The Forgiven (19 page)

Rebecca grasped his arm. “Stop. Now.”

Her tone was the one she used when she expected instant obedience from her kinder. Apparently it also worked on Englisch children. His hand dropped from the bellpull. He slid down off the railing.

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Fisher,” the mother declared. “I just can't do a thing with Parker some days.”

Since the woman hadn't so much as stirred from her chair or dropped her magazine, it was difficult to think she had tried very hard.

“I want to ring the bell,” Parker said, reaching for the rope again.

“No.” Rebecca gave him the look that most children, at least most Amish children, knew meant business.

“Why not?” He pouted. “It's there. Why can't I ring it?”

“Because that's not what it's for.”
Because it's a precious memory of my husband and I don't want you to touch it.

“What's it for, then?” Parker didn't seem to understand what the word
no
meant.

“It is a dinner bell. When it's rung the way you were ringing it, people will think there's something wrong.” She grasped his shoulders and turned him. “See? There is Matt coming out of his workshop because he thinks there's an emergency.” She waved to him, to let him know it was all right. “And there's my brother and your grandfather coming out of the barn.” Again she turned him. “I think you should go and tell them there's nothing wrong, don't you?”

He got a faintly mulish expression that wilted when she stared at him. “I guess. Will you let me ring it when it's time for supper?”

We don't ring it.
That was what she wanted to say. But why not? Wasn't that what Paul had intended, that it should call his kinder in for supper? How foolish she was, to deny them the pleasure of building memories around it, the way their father had.

“Katie will be in charge of the dinner bell tonight,” she said firmly. “She may let you help her, ain't so, Katie?”

Gratified, Katie nodded. “I might.” She tugged at Parker's sleeve. “Let's go tell your grandfather and my onkel Simon everything is okay.” Together they ran toward the barn.

Rebecca leaned against the porch post, feeling as if she had been running as well. Or maybe as if she'd finished a race.

•   •   •

Matt's
trip to the library to use the computer had netted some surprising results, and he was still considering them as he released the mare from the hitching rail and climbed into the buggy. The library was new since his time—a sprawling modern edifice of brick and glass with a large parking lot and a hitching rail for the convenience of the Amish. The librarian had shown no surprise at seeing him using the computer. Many Amish were great readers and frequent visitors to the library, and if they had need of the computer—well, using one in the public library wasn't like having one in your home.

He clucked to the mare. He'd been taken aback to find several websites whose purpose was to encourage Amish youth to leave the church. And a couple of the sites seemed to represent groups that offered help to those who'd decided to jump the fence.

Such a thing hadn't existed back when he'd jumped the fence. It bothered him a bit, to tell the truth, but most likely a young person wouldn't find the sites unless they went looking, and they'd only be looking if they were already thinking of leaving. Probably the people who ran the sites thought they were doing work that needed to be done.

It was true that the average young Amish male who jumped the fence had few of the skills he'd need to succeed in the modern world. The Amish philosophy had always been to train their young through eighth grade in the information and skills they'd need to live Amish, not Englisch.

Matt had jotted down the particulars of one group that seemed most likely to appeal to Isaiah if he'd been looking for help to run. It was in Holmes County, Ohio, not all that far from central Pennsylvania, and it offered help in terms of advice, housing, and finding jobs.

The information given was a bit vague about exactly where it was located, probably deliberately. The person running it would want to know that the one asking was genuine before giving out specifics.

Matt understood, but it presented him with difficulties. If he had to go out to Holmes County in search of Isaiah it would mean hiring a car and driver, possibly for several days, and he'd rather be sure he had a more accurate location first.

He'd had a driver's license when he'd been living Englisch, of course. But there was something inherently wrong in attempting to persuade his cousin to come back to the faith while breaking one of that faith's traditions himself.

Well, he was on his way to find Carl Richards, the Englisch friend Simon had thought might know something about where Isaiah had gone. Asking around had netted the information that Richards worked at a local garage owned by his girlfriend's father, and it wasn't far from the library.

By the time Matt had reached the garage, he'd hammered out an approach to Richards. The best possibility seemed the simple truth. Isaiah's mother was ill, and she'd been made worse by not hearing anything from him. Matt wanted to find Isaiah to tell him about his mother, so that he'd write to her. If he could get Isaiah to come home, he would, but there was no point in telling Richards so.

