The Forgiven (13 page)

“Your grossmammi is at the house, so I asked Katie to stay with her,” she said in answer to a questioning glance from Rebecca. “I thought it best for both of them.”

Rebecca nodded. Grossmammi probably wanted to be with her son, but the stress wouldn't be good for her. And Mammi had no doubt persuaded both Grossmammi and Katie that they needed to take care of the other one.

The paramedics took over, moving everyone else away, conversing in low voices and using phrases that made little sense to anyone else. Matt took a step or two away from the family, feeling he was out of place and yet not wanting to leave in case he could be of some help.

The EMTs talked with the hospital. An Englisch neighbor pulled in, drawn by the siren, eager to drive anyone wherever needed. Finally James seemed to be communicating, answering something the paramedic asked. Matt, looking on, discovered that Joshua was clutching his leg.

He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. “They're taking good care of him.” It was impossible to say “Don't worry,” since this was a child who'd lost his father already.

Josh nodded, pressing closer, as if he was comforted by Matt's touch.

Finally the paramedics prepared to load James into their van. Rebecca hurried over to Matt. “Mamm is going with Daad in the ambulance. Mrs. Johnson has said she'll drive me and Simon.” Her gaze touched Joshua, and she tried to smile. “Maybe Josh can go—”

“Let Josh stay with me.” The offer came quickly, without thought. “We can work on a project together until you get back.”

“I don't know when it will be.” She seemed torn between acceptance and doubt.

“It doesn't matter. We'll be fine.”

Josh nodded. “I want to stay with Matt. We'll be fine,” he echoed. “Take care of Grossdaadi, Mammi.”

“I will.” She touched her son's cheek, smiling. Then she looked at Matt, and the smile trembled a bit. “Denke, Matt. I . . . I don't know what we would have done without you.”

All he could do was nod, and smile, and pretend her pain didn't wrench his heart.

•   •   •

Rebecca
felt as if they'd been sitting in the hospital's emergency room waiting area for hours. She glanced at the large round clock on the wall above the uncomfortable plastic chairs, sure it must be later than the time it showed.

Mamm sat next to her, her hands clasped together in her lap, her head lowered, while Simon paced to the window and back again. At a look from Rebecca he sat down, but almost immediately he stood up again. Rebecca recognized the symptoms. When a situation was out of his control, Simon could never be still.

“Why don't you go and get some coffee for us?” she suggested. “The snack bar is just down the hall.” She remembered it only too well from all the times she'd been at the hospital with Paul.

Amy Johnson, who'd been waiting patiently all this time, grasped her handbag. “I'll go along with Simon and help carry the coffees.”

Simon nodded, obviously relieved to have an excuse to move. He set off so quickly Amy had to hurry to keep up.

Rebecca put her hand over her mother's clasped ones and found them icy. “Daad is strong, ain't so?” She wanted to say he'd be all right, but she was almost afraid to use those words. How many times had she told herself that about Paul?

Mamm nodded. “If only they'd let us stay with him. I could keep him from fretting if they had.”

“I know.” They'd been allowed to stay with Daad for only a few minutes in the curtained cubicle before he'd been whisked off for tests. “But the ER doctor said he had to have the test results right away. And they sent for Dr. Cartwright. You'll feel better when he's here.”

Their family doctor had seen them through so much. Many of his patients were Amish, and he understood them. Mamm needed that understanding now.

They both looked up at the sound of a door opening. Bishop Jonah Stoltzfus came in, his white beard ruffled from the breeze, his kind, wise eyes searching for them. Behind him was Onkel William, her father's brother, without the smile that always seemed to crinkle his eyes.

Mamm rose to greet them, pressing her lips together as if she feared she'd cry if she spoke. Rebecca stood as well, clasping her mother's arm.

“I'm sehr glad you're here.” Rebecca couldn't manage a smile. “We don't know anything yet,” she added quickly, knowing they'd ask. “Daad is having tests.”

“Sit, sit.” Onkel William urged her mother back into her seat and sank down himself in the chair Simon had vacated, planting his hands on his knees. “Someone said it might be a heart attack.”

Rebecca, pulling another chair over for Bishop Jonah, gave him a warning look. “We don't know yet.”

“How did it happen? Was he by himself?” Her uncle always wanted to know all the facts.

“He'd been in the barn with the kinder, and for some reason he'd started toward the house without them. Maybe he was feeling ill and didn't want them to know.” That would be like him. He'd understand how frightening it would be for them.

