The Rescued (17 page)

She rubbed her arms, feeling suddenly chilled. “It's coming closer.”

“You—” Adam stopped, as if he'd changed his mind about
what he was going to say. “Try not to worry too much. The bishop and Pastor Colby are talking to each of the board members. Surely someone will listen to reason.”

“I know.” If anyone could make a difference, it must be those two.
Please, Lord.
“I'll be all right.”

Maybe not all right,
she thought as Adam moved away reluctantly. But at least Adam's unexpected kiss had given her something to worry over besides the current trouble.

•   •   •

Here
was one thing that had probably not changed since the days Mattie Lapp wrote about in her letters. Judith glanced around the backyard at the Byler farm, where the after-worship lunch was about finished. They still had worship services every other Sunday, lasting for three hours, followed by a lunch provided by the host family for that particular day.

Change didn't come quickly if you were Amish, and some fundamentals didn't change at all. It was only the particular challenges to being Amish that were different from one generation to the next. Even the lunch served was predictable, with only a few changes in the dessert depending upon what was in season.

Apples, of course, this time of the year, and there had been big pans of apple crisp on the table today. Delicious, making her think of working her way through her collection of apple recipes.

The smallest children ran and played, weaving between groups of chatting older people. The little ones were just happy to be moving after sitting quietly in worship for three hours. The slightly older kinder had an organized game going.

As for the teenagers—well, they did what teens always did
by ignoring the adults and focusing, no matter how they tried to hide it, on the opposite sex.

There would be a singing tonight for the rumspringa gang in the same barn where worship had been held this morning. Already some boys were setting up a volleyball net with probably a lot of unnecessary flexing of muscles. The teenage girls clustered in small groups, talking and giggling and casting frequent glances in the direction of the boys.

At least Joseph wasn't involved in that yet. They had two years before he'd be starting rumspringa, with all the worries that would entail.

“Those youngsters remind you of your rumspringa, ain't so?” Grossmammi said, startling her.

Judith sprang up to give her grandmother her chair and then pulled another one over for herself. “A little, I guess. I don't remember being that silly, that's certain-sure.”

“You weren't. Not like those teenagers, and for sure not like Barbie. Neither you nor Rebecca was.” Grossmammi's eyes searched the crowd for Barbie, and Judith nodded.

“She's over by the pasture fence.” She pointed out her cousin. Barbie was chatting with the Esch brothers, her head tilted to one side as she flirted impartially with each of them.

Grossmammi shook her head, looking resigned. “I'd like to think she was interested in one or the other of them, but I don't.”

“They wouldn't be gut for her, anyway. They're too eager to please her. Barbie needs someone who's a bit older and stronger than those two.”

Judith had spoken without thinking, and then she realized that what she'd said was probably true. Lively Barbie could
wrap either or both of the Esch boys around her little finger, and that wasn't a good basis for marriage.

Of course, given her current situation, she might wonder if she even knew what a good marriage was.

“Someone like Isaac, you mean?” Grossmammi's tone was innocent, but there was no escaping the wisdom in her eyes.

Judith shrugged. “It was different for us. I was much younger than Barbie is, for one thing. She's old enough to be settling down, even if she doesn't think so.”

“From what I remember about you, once Isaac showed his interest, no one else stood a chance with you, ain't so?”

Tears stung Judith's eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. She didn't want to talk about Isaac, not now, but she couldn't fail to answer when her grandmother asked her.

“I guess so. I never thought of him being interested in me. Since he was so quiet and serious himself, it seemed more likely he'd go for a lively girl.”

“People don't always do what we think they would, especially when it comes to love.” Grossmammi paused, but when Judith didn't respond, she went on. “There was talk of him and Becky Fisher for a while, I remember. She was certain-sure a lively one.”

Becky was long since married to someone else, with a big family of her own and a comfortably spreading figure, and her flirting days were past. Judith struggled to keep back the words that wanted to be said, but she lost.

“By that time, Isaac knew how sick his aunt was. He must have figured he needed to court a girl who could be a mother to Joseph.”

