Rebecca's Choice (22 page)

For a brief moment, she considered joining Matthew. Let John come find her if he wanted to. He deserved it, didn’t he? Regardless of what her father had told him, John should have stood with her. Let Wilma imagine what she wanted, think what she would. If this was for money, how would they explain the risk she took?

The moment passed, though, and she gathered herself.
John has an explanation. Surely he does.
If not, then she would have to understand anyway. Her heart might struggle, but they would see each other through this. John had said he would, and she would not forsake him.

Resolved, she searched the line again and still found nothing. The line of buggies lurched forward. Another woman got in, and again the action was repeated. Rebecca’s gaze was drawn to the constant movement of men out by the barn. It was John. He came out of the barn leading his horse.

“A little ahead of myself,” she said to the woman behind her and stepped out of line. The attempted smile must have looked as queasy as her stomach felt, but Sarah, the bishop’s wife, seemed not to notice. Her smile was genuine.

At least they don’t hate me,
Rebecca thought. She moved back toward the house, her smile still weak.

She considered walking across the lawn and offering to help John get the horse hitched. If her heart hadn’t hurt so much, she would have despite the custom. Instead she waited.

Rebecca rejoined the line once John did. The pain around her heart increased the closer she got to the buggy. She knew her smile was tight, her face contorting with the effort.

“Hi,” she said. Her step up carried her into the seat beside him. His closeness pressed in on her, and his smile lit up his entire face. Her heart refused to respond.

“Good to see you,” he said, “after such a day.” John let the reins out, and the horse pulled forward.

She wanted to scream,
Sure, you’re still okay. What about me? Why didn’t you stand with me?

He glanced at her face, seeming to come to some conclusion. “I understand,” he said. “It was a hard day.”

“For me,” she said. The words came out quickly.

“I understand,” he nodded and turned the horse left at the blacktop. “Dad thinks things will clear up after a while. Handling it this way will be for the best.”

“Really?” The question was bitter in her voice.

“Yes.” He nodded, his face solemn. “I think so too. We talked for a long time last night. Dad, Mom, and myself. It makes perfect sense this way. We can be thankful Dad was willing to help us out.”

“He was?”

“Yes. I assume the plan worked. Dad would likely have said something to me after church if it hadn’t.”

“Did my dad talk to you?”

“Yes. I didn’t change my mind.”

“So you have a good reason for this?”

“I think so.” John had a puzzled look on his face. “You don’t like it, I know. I wanted to.”

“You wanted what?” Rebecca felt her breath come short, the expectation heavy in the air.

“To stand with you,” he said.

“But you didn’t.”

He looked at her strangely. Then the smile came, broad and wide. He chuckled. “Oh, you don’t know.”

“Would you explain yourself? I was the only one who stayed back.”

“No,” he said. He placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward him. “I stayed back too.”

“How?” she asked.

“Dad arranged it somehow. He took it to the ministers’ meeting. That way it didn’t have to be announced in public. It makes it easier for you—less attention and all. But they know where I stand.”

She felt her body give in. She laid her head against his shoulder and let the tears flow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “that I doubted you.”

“I understand. It’s just hard.”

They drove in silence, but the tears didn’t stop. Rebecca was tired—too tired to stop crying. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be a
bruts bobli.
”

“You’re not,” he said, his arm tightening around her shoulders. “You’re anything but a crybaby. You’re a wonderful girl.”

“Now I’m really going to cry.”

He only smiled, as he watched the road and clutched the reins in his free hand.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

R
achel’s days were burdened, clouded by visions of what she hated. Ever present in the daytime, they haunted her dreams at night. The goats, the object of her scorn, now stood between herself and the inheritance. She never would have expected Reuben to bring home a herd of goats nor succeed in anything. It was beyond her imagination but true. Each week Reuben succeeded, and the critters multiplied themselves.

Even with the frequent veterinary bills, the income Reuben declared outgrew any expenses. She knew this because she secretly checked the accounts and carefully reviewed his books. The numbers were what Reuben said they were. He made money—and a reasonable amount of it.

She gathered hope each time a new problem afflicted the flock and lost it when Reuben found a fix. Rachel hid her determination to stop the progress behind an attitude of helpfulness and waited for the opportunity to spoil his efforts.

Daily her unborn child grew. Although her thought processes seemed to have slowed down and her attentions had been diverted, she was comforted by that fact that there was still time. Even after the baby’s birth, there would be time left. Rebecca could do nothing quickly. From the reports she received Sunday, overheard from the deacon’s wife, Rebecca had to stay back from communion.

So the girl’s way was blocked. It would just be a matter of time before Rebecca would bolt—run right back to that Mennonite boyfriend of hers and give up on her plan to claim what wasn’t hers anyway. Amish ways might be hard, but they did serve their purposes at times. This was one of those times. Rebecca wouldn’t be allowed to marry Amish, she was sure, not under these conditions.

