The Forgiven (14 page)

Rebecca pulled open the glass-paneled door and stepped into Two Sisters Bakery, inhaling the scents of baking bread and brewing coffee. Even though the two Amish sisters considered that they operated a bakery, not a restaurant, this was still a popular gathering place, especially in the morning when the small round tables would be filled with folks sharing the latest gossip over their coffee and crullers. Barbie worked a few early hours on weekdays whenever the sisters needed her.

By now, the busy time had ended. Only a pair of elderly Englisch men sat at the table in the front corner, and they were a familiar fixture. Widowers, both of them, and according to Ruth, the older of the Schultz sisters, if those two didn't get out and see folks once a day, they'd probably shrivel up and blow away.

Rebecca nodded when the men turned and waved to her but she went on to the counter, knowing that if she stopped, Ed and Ben would be capable of bending her ear for the next hour, at least.

“Rebecca.” Barbie straightened from sliding a tray of streusel muffins into the glass case. Her rosy cheeks were flushed still more by the warmth of the shop, and the all-enveloping white apron was tied snugly enough to show off her slim figure. “I'm surprised to see you in town this early. Doing your grocery shopping?”

“Not exactly.” Rebecca took a breath. Just do it. “Actually, I wanted to have a chat with you. Do you think Ruth and Susie would mind if we had a cup of coffee and talked?”

“No problem,” she said, using the Englisch slang that Rebecca knew annoyed her father. “I'll just pop my head in the kitchen and let them know.”

Barbie was back in an instant, looking pleased—probably at the idea of a break in the day's routine. “Coffee for two.” She poured as she spoke. “And Ruth says to try her apple cinnamon coffee cake.”

“I shouldn't . . .” Rebecca began, but let the words fade as Barbie pulled two wedges of coffee cake from the case. The cake did look delicious, and it had been a long time since she'd had breakfast.

“There we are.” Barbie plopped everything on a tray and led Rebecca to a table in the rear. She grinned as she set the tray down. “If we keep to Deutsch, those two won't be able to listen in.”

That was the sort of pertness that made Rebecca wonder whether Barbie was really suitable to the task she had in mind. There isn't anyone else, she reminded herself.

She took the coffee mug and added sugar, stirring unnecessarily long.

Barbie didn't wait. “How is your daad? I hear he's doing better.”

“He's happier now that he's home, that's certain-sure. Mamm and Grossmammi are fussing over him, and he likes sleeping in his own bed. But it'll be a job to keep him from doing things he shouldn't.”

“They'll gang up on him,” Barbie said. “I'm glad we finished up at Grossmammi's house before this happened.” She shrugged, wrinkling her nose a little. “But things are back to being boring now.”

It seemed to Rebecca that Barbie too easily lost interest. She could only hope that if Barbie agreed to her proposition, she wouldn't become dissatisfied with the farm-stay after a few weeks.

“You know I started having guests at the farm last weekend?”

Of course Barbie would know. Everyone knew. If she sneezed now, six people would offer her cold remedies before the day was over.

“Ja, I heard. How did it go?” Barbie's gaze evaded hers, which might mean she already knew the answer to her question.

“Not too bad. Simon took over showing them the outside work, and I think he enjoyed it once he got started.” Her younger brother had been surprisingly competent, in fact. “But I found . . .” She hesitated, still not sure how to put it. “The truth of it is, I'm just not very gut at talking to the Englisch. You know, making them feel at home and telling them about our ways.”

A spark of interest lit Barbie's eyes. “It doesn't sound hard to me. I talk to Englisch folks every morning here. They're just like us.”

“For you, maybe,” Rebecca said. “Not for me. Anyway, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you think you'd like to work with me on the weekends I have guests?”

“Me?” Barbie's eyes widened. “You want me?”

“Why not?”

Barbie grinned. “I didn't think you approved of me.”

Rebecca suspected she flushed, despite her best efforts. She hadn't realized that Barbie had picked up on her feelings.

“I think you have just the personality to greet the guests and keep them happy. I can manage getting the rooms ready and doing the meals, and Simon will do as much as he can outside. Of course, with Daad not well . . .”

How much time would Simon have to spare for her? He wouldn't want to let her down, but Daad's illness placed an extra burden on the boys.

“That's not a problem.” Barbie's face lit up. “I'd guess there's nothing Simon does that I can't do. And I'd love to be sort of a hostess. That's what you want, isn't it? I can do it. How soon can I start?”

Barbie's enthusiasm bubbled. Energy radiated from her so strongly that Rebecca wouldn't have been surprised if she'd shot out of her chair. She made Rebecca feel as old as the ridge above the town.

“I have a family of six coming on Friday for the weekend,” she said. “If you can start then—”

“Of course I can.”