Grossmammi looked at her questioningly. “That was a
compliment, ain't so? He knew you would be a gut mammi, and so you are.”

“A woman might want something a little more romantic as a reason for marrying.” Her tone was sharper than she'd intended, and she couldn't even hope that Grossmammi had missed it.

“Was ist letz, Judith?” Her grandmother's voice was gentle. “You can talk to me, ain't so?”

Judith bit her lip, knowing she had to speak but knowing, too, that she shouldn't burden Grossmammi with her own worries.

“I think Isaac is being stubborn and wrongheaded about Joseph, insisting the boy take over the dairy farm whether he wants to or not. And Isaac thinks I am interfering when I try to help.”

“It can't be interfering when you love the boy, too,” Grossmammi said. “After all, you raised him.”

“That's what I feel.” She frowned, then tried to rub the furrows away from her forehead with her fingertips. “Ach, it's all mixed up in Isaac's mind with losing his family. But I hate being at odds with him over Joseph.”

“It's not a gut thing—” Grossmammi stopped abruptly, glancing over Judith's shoulder.

Judith turned, following the direction of her grandmother's gaze. Joseph stood there, and it was obvious from his white face that he'd overheard at least some of what they'd been saying, if not all.

“I . . . I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I didn't mean to listen.”

“Joseph, it's all right,” she began, but Joseph had already turned. He bolted toward the barn.

Her heart twisting, Judith rose. “I have to go. I have to talk to him.” She hurried after him, trying not to look as if anything was wrong. Poor Joseph. She'd had no idea he was anywhere near her, or she'd never have spoken that way.

When she reached the barn, the boy seemed to have disappeared. Judith paused in the doorway, scanning the yard and the fields beyond. There was no sign of him. He must have gone inside.

Moving quietly, Judith stepped into the barn. It retained the remnants of the worship service, even though most of the benches had been moved outside and turned into tables for the lunch since it was a nice warm day. A few remained, mute reminders of the worship that had taken place.

She walked through the space, glancing from side to side, listening. Finally she heard the sound she was waiting for—a muffled sob.

It came from the hayloft. Without pausing, Judith started up the closest ladder. When she'd climbed high enough to see across the loft, she spotted Joseph, crouched over a hay bale just a few feet from the top of the ladder. He stared at her, his face white and tearstained. He looked much more like a little boy than a man just now.

“Give me a hand up, Joseph.” She kept her voice cheerful with an effort. “I'm getting a little old for climbing, I think.”

Sniffling, he moved toward her, grasping her arm and helping her until she stood in the loft. When he started to turn away, she held his arm firmly and piloted him to the nearest hay bale, sitting down and drawing him down next to her. He didn't make an effort to run again, but he kept his face turned away, maybe ashamed for her to see his tears.

“Now then, we must talk, the two of us.” No response. “I'm
sorry that you heard what I said to my grossmammi about our troubles. But you know that she won't repeat it to anyone, ain't so?”

That got a slight nod.

Her heart twisted as she studied him. The curve of his cheek and the back of his neck were as familiar to her as Levi's or Paul's or Noah's. But the hands were different now—nearly a man's hands, which he'd have to grow into. And his shirtsleeves were already too short for him, showing bony wrists that were somehow vulnerable.

“You are thinking that it is your fault that Isaac and I are disagreeing.” In a way it was because of Joseph, but it went far deeper than that, and it was important that Joseph not blame himself.

Again she got a nod, and his head seemed to sink between his arms.

“Married couples disagree sometimes. It's part of marriage. If we always agreed with each other, we wouldn't be normal. Men and women sometimes see things differently, that's all.”

She tried to keep her voice light, hard though it was. But the words made her realize how seldom she had expressed disagreement with Isaac, even when she felt it. She had always been willing to let her desire go in order to keep the peace, until it had come to something as important as Joseph's future and his happiness.

“Komm now.” She nudged him. “You've heard Lige and his wife disagree, haven't you? Even Onkel Simon, much as he loved her, sometimes argued with Aunt Emma. You should have heard her scold him when he came into the kitchen without taking off his work shoes.”