“He didn't say anything to you?”

She shook her head. “Matt . . . Matthew Byler . . . had come out of the workshop just then and saw him fall.” She relived those awful moments when she'd heard Matt shouting for her. “If he hadn't been there—” She stopped, not wanting to go on.

“God puts all of us where He wants us,” Bishop Jonah said, his deep voice confident.

“We sent for the paramedics at once, and they were there in minutes. That's gut, ja?” She looked from Onkel William to the bishop, longing for reassurance.

“That's certain-sure.” Onkel William's voice was an echo of its usual hearty tone. “The sooner the better, ain't so?”

“The good Lord put Matthew in the right place,” Bishop Jonah said again. He patted her hand, seeming to know how much she needed to be comforted. “All we can do now is pray and wait.”

Onkel William nodded, even though he looked as if waiting wasn't suited to him. Like her brother, he preferred action. “Your aunt Miriam and cousin Judith have gone over to the house to fix supper and look out for the kinder. And the boys will make sure the animals are taken care of.”

Rebecca knew it was all happening just as he said. Even without seeing it, she could be sure that neighbors had rushed to help as soon as they'd heard the news. The chores would be done, the children would be cared for, and no one would expect to be thanked. Grossmammi was probably already surrounded by women ready to do whatever was needed, and Katie no doubt was being kept busy.

As for Joshua . . .

Maybe she shouldn't have accepted Matt's help. He had other things to do than look after a small boy. But Josh had clearly been leaning on him, and she hadn't doubted for a minute that Matt meant the offer. He'd been so kind to all of them, even Katie, who'd made no secret of her resentment.

Simon returned, causing a little stir in the room as he nearly dropped the container that held three cups. Amy, behind him, moved quickly to rescue it. Before anyone could speak, Simon nodded toward the man who'd just come through the treatment room door.

Dr. Cartwright wore his usual flannel shirt and jeans with a white jacket slipped over them. With his longish, graying hair, his casual clothes, and his relaxed manner, he might have been a local farmer instead of a doctor.

He reached Rebecca's mother as she rose from her chair, a painful question clear on her face. He took both her hands in his.

“Now, Sarah, take it easy. You know James won't like it if you're upset.” His swift glance swept the rest of them, lingering for a moment on Rebecca as if assessing her condition. “He's resting comfortably now, and you can see him in a few minutes.”

“His heart . . .” Mamm began, her voice fading.

“Yes, it was a heart attack, but a fairly mild one. And you did everything right, getting the paramedics there so quickly. Too often people wait, thinking it's not serious enough to call. That's when things can go bad in a hurry.”

“But he'll be all right?” Mamm clung to the only important part of what he'd said, at least for her.

“As far as I can tell, he will. We're going to keep him for a few days, and then I'll be giving him some strict instructions about what to do and what not to do.” He smiled. “He won't like me telling him he can't work like a twenty-year-old any longer, will he?”

Onkel William blew out a relieved breath. “No, that he won't. Sarah will have to make him behave himself, that's certain-sure.”

“We'll do just as you say.” Mamm still clutched Dr. Cartwright's hands, but Rebecca thought some of the strain had left her face. “Can I see him now?”

“We'll go up together.” Again the doctor glanced at them. “You can all come along and have a peek, but I don't want him excited by having too many people at once.”

They made a little parade, it seemed to Rebecca, following Dr. Cartwright down the hall to the elevator. Just before they reached it, Aunt Anna, her mother's sister, came scurrying in from outside. Mamm went into her sister's arms with a little cry, and Rebecca met her aunt's gaze over Mamm's head.

“We're just going up to see him now,” she explained quickly.

Aunt Anna nodded. “Komm now, Sarah, don't you be crying. You don't want to show James red eyes, do you?”

Rebecca couldn't help a smile. It always amused her to hear the two sisters squabbling and bossing each other as if they were ten-year-olds, but she could count on Aunt Anna's sound common sense in a situation like this one.

By the time they approached the hospital room, Aunt Anna had everyone straightened out. Almost without Rebecca realizing how it had happened, it had been decided that she'd go into the room just long enough to see Daad, and then she'd head off home to take care of her children.

“. . . and Simon can stay here, in case we need to send him to make any phone calls or take messages. Otherwise, Sarah is all the company James needs, and I'm all the company my sister needs.” Aunt Anna, always the dominant one of the sisters, laid down the law and no one, up to and including the bishop, was inclined to argue.