The garage was like most small, independent ones in the area—a low cement-block building with an office at one end and four bays for working on cars. If it had ever had gas pumps, they'd been removed, and the concrete yard held several junked cars that looked in immediate danger of collapsing into a pile of rust.

A buggy was out of place in a haven for motorized vehicles, and there was no convenient hitching rail. Matt guided the mare to a spot on the edge of the lot where a tree provided shade for her and a branch to tie her to. In a moment he was approaching the office.

Somewhat to his surprise there was a girl behind the wooden counter, talking on the telephone. Her dramatic makeup and snug, low-cut top would be more appropriate for a cosmetic counter, he'd think, but she was reeling off parts numbers into the phone and still had time to eye him with a certain appreciation.

She hung up and gave him a teasing smile. “Now, don't tell me you brought a car in for service, because I'm not going to believe it.”

If playing up to her would get him what he wanted, he didn't mind. He leaned against the counter, smiling down at her. “I don't suppose there's anything you can do with my buggy. I'm Matthew Byler. I'd like to see Carl Richards if he's here.”

“He's working, but I'm sure he can take a little break to talk to you, Matthew.” She rose and wafted toward the door into the garage. “Follow me.”

He followed, well aware that he was supposed to be admiring the back view. And since this was presumably the girlfriend, he was also meant to think what a lucky fellow Richards was.

The garage wasn't as busy as he'd have expected. Only two bays were occupied. The woman approached the man who was bent over the engine of the compact in the nearest bay and ran her hand down what was visible of his back.

“Somebody to talk to you, sweetie.”

He straightened abruptly, a wrench in one hand. He had a wink for the girl, but he sent a frowning look at Matt. Richards was stocky, with the heavy shoulders and muscled torso of someone who worked out. His square face had straight black brows and a level mouth, giving it the look of a face cut into a wood block.

“I'm busy. I promised this heap for this afternoon.”

“Come on,” she said. “Talk to the nice gentleman. I told him you would.” A red-tipped finger touched his cheek. “Don't be rude.”

“All right, all right.” Richards gave her a gentle shove. “Get back to the office if you don't want grease on you.”

Giving Matt another smile, the girl brushed past him and headed to the office. He noticed that she lingered just inside the door, obviously intending to hear whatever was said.

“So, what's up?” Richards advanced to within a couple of feet of him. “We don't usually get Amish in here.”

“I guess not. I'm Matthew Byler,” he said, and added, “Isaiah Byler's cousin.”

The frown darkened. “So?”

Matt reminded himself not to respond to the obvious antagonism. “I understand you're a friend of my cousin.”

Heavy shoulders moved in a shrug. “We hung out sometimes. What's it to you?”

It seemed he was determined to be antagonized no matter what Matt said, so maybe it was best just to get on with it.

“I'd like to find him. I hoped you might know where he is.”

“Sorry.” The word was short. “Haven't heard from him.”

“Maybe not, but you still might have an idea where he went. Isaiah's family hasn't heard from him since he left. I really need to get in touch with him.”

“Not my business.” Richards turned, as if to go back to his work.

Matt was losing him, not that he'd had much chance from the beginning of getting anywhere. “Look, his mother is sick, and she's fretting because she doesn't know where he is or even if he's safe. If you could tell me anything about his whereabouts, it might make the situation a little easier for her to accept.”

“How would I know?” He cast a quick sideways glance as he said the words, and Matt felt reasonably certain he knew.

“You're his friend. He probably told you where he was headed, even if you haven't heard from him since. You could save his mother a lot of grief if you'd tell me what you know.”

Richards's face reddened. “How do I know if any of this story is true?” He took a step closer to Matt, shoving his face forward. “I'm not saying I know, but if I did, Isaiah would have made me promise not to tell. I don't rat on a buddy.” He seemed to be picking up steam and gaining courage as he talked. “So I got nothing to say to you. Just get out.”

He planted the hand without the wrench on Matt's chest and gave him a shove that sent him back a step or two. Matt saw red, and his hands had doubled into fists before he realized it.

He forced them to relax. First Simon, now this guy. He was beginning to think he wasn't popular here.

“I don't want to start a fight.” He spread his hands open. “I'm just trying to help my aunt. Think of how Isaiah would feel if she got worse and he didn't know.”

“Not my business,” Richards repeated stubbornly. He was a man with a single thought. He'd said he wouldn't tell, and he wasn't telling.

Matt hated to admit defeat, but he could see that nothing he'd say would do any good. “If you change your mind, you can get in touch with me at the Byler place.”