“Maybe you should talk to your parents about it first,” Rebecca cautioned, wondering what her aunt and uncle would think about the idea.

“They won't mind. After all, it's helping family, ain't so? And they'll be wonderful glad to have me busy. What do you have planned for the guests? Grown-ups or children? What things do they like to do?”

Rebecca held up her hand to stop the flow, feeling as if she were being swept away by the wind. “Wait, wait. We haven't even talked about what hours you'll have to work, or what you'll be paid, or anything. So long as I know you're interested, we can set up a time to make plans together.”

“We can do it now. Please, Rebecca.”

Barbie reminded Rebecca of Katie, trying to wheedle her into playing a game instead of getting on with the mending. “Not now. I've taken up enough of your time. You're supposed to be working for Ruth and Susie now, remember?”

“They won't care.” Barbie wiped them away with a quick gesture.

“Well, I do. It would be wrong for me to take the time they're paying you for.” She could only hope Barbie wouldn't have a similar attitude toward the work she was supposed to do with Rebecca's guests.

Barbie had the grace to look abashed. “Ach, you're right. I'll make sure I do everything here before I go. I promise. It's just that running a farm-stay is much more exciting than serving behind the counter. Don't you think so?” Without giving her time to answer, she swept on. “I have lots of ideas. I'll bet we can come up with all sorts of things for people to do at the farm. When can we meet?”

Barbie's enthusiasm reminded Rebecca irresistibly of Paul's when they'd planned that first summer. What was it about the farm-stay that so appealed to them? And what was missing in her, that it seemed such a scary ordeal to her?

Matt's words seemed to echo in her thoughts.
Don't you mean it was Paul's dream? That doesn't mean it has to be yours.

Was it her dream? She hauled her thoughts back to Barbie.

“Can you come out tomorrow after you get off work here? We can figure it out then.”

“I'll be there.” Barbie leaned forward, her whole body seeming to express her excitement at the idea. “I'll start making a list of all the things we can do with the guests. By tomorrow, I'll have dozens of ideas.”

“I'm sure you will.” There wasn't any doubt of that in Rebecca's mind.

What doubt there was went in exactly the opposite direction. Barbie's enthusiasm threatened to sweep the farm-stay program right out of Rebecca's hands.

Nonsense. The farm belonged to her. The business, such as it was, did as well. Barbie was only coming in to help.

But she couldn't keep from feeling that by inviting her cousin in, she was unleashing something she wouldn't be able to control.

M
att
was earlier than usual in getting over to his workshop, but the fact didn't especially please him. He was only arriving in midafternoon because Onkel Silas had given up. Matt couldn't think of another expression that fit, no matter how he tried.

The mare trotted toward the lane at Rebecca's place, so used to it now that he hardly needed to touch the lines. He frowned at the road ahead between her ears, seeing instead the day's fiasco.

He and Onkel Silas had gone over to the new development on Bentley Road to talk to a homeowner about a job. The houses all seemed alike to him, sitting back from the streets with manicured lawns in front of them, surrounded by tidily mulched shrubs instead of the overflowing flower beds of an Amish home.

The house they'd visited had seemed plenty big enough for the two people living there, but Mrs. Hansen wanted a sunroom added on the back. It would be a well-paying job, Matt thought, especially since the couple seemed to have more money than they knew what to do with.

Their visit was intended to view the site, take measurements, find out what the homeowner wanted, and then go home and work up a bid on the job. It was the sort of thing Onkel Silas had done more times than Matt could imagine, and he was a pro at it.

Until today. Today Silas had been so distracted that he'd commented almost at random about the project, barely making a note. Finally Matt had taken the notebook from his hands and started asking the necessary questions.

He'd half expected Onkel Silas to snatch the notebook back, but not even that served to rouse him. He'd followed Matt and the Hansen couple around the house, sunk so deep in his distraction that Matt suspected he barely heard a word.

It wasn't hard to figure out the reason. After all, Matt's bedroom was right across the hall from the one belonging to his aunt and uncle. He'd heard his aunt crying in the night, heard his uncle trying vainly to comfort her. The sounds had broken his heart.

How could Isaiah disappear this way? Anger rose, and Matt's hands tightened on the lines so that the mare turned her head in reproach. If Isaiah didn't want to come back, that was one thing. Matt could hardly quarrel, since he'd done the same himself. But to cut off contact with his family so completely—that wasn't acceptable, no matter how much Isaiah thought he was going to find happiness by jumping the fence.

Happiness. Matt's jaw tightened, but he kept his hands light on the lines with an effort as the buggy turned into the lane to the workshop. Amish parents didn't consider that happiness was a suitable goal for their children, and he'd begun to understand that for himself. A person didn't find happiness by looking for it. If it came, it was a by-product of something else entirely—a good marriage, maybe, or a job well-done, or the knowledge that you were living the way God intended.