That actually got a slight smile, as everyone knew that Onkel Simon was often guilty of tracking in mud.

“You see?” Some of her tension slid away. “You can accept responsibility for things you caused, but not for everything, ain't so?”

Joseph was like Isaac in that trait, she realized suddenly, and she felt the knowledge clutch at her heart. But Joseph, being young, still had time to learn a different way to react, while Isaac . . . She wasn't sure that Isaac could ever accept that truth, and as long as he didn't, he'd never come to terms with the death of his parents.

Lancaster County, Late September 1953

A
dam
walked across the field between Mattie's place and his uncle's, his mind still caught up in the effect of that kiss. He hadn't planned it, but maybe it was the best thing he could have done. Mattie had responded, there was no doubt in his mind about that or about the fact that she cared for him, whether she knew it or not.

Mattie was unwilling to admit that her feelings for him could lead to marriage. For all the reasons she'd put up against a relationship between them, she hadn't said she didn't love him. He was in a mood to consider that a triumph.

Patience—that was what was called for now. With time and persistence, Mattie would surely come to see, as he had, that this was right. He'd said nothing but the truth when he'd pointed out that though they'd both loved Ben dearly, he was gone.

Strange, how that had clarified in his mind once the threat to Mattie had reared up. All of his worries about what Ben would have thought seemed like so much foolishness. Ben would
want Mattie and his kinder to be happy and taken care of if he couldn't be here to do it. He'd never been one to try and hold on to the past.

Onkel Jonah moved into his line of sight, carrying what looked like a burlap bag of chicken feed over his shoulder. When he spied Adam coming he thumped the bag to the ground and raised his hand. Adam obediently veered toward him.

“On your way home to supper?” he asked.

Adam nodded. “All finished at Mattie's. I helped her and the girls bring everything back from the farm stand.”

He walked across Onkel Jonah's land every day at this time, on his way back to his parents' place. He'd moved back to the family farm after losing his wife and child, not having the heart to stay in the house that had been so full of their dreams.

Since his uncle knew all that perfectly well, he must have something he wanted to say.

A frown clouded Onkel Jonah's face. “You heard about the trouble at the farm stand last night, ain't so?”

“Mattie told me.” His hands clenched into fists. “I wish I'd been there.”

“Ja, and I wish I'd heard it. At least I could have gone over and stayed with them. Mattie said the kinder didn't wake, so at least they weren't frightened. But she was, that's certain-sure.”

“No one was hurt this time.” The thought that those boys could come back refused to be dismissed from Adam's mind.

Onkel Jonah rubbed the back of his neck. “If only we'd set up the stand at the end of our road, or yours. But we thought we were doing a gut thing, making it more convenient for Mattie, since she has the kinder to watch.”

“It might not have made a difference,” Adam said slowly, hating to voice the fear in his head. “It might have been that the vandals hit there because of knowing that's where Rachel lives.” His jaw hardened until it was difficult to speak. “If so, I'm afraid they might come back.”

“Ach, no!” The shock in Onkel Jonah's face made it plain the idea hadn't occurred to him. “I never thought of such a thing. If you're right, we have to do something.”

“That's what I think, too. It worries me. I said to Mattie that I'd bring blankets and sleep in the barn for a bit, but she wouldn't hear of it.”

“There's no use asking her and the kinder to sleep over here with us for a time, either. I know she wouldn't.” Onkel Jonah glanced toward Mattie's house. “Still, I don't see any reason why the two of us might not take some late-night walks in that direction, is there?”

Adam grinned. “That's just what I was thinking.”

“That's one thing we can do, then, even if it's not as much as we'd like to do.”

“No. It's bad enough that she's threatened by the school district, without having to put up with hoodlums as well.”

“Ja.” Onkel Jonah's expression darkened. “I hear two more of unser Leit were served with papers today.”