Mamm and Aunt Anna went into the room with the doctor. Rebecca had a quick glimpse of shiny tile floor and the metal base of a hospital bed before the door swung shut again.

Not much, but it was enough to send her mind spiraling backward—back to Paul, back to hours spent in rooms like that one, back to praying and hoping and trying to sound encouraging no matter what.

She must have swayed a little, because Bishop Jonah took a firm grasp on her arm.

“Your aunt is right.” His tone was kind but firm. “Your place is at home with your kinder. Promise me you'll let Mrs. Johnson take you home as soon as you've said good night to your daad.”

Her throat was too tight to speak, but she nodded.

“Gut. I know you will be sensible.”

But whether he felt sure of it or not, he continued to keep a firm grip on her arm until it was time for Rebecca to go into the hospital room.

She should have been prepared. She'd seen this sort of scene plenty of times, but it was still a shock when it was Daadi, always so big and strong, lying flat on his back, attached to machines on either side of the high bed.

His face was turned away. Was he asleep? She touched his hand. “Daadi?”

At once he turned toward her. Despite the hospital gown, the apparatus, the sounds and smells of the place, it was just Daad. His fingers moved against hers.

“Don't worry.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I'm not done yet.”

“Don't try to talk.” She smoothed the blanket over him. “Just rest. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Rest,” he murmured, and his eyes drifted closed.

She should leave, so Simon could come in. She should go home to the children. But all she could do was stand there, holding her father's hand, and fight back tears.

Daad had been carrying such a heavy burden ever since Paul got sick. He had been her rock, and she'd turned to him for everything. Was it any wonder that even his generous heart couldn't keep up with the strain?

No more. She made a silent promise. She would not be a little girl relying on Daadi. She no longer had a choice. She'd been telling herself for months that she had to take control of her own life and her children's future. She had to make good on those words before anyone else had to pay the penalty.

Lancaster County, April 1942

A
nna
moved along the plowed row of fresh-turned earth, pushing the wheel that dropped the corn seed in and pressing the soil over it. The wheel slipped on the loose earth, and she straightened it. Seth was always saying Daad should get one of the horse-drawn planters, but Daad clung to the older method of planting the corn.

The spring day was chilly, with a bite in the breeze, but her father had been impatient to get the seed in the ground. Impatience seemed to be affecting everyone these days. She glanced at the next row, where Seth was doing the same thing she was, but with scant attention. His every movement was jerky, as if he struggled with something more than just the planter.

Not that she was much better herself. All the worry about Jacob and the conscription letter had her feeling constantly on the verge of tears.

“Was ist letz?” Seth murmured the words, low enough that Daadi, occupied with the plow and team of mules at the far end of the field, wouldn't notice.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing.” She pressed dirt over the seeds with her foot. “What's wrong?”

“I asked you first.” Her brother gave her the quick, mischievous grin that made him look about six again.

Anna was so glad to see it that she hated to answer, knowing that to refer to the war was to banish any amusement from Seth's heart. “I was thinking about Jacob.” Her throat seemed to close on the words.

Seth stared down at the row, his face hidden. “What has he done about the draft?”

Draft.
It seemed a funny word to use for calling a man into military service, but there was nothing funny about the situation.

“The bishop talked with him and his mamm and daad. There was a letter he had to write and a form declaring that he could not serve in the military because of his religious beliefs. And the bishop had to write something as well.”

Seth moved his shoulders restlessly and stamped down so hard on a seed that it would probably never come up. “What gut is that going to do? It didn't help in the last war. People went to the army or to prison.”

A chill gripped her heart, and Anna fought against it. “The bishop says everything is different now. Jacob might be allowed to stay and work on the farm. After all, growing food is important.”

“Not likely,” Seth grunted.

She wouldn't let Seth's attitude destroy her faint hope. “If not, he says the peace churches are setting up special camps for those who can't serve in the military to do other things for the good of the country. He might be sent to one of those.”

“Or he might be sent to an army camp.” Seth's gaze met hers, and he flushed. “Sorry, Anna. I just—”

“You are upset, like everyone else. Jacob says we must hope and pray for the best.”

“The army needs men. The war is going badly.” Seth sent a cautious glance toward Daad, probably to make sure he was well out of earshot.

“You don't know that for sure.” The best thing for everyone would be if this war were over quickly. “You know what Daad feels about listening to talk about the war.”

“I hear anyway from my friends, whether Daad likes it or not. They say a whole group of nurses from Australia was shot in the Pacific. And hundreds, maybe thousands of soldiers and just ordinary people were captured. Bombs are killing children while they sleep.”