Well, wherever Isaiah had gone and why, he had no right cutting off his family. Maybe it was time somebody found him and told him so.

Sliding down from the buggy, Matt let his gaze travel across the fields behind the farmhouse. Simon was the person he needed to question, and he couldn't put it off any longer. If anyone could give him a clue to where Isaiah had gone, it might be Simon, assuming his cousin Sadie had been speaking the truth. It was time he and Simon had a little talk.

And sure enough, there was Simon at the edge of the cornfield. It looked as if he was mending a fence. Matt set off toward him, not giving himself time to change his mind.

The path led along the pasture, already green and lush from the spring rains and the warm sunshine. A wave of nostalgia swept over Matt as the scent of it rose to meet him. Funny, how a smell could take a person back. He might have been walking through the fields on his daad's farm, either the one here in the valley where Matt and his siblings had grown up or the one in Indiana.

The Amish settlement in Indiana had seemed very different from the Pennsylvania valleys. Acreage there was flatter and easier to cultivate, cheaper besides. Still, he'd missed the narrow valleys and wooded ridges he'd grown up with, even if he hadn't realized it at the time. The reckless teenager he'd been hadn't slowed down long enough to know what he was feeling.

Simon must have been aware of Matt approaching him, but he didn't look up from the strand of barbed wire he was mending as Matt drew near.

“Deer getting into the corn, are they?” he asked as he came to a stop a few feet from Simon.

“Worse.” Simon grunted out the word. “A bear ripped through here last night. Took the fence right out, and trampled his way through the corn.”

Now that he looked, Matt could see the tracks. Fortunately the corn was only about a foot high, so it would probably recover from the mauling it had taken under the bear's broad feet.

Matt followed the trail with his gaze. It led right through the cornfield and on toward the trees beyond, where the land lifted toward the ridge.

“Probably going from the stream back up to the woods,” he commented.

“Ja.” Simon rose, giving Matt a frowning glance. “You didn't come here to talk about bears. What do you want?” The words were little short of rude.

Matt couldn't help tensing at the animosity coming off Rebecca's brother.
Rebecca's brother,
he reminded himself. He couldn't get into a quarrel with him.

“I hear you were close friends with my cousin Isaiah.” He kept his tone easy. “I hoped I could talk to you about him.”

Simon shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “We used to hang out. So what?”

“So I thought you might have some idea of where he went.”

Simon's face seemed to close. “I don't know anything about it.”

Matt wasn't about to be put off so easily. “You were friends. He must have talked about going away. About his plans for the future.”

“No.” The word came too quickly to be true, and it was accompanied by a glare. “Anyway, why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I'm his cousin. Because I want to find him, and you can help.”

“Seems to me if I'm his friend, that's the last thing I'd do. If he wanted you to know, he'd have told you.”

Matt tried to count to ten. He didn't make it. “You might want to think about his parents. They haven't heard a word from him.”

“What do you care?” Simon's face darkened, and he clenched his fists. “You've already got what you wanted, ain't so? You took over Isaiah's place so fast, if he did want to come back, he couldn't.”

“That's ridiculous.” Matt's fragile control on his temper was fraying. “I'm just helping out until Isaiah returns. His daad can't carry on alone.”

“Yeah, right.” The words were contemptuous, and Simon swung away from him.

“I'm not finished.” Matt grabbed his arm. “Wait—”

Simon twisted with an abrupt movement, trying to jerk his arm free. He swung his arm back, knocking Matt off balance. Matt stumbled, tripped, and fell backward. His left hand, flying out, hit the barbed wire, and the wire tore his flesh.

Matt scrambled to get his feet under him, cradling his left hand in his right. Blood flowed from the jagged cut on his palm. Pain stung him.

If his hand was injured, he couldn't work. Fury ricocheted through him. He charged at Simon, his pulse pounding like a drum in his head.

“Matthew!” Rebecca's voice stopped him. Maybe it was the only thing that could. “What are you—” She stopped as she came even with them and saw the blood dripping from his hand.

“You're hurt.” She grasped his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and transferred her glare to her brother. “What is the matter with you? With both of you? Out here squabbling and fighting like a couple of kinder. I'm ashamed of you. What do you have to say for yourself, Simon Lapp?”

Simon managed to combine looking abashed and defensive. “It's not my fault—” he began.

“You were raising your hand in anger against a brother. I won't have it.”

“But he—” Simon made a vain effort to stem the tide.

“Enough. I am ashamed of you. Think what Daad would say if he knew. But he's not going to, because I won't tell him. It would upset him to know, and that should make you feel even worse.”