“Thomas Beiler and Josiah Kile. I heard.” Who would be next? “I keep hoping the board will take account of the fact that Mattie is a widow, with no one to share her burden. Why would they take their only parent away from those kinder, and a woman besides?”

“I would like to believe they would consider it.” But his uncle's expression showed his doubt. “Still, everyone knows
that Josiah's wife is in the hospital, and that didn't stop them from going after him.”

“I keep trying to understand the Englisch who are doing this, but it is sehr hard.” Adam kicked at a loose clod of dirt. “I have to believe those people on the board really think they're doing something good, otherwise I'm not sure I can forgive.” Adam shrugged, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders. “At least they have some reason for what they're doing, even if we don't agree with it. Not like those boys who broke up the pumpkins.”

“The Lord says we have to forgive, but He doesn't say it is easy.” Onkel Jonah looked as if he was struggling with that forgiveness as well.

“No. The most important thing now is to rescue Mattie from this threat, but I don't know how it's to be done.” His fists clenched again, and again he forced them to relax. Anger was a sin, just as not forgiving those who wronged you was. It would be easier, he thought, to forgive a wrong done to himself rather than one done to Mattie.

“If Mattie were married, her husband would be the one the law went after, even if he were the stepfather, ain't so?” Onkel Jonah dropped the question and seemed to look at it, as if wondering whether he should have said it.

Adam studied his face. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

Onkel Jonah met his gaze without wavering. “We all still miss Ben, but it's time to move on. It's what he would want.” He was echoing Adam's thoughts. “You're my own brother's boy, and you've grown into a gut man. You're already attached to Mattie and her kinder, ain't so? We've been thinking for some time it would be a gut match.”

Adam hesitated for a moment, but he may as well speak, since Ben's own father had brought it up. “I have been thinking it, too. But Mattie doesn't see it that way.” His lips quirked a little. “Still, I think she might change her mind, given some time.”

Relief washed over his uncle's face. “I'm wonderful glad to hear you say so. I wouldn't be matchmaking if it weren't for the way things are right now.”

“Once Mattie gets used to the idea—” he began.

His uncle was shaking his head. “That's the trouble. If we are to save Mattie from jail, there might not be time for waiting and thinking. They could come for her any day now, and then what will we do?”

The words sent a chill down Adam's spine. He would go to jail every day of the week to spare Mattie, but the only way he could do that was as her husband, and he didn't think she would agree to it, at least not yet.

•   •   •

All
the way home from worship that Sunday morning, Judith had been pondering her conversation with Joseph. Her heart hurt when she thought of his efforts to keep from crying in front of her. Once, he'd have buried his face in her apron and wept out his sorrows, but he considered himself a man now. He'd try to keep his suffering to himself, no matter what the cost.

Like Isaac. She stole a glance across the buggy seat at her husband. His face was set in firm lines, his expression unreadable under the shadow cast by his black hat. The two brothers were more alike than they realized.

Somehow, there must be a reconciliation between Isaac and
Joseph. Even if Isaac refused to change his mind about Joseph's future, even if Joseph walked away from the dairy farm when he was old enough, surely they could find some common ground for Isaac to show the boy he still loved him. Joseph needed that reassurance. And Joseph wasn't the only one.

She had to talk to Isaac. She was the only one who could. Even though her heart shrank from confronting him, she had to do it.

The opportunity to talk to Isaac alone didn't arise until after she'd settled the boys for the night. She'd barely reached the bottom of the stairs before she heard Levi and Paul fussing at each other. She turned to go back up, but Isaac, just heading for his chair with the weekly newspaper, shook his head.

“I'll do it.” He tossed the paper aside and headed up the stairs. “I don't know what's the matter with those two lately. All they do is snap at each other.”

She watched him, bemused. Did he realize he'd just described another pair of brothers in the family? Apparently not.

As Judith settled into her rocker and picked up the mending basket, she could hear Isaac's voice, scolding. He sounded out of sorts. Maybe this wasn't the best time to approach him about his relationship with Joseph.

And maybe she was being a coward. There wasn't going to be a good time, and the thought of another evening spent mainly in silence was more than she could bear.