He hesitated for a moment, but Richards didn't move. Finally Matt turned and walked out. There was no use waiting for a response he knew wouldn't come.

He was halfway to the buggy when he realized someone was coming after him. Richards's girlfriend hurried up to him.

“You don't need to be in such a rush.” She put her hand, red nails and all, on his sleeve, and he had to resist the temptation to shake her off. There was no point in alienating her. Maybe she'd be willing to intercede with Richards.

“I don't have any reason to stick around,” he said. “Your boyfriend's not going to help me.”

She gazed into his face. “Look, is that really true? Is his mother really sick?”

“Yes. She really is.” He hesitated, but he thought he detected caring in the heavily made-up face. “She cries for Isaiah all the time. It's enough to break your heart.”

“Poor thing.” She paused, then sent a quick backward glance toward the garage. “Look, I don't know exactly where Isaiah is, but I can tell you the town, if that helps. It's Millville, Ohio.”

He studied her face, and the expression in her eyes convinced him she was telling the truth. Behind the makeup and provocative clothing there was a soft heart, it seemed.

“It helps a lot. Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand. “Just don't let on who told you, okay?”

“I won't,” he promised, wondering whether she feared retribution from Richards. “You've done a good thing.”

And she'd opened the door for
him
to do a good thing. He just had to figure out the right way of using the information he had.

M
att
was still trying to figure out the best way of getting in touch with Isaiah the next afternoon. He stood at the workbench, rubbing down the rocking chair with linseed oil. The repetitive movement was soothing, and it gave him time to think. Unfortunately, he wasn't coming up with any great answers.

He could try sending something to the post office in the small Ohio town, but there was no guarantee it would reach his cousin. And the Internet had probably been all the help it was going to be in tracking Isaiah.

Englisch people might be fairly easy to find that way, but not the Amish. Some teenagers and business owners might be active on it, but if Isaiah was determined to cut ties with his past, he wouldn't make himself easy to locate.

Going out to Ohio was probably the only answer, but what excuse could Matt give his uncle for going all that way? If he told Onkel Silas the truth, he could be raising hopes and then causing additional grief if they came to nothing.

Matt looked up from the rocker, glancing toward the back wall of the workshop. He'd been hearing noises off and on from outside for the past half hour. Maybe it was time he went to see what was going on.

He walked around the outside of the building. The sounds were coming from the old apple tree that was a favorite haunt of Joshua's. He stepped under the tree and glanced up just in time to dodge away from a plummeting board, which came so close it brushed his shoulder.

Matt dusted off his shirt and looked up. Two scared faces peered down at him through a circle of leaves.

“We're sorry. We didn't mean it.” The words tumbled out of Joshua.

“Are you hurt?” Katie looked as if she'd come down and render first aid in an instant.

“It's all right. I'm not hurt.” Matt bent and picked up the board. Not one of his, he saw, but an old piece of one-by-four pine that had probably been knocking around in one of the sheds. “Are you allowed to have this?” He gestured with it.

Joshua nodded. “Onkel Simon said it was okay.”

Katie's forehead crinkled. “But I think he was busy. He didn't even ask why we wanted it.”

It sounded as if that lack of interest might have hurt their feelings. They were used to having quite a bit of attention from their grandfather and uncles.

“What are the two of you trying to make?” Matt asked.

They exchanged glances, and then Katie seemed to appoint herself spokesperson. “We thought if we could put the board across between the branches, we could make a bench to sit on.” She wrinkled her nose, looking suddenly like a young Rebecca. “We keep losing hold of it. It's harder to do it than I thought it would be.”

Matt smiled at the rueful tone. “Things often are.”

Joshua nodded. “Katie says that Daadi was going to build us a tree house, but then he got sick.”

The kid's words lodged in Matt's heart. Paul had probably left undone a lot of things that he'd thought he'd be able to do with his children.

“Why don't I get a couple of boards and my tools? Then I can come up and help you. But only if you want,” he added, mindful that Katie might still harbor some resentment toward him.

“Would you really?” Katie's eager smile dismissed that concern.

“But Mammi said we aren't supposed to bother you when you're working,” Joshua said.

“It's no bother. I can take a little break.” He put out of his mind the work he'd planned to accomplish yet this afternoon. If it didn't get done today, it would tomorrow. That was one of the reasons he liked being in business for himself. “Do you want to help me carry things?”