She interrupted her scolding to look down at Matt's hand even as a drop of his blood splashed on her dark blue apron. “What a mess.” She tugged him. “Komm. We'll go into the kitchen and get you cleaned up.”

“I don't need—” he began.

“Don't you start,” she said tartly. “I've heard enough foolishness from my brother to last me all day. You'll get that cleaned and bandaged right now.”

Matt had never heard Rebecca so assertive. Or so angry. She marched him toward the house as if he were Joshua's age, gripping his wrist the entire time.

Matt glanced back at Simon, who was studying his shoes, clearly not risking a look at his irate sister.
We're not finished,
he promised silently.

Once inside the house, Rebecca led him to the sink and turned the water on, letting it run cold over his palm. He was almost afraid to look at the cut. The pain wasn't important, but his livelihood was his hands. Without them, he couldn't help his uncle or himself, and his business would be over before it had begun.

Rebecca pressed a folded-up dish towel against his palm. One hand held the pad in place while the other still grasped his wrist, as if she feared he'd yank it away from her. They were as close as if they were about to embrace. The curve of her neck was inches away from him, and the scent of her dizzied him for an instant.

No. He couldn't let himself feel anything, not when he'd just come so close to breaking all his promises and using violence against another person. No use saying Simon had started it. If there was one thing he'd learned the hard way, it was that that excuse never helped when all was said and done. If you couldn't turn the other cheek to aggression, what kind of an Amish person were you?

Rebecca eased the pad away from the cut and inspected it. Blood still oozed sluggishly, but it wasn't as bad as he'd feared.

“That looks better than I thought,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “Cuts to the hand do bleed badly. I don't think it will need stitches, but if you want to see a doctor—”

“Not unless I have to.” His head swam as she looked up into his face, the movement bringing her lips perilously close to his.

Rebecca seemed to freeze for a moment, her gaze widening, her eyes growing darker. Awareness trembled in the air between them.

And then she was moving, pulling him away from the sink and pushing him into a chair at the kitchen table. She turned to the stove, speaking without looking at him. “Just hold the pad firmly against it. I'll get you some coffee, and we'll check the cut again once you've rested a few minutes.”

“Ja, Doktor Rebecca.”
Keep it light,
he cautioned himself.

“You mean I'm being bossy, ain't so?” She set a mug of coffee in front of him and pushed the sugar bowl within reach. “Women have to be bossy when grown men act like small boys. What were the two of you fussing about, anyway?”

He couldn't see any reason not to tell her. “I hoped that Simon might have some idea where Isaiah went when he left home. According to my cousin Sadie, they were always close friends growing up.”

Frowning a little, Rebecca sat down in the chair across from him. “They were, I'd have said, but it seems to me that we hadn't seen as much of Isaiah in the weeks before he went away. I suppose he might have been hanging out more with Englisch friends, since he was thinking of leaving.”

“You're probably right, but I have no idea who any of them were. Simon is my only hope of finding a lead to where Isaiah has gone.”

She was silent for a long moment, still frowning just a little. “Maybe I can get something out of Simon after he calms down.” Her green eyes flashed. “Your method certainly didn't do any good. Scrapping like a couple of kids on the playground. I thought better of you, Matthew.”

I thought better of you.
The words reverberated in his thoughts. Rebecca wasn't the first person to say that to him.

“You shouldn't.” He ground the words out through the pain that had nothing to do with his hand. “You'll be better off if you expect the worst.”

Rebecca stared at Matt's bent head for a long moment, turning his words over in her mind, unable to make sense of them.

“Why?” she said simply.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his hand. “I shouldn't have said it. Forget it.”

“I can't.”

Realizing he hadn't touched his coffee, she dumped a spoonful of sugar into the cup and stirred. Sugar and caffeine seemed to help when someone had had a shock.

She urged the coffee mug into his left hand and scooted her chair closer so that she could hold the pad against the cut. Judging by the stubborn line of Matt's firm lips, she wasn't going to get an answer to her question, so she changed it to a different one.

“What made your talk with Simon turn into a fight?”

He shook his head, not looking at her. “Don't get involved, Rebecca.”

“I am involved already.” Her voice was resolute. “Something must have led up to this business.” She gestured toward his hand. “I want to know what it is.”

And she wanted to know why he thought so little of himself, but she'd have to work her way around to that question again.

“Tell me.”

Rebecca considered grasping his wrist again, but the memory of those moments when she'd looked into his eyes and felt something she'd never expected to feel again—no, better not. They were close enough to each other as it was.

“Simon seemed to take offense at my trying to find out where Isaiah has gone.” Matt's shoulders moved in the smallest of shrugs. “He seems to think I'm taking advantage of the situation, moving into Isaiah's place.”