He came back down. “Paul was out of his room, teasing his brother about something or other. And Levi was calling him names. The two of them are going to earn spankings if they don't settle down, and quickly.”

She would not point out the similarity to the relationship between him and his brother. If he didn't see it, how could she make him?

Besides, she already had enough of an issue on her mind. Judith waited until he was seated with the newspaper in his hands, so that he couldn't say he was on his way to do something else. “I want to talk to you, Isaac.”

The newspaper rustled. “Can it wait? I still haven't had time to read the paper.”

“This is more important than the newspaper.” Judith forced as much firmness as she could muster into her voice.

The newspaper lowered, and she thought Isaac looked a little surprised. Maybe he wasn't used to her speaking so firmly to him.

Now that she had his attention, she wasn't sure where to start. Best just to plunge right in.

“I think you need to be talking more to Joseph.” That wasn't quite what she wanted to say, but at least it opened the subject.

“We talk.” But there was a defensiveness in his voice that declared he knew what she meant.

“Telling him to pass the salt isn't talking.” Judith drew in a breath, trying to approach the subject calmly. “He became very upset today after church. I think he feels that he is coming between the two of us.”

Now she'd startled him. The newspaper slid to the floor. “That's foolishness.”

“Maybe so, but it's what he feels.” She leaned forward, willing her husband to understand. “Isaac, Joseph is carrying a load of guilt that he shouldn't be.”
Like you,
she thought, her heart aching. “He needs to talk to you about all of this and feel you've heard him.”

Isaac's face tightened. “I'm not changing my mind about the farm. I have to do what I feel is best for Joseph.”

Patience, she told herself. “You can talk to him without changing your mind.”

“Why do women think they have to talk things to death?” Isaac muttered, but the words were said in the grudging murmur that told her he was weakening.

“Because we know it's often the best way to make things better,” she said promptly. “Like now. Joseph needs to know that even if the two of you disagree about his future, you still love him.”

His gaze slid away from hers in typical male embarrassment. “Joseph is getting too old for that, ain't so? Besides, he knows what I feel for him.”

“How can he know when you never say so?” Her throat clenched. It was true for her as well as for Joseph. Sometimes people needed to hear the words.

“He's all that's left of my family.” His voice grew tight. “He has to know what that means.”

“Isaac, you never talk about them.” She leaned toward him, reaching out helplessly. “I know it hurts, but sometimes we need to share our grief.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, her throat clogged with tears. “I'd like to talk about Deborah once in a while. Don't you see that? She was my best friend.” The tears spilled over, and she put her hands on her face.

This wasn't about her. She'd never intended to say such a thing. Men hated tears, and Isaac was no exception. He'd make some lame excuse to leave—

His chair creaked as he rose. Then he clasped her shoulders and drew her up out of the rocker, her mending falling to the floor. He put his arms around her.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, and buried her face in his shirt.

“No.” He kissed the top of her head. “I'm sorry. I had forgotten. You and Deborah . . .” He held her for a long moment, motionless, his cheek against her forehead. “How could I forget?” he murmured. “The two of you running around the garden together, whispering secrets, her braids coming down and yours curling out of control.” He stroked her hair.

Judith managed a smile through her tears. “I know. I think most of the secrets were plots to spy on you.”

“Mischief makers,” he teased softly.

“Only when I was with Deborah.” Her heart swelled, remembering. “I was always shy and quiet, except with her.”

He nodded, and she felt the movement against her face. “Ja. She was so lively she could bring people out.”

They just stood there for a long moment, holding each other. Finally Isaac sighed. “Komm.” He settled her against his side. “Let's go up to bed. Tomorrow I'll try to do better with Joseph. All right?”

Judith's heart lightened. “All right.”

Much later she lay awake, listening to Isaac's steady breathing, grateful for the weight of his arm across her. Somehow, and she wasn't sure how, she'd gotten through to Isaac. At least, he'd said he'd try. She could only pray that it would be enough—that it would be a new beginning for him and Joseph.

•   •   •