His words were like weapons, wounding her. “It is dreadful,” she said. “Wicked. But at least it's not here.”

“It could be.” Seth's face hardened into that of someone she didn't know. “I heard German subs were going to attack American ships right off the coast.”

“There's nothing we can do,” she protested. “We live separate from the world, ain't so?”

“I don't think we can stay separate, not with everything that's going on.” Seth frowned down at the plowed row, but he didn't seem to be seeing it. “Some of my friends are joining up.”

Her heart gave a little thud. “Englisch friends,” she said quickly.

“Amish, too. Thinking about it, anyway.”

She stared at him, her shocked mind taking it in. “You mean you are thinking about it. Seth, you must not.”

“Why not?” His eyes flashed defiance. “Everybody my age is going, one way or another. I might as well join before they drag me off.”

“But you can't.” She'd thought they'd already experienced the worst that could happen, but bad things just kept coming. “You can't become a soldier. You can't lift your hand in violence against another person. We are to forgive. To turn the other cheek. Not to take up a gun and shoot someone.”

“This is different,” he said, his voice passionate. “Think of all the innocent people who are being killed, Anna. It can't be wrong to try and stop the enemy from doing it.”

“But not by violence. That's what our history teaches us. We have always believed in nonviolence, no matter the cost. Think of the martyrs who sacrificed themselves instead of fighting back.”

Seth had been raised on those stories, just as she had. Surely he couldn't forget them so easily.

“It's one thing to sacrifice yourself. What if it means letting somebody else be killed?” Seth had given up even the pretense of planting. He stood, frowning and intent, and stared at her. “If someone tried to harm you, don't you think I'd stop them?”

His passionate conviction confused her, and she couldn't find an answer, even though she felt sure he was wrong. “But . . . even so, we're doing something positive. We're raising food. People have to eat, whether there's a war or not. Already folks are saying there will be shortages.”

Seth waved that argument away with a choppy gesture. “I'm telling you we won't have a choice about serving. They'll take us, one way or another. I might as well join up like the other guys. At least maybe I'd be with people I know.”

“You can't.” She grasped for something that would deter him. “Daad won't let you.”

“I'm old enough. I don't need Daad's permission.”

“Seth—” She was failing. Her brother was slipping away from her, and she couldn't stop him.

“Hush,” he said in a sharp whisper. “Daad's coming.” His gaze pinned hers. “Don't tell, Anna. I trusted you. Promise.”

She didn't want to promise. She wanted to put the whole problem on Daad's shoulders. But if she told now, Seth would never talk to her about it again, and she might still be able to convince him to take a different path.

Finally she nodded. What else could she do? At any cost, she must talk Seth out of doing something so irrevocable. If he joined the military . . . Well, even if he survived the fighting, it wouldn't change the outcome. He would never be able to come home again.

•   •   •

Matt
hadn't seen Rebecca for several days, with all of his news about how her father was mending coming from the always-active Amish grapevine. But now, as he drew up at the workshop, he spotted her in the backyard, taking laundry from the line.

For a moment he hesitated, frowning. Still, it was natural enough to ask about her father, wasn't it? Not letting himself probe too deeply about why he wanted to see her, he strode briskly toward her.

Rebecca dropped a folded sheet into her basket and straightened, smiling at him. “Matt. Have you heard the news? Daad is coming home tomorrow.”

“That is wonderful gut.” And it was even better that the stress had vanished, at least for the moment, from her face. “Your mamm will be glad to have him home, ain't so?”

Rebecca's eyes sparkled with laughter. “You should hear her. She has memorized all the restrictions the doctor has put on him, and he won't dare put a foot out of line.”

“I hear your grossmammi moved in, too. Is that right?”

Rebecca nodded. “She kept delaying and delaying until this happened. I think now she feels that she's needed, so she didn't make any more fuss about it. My cousins moved her in yesterday, and to talk to her you'd think she's been living there for years.”

“I guess she is needed. Between your mamm and your grossmammi, your daad will have to behave.” He could imagine just how much James Lapp was going to enjoy having them hover over him.

Rebecca nodded, the amusement fading from her green eyes. “I'm just so thankful you were here that day and—”

“You thanked me already,” he said, cutting her off. “There's no need to say it again.”

“I was so upset I don't know what I said.” She shivered, even though she couldn't be cold standing in the warm sunshine. “The doctor mentioned how fortunate it was that you spotted him right away and knew what to do.”