In the meantime she would do what she could when and if the opportunity presented itself. Rachel was not bothered by her devious actions. Instead her motivation was fueled by the conviction Reuben needed help.

Reuben’s present success only drove her further. If Reuben thought money was so evil, why then did the creation of it cause him such joy? He was misguided. Money was important. Reuben’s goals were just too low.

For now the cover must be maintained. If Reuben suspected she meant the herd harm, he would take necessary measures. As it was he often asked her help, which gave her access to see how the operation was run and discover weaknesses to exploit it.

Goats were hardy creatures, she quickly decided. Once she added salt to their feed bucket, a weak attempt at sabotage. One got sick, but she couldn’t be certain from what.

Reuben said the vet thought it was acidosis and wanted the feed schedule evened out. This only produced more work and more trips to the barn in her condition. When she mentioned this to Reuben, he made a genuine effort to reduce her workload, which only limited her access to the goat barn.

When Reuben went to visit the bank in Rushville, Rachel decided to make another move. She was certain Reuben had gone to deliver the loan payment by hand. The man’s delight in his success was phenomenal.

She walked back to the woods to search for strange looking plants. Faint memories of eighth-grade biology class returned, but she couldn’t be certain of what she was searching for. The area carried few naturally poisonous plants. A half an hour’s search produced some specimens but nothing too dangerous, from what she recollected. She fed them to two goats in the yard.

The goats developed a strong case of diarrhea. The vet found scraps of the offending plants in the yard and raised the point that such items were usually only found in woods. She readily admitted to finding the plants and feeding them to the goats. She counted on Reuben attributing the effort to her love for his prize animals. In this she was correct.

“Better leave the wood plants alone,” the vet grinned, apparently amused at this Amish couple’s intense care for their animals. “Not many people make such an effort.”

“It’s cheaper than feed,” Rachel said, which wasn’t a lie.

“That it is,” the vet said chuckling, “before my bill, that is.”

“We’ll stick with store bought food,” Reuben assured him.

Rachel smiled at them. This had been an easy effort—the first try, so to speak. It would have been great had it worked, but it hadn’t been that hard to find a cover for her actions. Next time she would do better.

The first details of her final plan came to her one night, while she dreamed of goats. The goats were everywhere all the time. But instead of alive and well, now they lay dead, spread at her feet, and she was the architect of their demise.

The Rushville Library was close enough and large enough to contain what she wanted and possibly confirm her impressions from the dream. With one trip to the library, she learned the plan could be made to work. On the way home, she stopped at a plant nursery, hopeful she wouldn’t be recognized and remembered. She ordered the seeds and paid for them with her own stashed cash. Reuben would never know.

Feelings of guilt assaulted her, intense in their claims against her. She had sinned against God and man, they said. Surprised as much as convicted, she rode them out, allowing the emotions to swirl around her. It was too late to turn back now.

Luke might be the only loose end, and this concerned her enough to invite him home for Sunday supper. When she took food over to Emma’s old place and he made a face at her invitation, she knew what the problem was. He didn’t want to miss time spent with Susie.

“Bring her too,” she said with a smile.

“Mom, you don’t like her.”

“Perhaps it’s time to start. People will begin talking soon.”

“So that’s why,” he said more than asked, a sigh on his lips.

She let him think so because she needed a reason he could believe.
It is partly so,
she told herself on the way home. When Luke still made no effort to bring Susie home for supper, she enlisted Reuben’s help.

“We need to get to know Susie and invite her here to our home,” she told him. “Would you ask Luke to bring her over sometime?”

“I suppose he knows you don’t like her.”

“Yes,” she admitted readily, “but it is time to deal with that.”

Reuben must have agreed because the next time she saw Luke, he told her they would come.

“This Sunday night before the singing,” he said, a glint in his eye. “You’d better be nice to her.”

“Of course,” she said and smiled her best mother’s smile.

“You’re not planning something, like breaking us up?”

“No,” she said, which was true. “You’re marrying the girl, right?”

“I hope so,” he said.

She caught a glimpse of his face, soft with his thoughts of Susie, but was unmoved. Resigned, Rachel was saddened by his choice.

What’s to be will be, I suppose,
she told herself when Luke left.
No sense in losing the money too.

The packages of seeds arrived on Saturday morning. Reuben left for his afternoon church rounds a little after two. He didn’t tell her how long he would be gone, but leaving this early indicated his visits would take a while. Apparently Bishop Mose had given him a long list.

With the sound of his buggy wheels rattling down the driveway, she dressed in an old dress and walked toward the woods. She surveyed the swamp on the neighbor’s property and the fence line nearby. It would be an easy matter to loosen some wires when the time came—perhaps late summer when the plants were full grown. Reuben would think the goats had forced the wire, left loose by his own carelessness.

She planted for two hours, careful to follow instructions. Although the swamp looked disturbed when she left, she didn’t think the bent weeds would be considered unusual. Reuben arrived well after she had changed her clothes and had supper prepared. His face seemed saddened, weary over something.

“You had problems today?” she asked, as she set the table.