“For sure.” Joshua shinnied down the tree in seconds, all smiles, and Katie followed him.

“We'll carry everything,” she said. “You can just show us what to do. Maybe, if there are Englisch kids the next time we have visitors, they'd like to sit on our bench, too.”

Joshua, trotting beside Matt as they headed into the workshop, didn't look thrilled with that idea. “I thought maybe it would be our own secret place.”

“But we're supposed to help Mammi with the Englischers, remember?” Katie seemed to take the responsibility seriously. “It's our job.”

“I guess,” Joshua said reluctantly.

Matt decided not to venture an opinion. Rebecca could deal with this one. Certainly Amish children learned from an early age that everyone in the family contributed to its work, but he could understand Joshua's wish for a secret hideout. What kid didn't want one?

In a few minutes they were back at the tree, laden down with supplies. “I'll use a rope to hoist the boards up into the tree,” he said. “That's how we do it whenever we're working on something high.”

Joshua nodded, face serious. “I saw Grandpa and Onkel Simon do that when they mended the barn roof. You can climb up the ladder I made, okay?”

The ladder was a few crosspieces nailed to the trunk. Matt buckled on his tool belt before starting up. He didn't want to hurt Joshua's feelings by nailing the steps more solidly, but he went up cautiously.

The spot the kinder had picked for their building operation was actually suitable—a natural crotch in the tree where two branches formed a rough triangle with the trunk.

He lowered the rope down to them. “Just tie that around the boards, and I'll haul them up.”

They scurried to obey, and in a moment stood back. “It's ready,” Katie said. “We made it really tight.”

The boards rose, swaying a little, and he lashed them to a handy branch while the kinder were climbing up.

“Did you ever build a real tree house?” Joshua asked, with thinly disguised hope in his voice.

“I did make a few,” he admitted. “But I was older than you are by then.”

He hadn't actually been much older than Katie when he and his brother had built their first tree house. He had a sudden, vivid memory of sunshine hot on his back and the smell of manure coming from the barn. He could almost feel himself sitting with his skinny knees wrapped around a rough branch, pounding a nail in and grazing Caleb's fingers. He could see the small hand snatching back and hear Caleb's shriek.

He hadn't been very sympathetic, as he recalled. He'd called Caleb a baby, which hadn't helped matters, and then said if he didn't shut up, Daadi would make them stop. That threat had produced instant silence, and they'd finished their project in harmony.

Matt fitted a board across the branches and let Joshua and Katie push it firmly against the trunk.

“That's it,” he said. “Let's put a few nails in to hold it fast.” Remembering Caleb's bruised fingers, he made sure small hands were well back from the hammer. “My brother and I used to build tree houses. Then as soon as one was finished, we'd want to build something else, so we'd tear it apart and make a fort or a nest or even a different style of tree house. That was all part of the fun, I guess.”

“I wish I had a brother.” Joshua gave his sister a quick glance. “I mean someone younger than me. If I had a little brother, I could teach him things, like Katie does me.”

“Maybe you will someday.” If their mother married again. The thought was vaguely disturbing. “Or you might have a boy cousin when Onkel Simon gets married.”

“Maybe.” Joshua didn't sound too hopeful.
Someday
sounded like never when a boy was five, Matt supposed.

“I hope he doesn't marry Mary Ann,” Katie blurted out, and then looked guilty. “I shouldn't say so. Don't tell Mammi.”

“I won't say anything.” Matt had the impression that no one was exactly thrilled with Simon's friend except, presumably, Simon.

They fitted another board into place beside the first. Matt figured about four planks would give a wide enough platform for the two of them.

“Was this why you were so interested in my tools?” He focused on Josh's face. “Because you wanted to make a tree house?”

Joshua shrugged. “Not just a tree house. I like to build things. But Mammi doesn't know how, and Onkel Simon used to help me but now he's too busy.”

Joshua sniffed, as if Simon's defection was a sore point.

Katie nudged him. “Onkel Simon has more work to do now, remember? Mammi said.”

“I guess everyone has to pitch in and help more since your grossdaadi is sick,” Matt pointed out. “Your onkel Simon is busy with his planting and your mammi's as well.”

Joshua nodded. “I heard Mary Ann say that he had time for everybody but her. What do you think she meant?”

Katie looked as if she had her own ideas on the subject, but she didn't speak.

Matt suspected he shouldn't touch that, either, but he had to say something. “I don't know. Maybe she was just missing spending more time with him, and it made her sad.”