“You'd have managed fine if I hadn't been here.” Her gratitude made him vaguely uneasy. So what if he'd done a good deed? It didn't cancel out all the wrongs he'd done in his life.

Rebecca seemed to consider his words, her face tightening. “I would have to. I will have to.”

Matt frowned, wondering what was going on behind that somber expression. “No need to worry about it now. It was scary, that's for sure, but your daad is going to be all right. That's the important thing.”

Rebecca shook her head slightly, as if shaking off the comfort he offered. “He's been doing too much. Ever since Paul got sick, he's been carrying the load of both farms, and I've leaned on him so.”

She turned away, snatching a pillowcase off the line with a jerk that sent the clothespins flying. She was hiding her face from him, he suspected, not wanting him to see how upset she was.

What could he say? She might be right that all the work and worry had precipitated James's health problems, but what else could he have done in the circumstances?

“Komm, Rebecca. Think about it. How could you have stopped your daad from helping when Paul was sick? You could no more do that than you could stop the sun from setting.”

For a moment all he could see was the curve of her cheek and the downward sweep of her eyelashes. Then she turned back to face him.

“I know.” She gave a little sigh. “He kept saying it was no harder to grow twice the number of fields in corn and cabbage and pumpkins, and the boys helped with our two milk cows and the buggy horses and chickens. We all did what we had to then. But now—now I should be standing on my own, not still leaning on him.”

Matt studied her face, trying to understand. “I don't think he'd agree with you.”

“Probably not.” She managed a slight smile. “But this time we have to take care of him. And I must find a way to make a success of the farm-stay.”

She didn't sound optimistic about it, and based on what little he'd heard from her first guests, maybe she had a right to be concerned.

“Are you sure that's what you want to do?”

She looked surprised. “Of course. It was always our dream.”

He was getting onto dangerous ground, but he couldn't seem to help himself. “Don't you mean it was Paul's dream?”

She blinked. “Well, ja, but—”

“That doesn't mean it has to be yours,” he pointed out.

She didn't speak for a long moment. Then she shrugged. “My grandmother says that, as well. But it has to be. I have the children to support, a mortgage to pay off, and I can't keep relying on my daad.”

Matt thought again of what her first guests had revealed. “Maybe you could find some other way.”

Rebecca shook her head. “You're thinking I'm not very gut at running the farm-stay, ain't so?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You were thinking it.” Her voice was tart. “Maybe I'm not—some parts of it, at least. But I either have to learn how to be or find someone else to help me with it.”

She had a determination that had been completely lacking in the little girl he remembered, but he'd long since stopped thinking of Rebecca as a little girl. She was a woman, and a stronger one than perhaps even she realized.

“Whatever you decide,” he said carefully, “it's not wrong to accept help when it's offered. If you need anything from me—”

“No, denke,” she said quickly. “You have your own business to run. And I have mine.”

That sounded final. And it was probably just as well. Hadn't he just been telling himself that Rebecca didn't need someone like him?

•   •   •

Rebecca
still wasn't sure she was doing the right thing in inviting her cousin Barbara to help with running the farm-stay. Even as she drew up at the hitching rail alongside the Schultz sisters' bakery in town, Rebecca was scouring her thoughts for another solution.

She couldn't come up with one. As her grandmother had said, if she wasn't good at one aspect of running the business, it made sense to enlist someone who was. And given that was the case, who else was there but her cousin Barbie? Rebecca couldn't think of another soul who would be good at it, who would be free to do it, and most important, who would not expect a fancy salary.

The mare waited patiently at the railing, no doubt wondering why Rebecca was still sitting in the buggy. With a quick shake of her head, Rebecca slid down. She had to make a move. She had a whole family booked for the weekend—parents, grandparents, and two children. Her palms grew damp at the thought of coping with all six on her own. Barbie, whatever her faults, was her best hope.

Walking quickly around to the front of the building, Rebecca paused for a moment on the sidewalk leading to the shop. You couldn't really call Brook Hill a town, since it was hardly more than a village. When the Amish had begun moving from Lancaster County into the hills and valleys of central Pennsylvania fifty years ago, the town had been a collection of houses with a name that referred to the whole area, including the outlying farms.

Nestled in the creek valley between two wooded ridges, it hadn't grown all that much since then; a few businesses mingled with the houses along the street, and there was a school and a post office down a ways. If people wanted to do any serious shopping, they went elsewhere. Still, folks knew one another here and felt at home.