillow, too?” It was better for the boy to be doing anything other than staying here and staring at his grossdaadi's ashen face.

Josh nodded. He touched his grandfather's hand with a quick, light movement and then raced off.

“Hang on, James.” Matt felt again for a pulse. Weak, but there.

“They are on their way.” Simon, breathing heavily, slumped down next to his father. “It's not far—only about five miles. They'll get here soon. They'll be in time.”

Simon was trying to convince himself, Matt knew.

“That's certain-sure.” He looked up as Rebecca reappeared, arms filled with a blanket. Behind her Joshua scurried along, carrying a pillow snatched from someone's bed.

“Help me lift him a little to get the blanket under him. No use his lying on the damp ground.”

Simon nodded, sliding strong young arms under his father. Together they raised James enough that Rebecca could slip the blanket underneath. They eased him back down, and she wrapped it snugly around his body, tucking it in as if she were tucking one of her kinder in for the night.

“Here's the pillow.” Joshua, his eyes wide in a pale face, passed it over, and his uncle pushed it into place.

Rebecca tore her attention away from her father long enough to glance around. “Where's Katie?”

“I sent her for your mother.” He hesitated. Rebecca probably thought he was taking too much on himself, telling everyone what to do. “She wanted to help.”

“That's gut.” Rebecca's gaze clouded. “Poor Mammi. She'll be so worried. If only Daadi could say something . . .” Her voice broke.

“He's going to be all right.” Matt tried to put some confidence in his voice. They were the words people always said at moments like this, expressing the thought that was surely the last thing they could guarantee.

Rebecca nodded. She took her father's hand again, her head bowing, and Matt thought she was praying.

It seemed like hours, but it was only minutes before they heard the wail of the siren. Rebecca's mother arrived at the same time as the paramedics. She was shaken, but in control of herself.