“She didn't sound sad.” Joshua helped him put the last board in place. “She sounded mad.”

He definitely wasn't going to touch that one. Time for a change of subject. “We're almost done. You two can show Mammi what you made. You'll let her come up, right?”

Josh grinned. “Mothers don't climb trees.”

“Your mother did when she was about Katie's age. I'll bet she still can.”

“I'll go get Mammi,” Joshua said, scrambling across the platform for the ladder.

“Mammi is here,” a voice said.

Matt peered over the edge to see Rebecca smiling up at him, the sunlight that filtered through the leaves gilding her face.

It was the strangest thing. Matt had a sudden longing to pretend that the past few years, with their burden of guilt and grief and pain, hadn't happened, that the two of them could be young again, just for a few minutes.

He smiled down at her. “Komm up. See what Joshua and Katie have built.”

“Not just us,” Katie said quickly. “Matt did most of the work.”

Rebecca eyed the climb warily. “Maybe I'll admire it from down here.”

“Coward,” Matt teased. “Where is the little girl who climbed to the top of the oak tree in the schoolyard if someone gave her a boost?”

“She got stuck there, as I remember.”

“Komm.” He held out his hand. “We won't let you fall.”

She met his gaze for another moment, and then she nodded, laughter seeming to tremble on her lips. “All right. But there will be trouble if I do.”

Rebecca grasped the crosspieces, checking their sturdiness, and then stepped off the ground. One step, two, and then Matt's fingers reached hers. He held her hand, liking the sense that she relied on him, and she scrambled up to perch on the platform next to him, her legs dangling.

“Isn't it great, Mammi?” Josh threw his arms around her neck in his excitement, and Matt had to steady them both.

“Matt says he had a tree house when he was a little older than us,” Katie added.

Matt saw the swift shadow that passed across Rebecca's eyes, probably because she was remembering Paul's plans. Then she was smiling again.

“This is a fine job. You can sit up here and see everything that's going on. You could even have lunch up here sometime, if you wanted.”

“Could we do it now, Mammi?” Katie said quickly. “Not lunch, I mean, but a snack? We're hungry from working.”

“I guess you are due for a snack. There are some snickerdoodles in the cookie jar. I'll get them—”

“No, no, me!” Joshua exclaimed. “Let me.” He climbed over his mother like a little monkey.

“Me, too,” Katie said. She swung down to the first rung of the ladder. “We'll be careful. We'll put the lid back on and wrap the cookies up in a paper towel.” She jumped the last rung, Joshua right behind her, and set off running across the yard.

“There's no use hoping they'll remember to wash their hands before they get the cookies,” Rebecca said. “I hope you don't mind a little dirt.”

“Keeps you healthy, so my mamm used to say.”

They were sitting very close of necessity on the small platform, and Matt was intensely aware of Rebecca—the gentle curve of her mouth, the soft flush in her cheeks, the way her gaze followed her children's sturdy little figures until they disappeared into the house.

Her eyes swept up to his, and his throat went dry.

“You are wonderful kind to build this with Joshua and Katie,” she said.

“It's nothing.” He tried for a light touch but didn't think he succeeded. “I found them trying to manhandle a board into the tree on their own. I figured helping them would be the safest course.”

Her face clouded as if he'd scolded her. “Ach, I should have been watching them closer. They could have gotten hurt doing something like that and—”

“Rebecca, don't start blaming yourself,” he interrupted. “That wasn't what I meant. They're normal kids. Trying things, failing, falling, getting hurt, getting up again . . . That's all part of being young.” His fingers closed on her wrist, and he could feel her pulse beating against his skin.

“I know. I try not to fuss. It's just . . .” She smiled suddenly. “I'm a mother. That's what we do.”

That smile seemed to go right to his heart. They were so close, and her smiling lips were only inches from his. He couldn't help it. He closed the distance and found her lips with his.

For an instant Rebecca was still. Then she leaned into the kiss, and her breath came out with a little sigh. He touched her face, longing welling inside him. He wanted . . .

The back door slammed, announcing that the children were coming. Rebecca drew away, the movement slow. A blush colored her cheeks but she was smiling, her eyes bemused.

“The kinder,” she said, as if in explanation. “I . . . I think I'll get down and let you have your snack with them.”

He nodded. Rebecca wasn't running away, or being offended, or reacting in any of the ways he might have expected to his kiss. She was just putting a little distance between them.