Rebecca's Choice (3 page)

John’s father, Isaac, one of the ministers, might be the one who raised objections, but Rebecca doubted whether he would do so for his own sake. Isaac might be concerned about what the deacon would say. Ministers, she supposed, had to be extra careful when things of the church
ordnung
involved their own children.

Fruit, she decided, would serve as the main decoration. Set in just the right locations with just the right combinations of colors, fruit was a sight to behold and perfectly safe from any ministerial objections.

They might even hang a painting of a springtime sunrise with a Scripture verse behind their table. It would be a nice reminder of their springtime wedding. She could easily imagine John sitting beneath the picture along with the two couples who serve as witnesses on each side of him. What she could not imagine was herself with John.

That troubled her. She belonged in the setting. There was no doubt about it. John was hers as sure as this day was real. Why then was she not there?

It must be a trick of her mind, she decided, and let the comfort of the thought fill her. She desperately wanted to be in the picture, but it was simply too much for her mind to conceive yet—too forbidden for it to accept.

Rebecca forced her mind to go where it apparently didn’t want to go. She thought of John when he sat on the couch beside her on Sunday nights. Then she imagined the two of them as man and wife.

Rebecca let the emotion run all the way through her and blushed at the thought, glad again that she was home by herself.

Such thoughts,
she told herself and then refocused her mind on safer ground. The table waiters could wait for now. The witnesses needed to be from each side of the family, people they felt close to.

Her older brother and sister were married, and Matthew, the next in line, was only twelve. That wouldn’t work too well. This meant neither of them would have brothers or sisters as witnesses. Strange, she thought, but special because they were special. A slight smile played on her face.

They would ask cousins, then, or close friends. She had no cousins here on Wheat Ridge. As for close friends, she had Wilma and wondered if Mattie would consent to that. John wouldn’t care, she figured. John had his cousin Sharon. Sharon’s father, Aden, was John’s boss at the furniture store. On second thought Sharon might be a little young.

Sharon was seventeen now but would be eighteen by the date of the wedding, so that might work if John wanted to ask her. Next she thought about Luke Byler, who lived in Milroy and was related to John, some cousin connection she thought, but John might not want him either.

Well, there would be plenty of time to think of this later,
she thought and glanced at the clock. Surprised it was past two already, she took a quick look out the front window and saw Mattie’s buggy coming across the little bridge.

Rebecca could see that her mother was driving hard and fast. Even if it was past two, Mattie was home early. Although the horse limped noticeably, her mother didn’t slow down even as she made the turn into the lane.

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T
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R
achel Byler wished she hadn’t done it now, but it was too late for second thoughts, she told herself. The news that morning really didn’t change anything. If anything it may have improved things, but Rachel didn’t feel much better in spite of her repeated self-assurances.

It really was Reuben’s fault, as these things always were. Blame it on his lazy ways. Reuben’s deaconship hung over her head like a sword with two sharp edges. He cut coming and going, the man did.

Reuben had brought his load of goats home yesterday—his lousy, stinky, no-good goats that scrambled off the trailer. Their hooves cut marks all over her lawn as they made their way to the pen behind the chicken barn.

The two goats Reuben had staked out in the yard now were cutting even more marks in the lawn. Reuben said that he put them there to eat the grass. This he said with a wide smile. She was surprised that Reuben didn’t just let the precious dears run loose in the yard—the better to do the job—but Rachel supposed he didn’t want to chase goats around when it came time to put them back in the pen.

Rachel believed Reuben to be a lazy and completely incompetent businessman. Who could believe that he, Reuben Byler, the deacon, the bishop’s run-around-man, could capably manage goats when he couldn’t manage anything else? Rachel wished a hundred times she would have had better sense than to marry the man.

If it hadn’t been for her father’s inheritance, which she had been sure would come her way, she would have sent the soft-spoken boy off to some other Amish girl. She would at least have waited for a better choice—one she didn’t doubt would have come her way. But with the inheritance to come eventually, Reuben had seemed perfectly manageable, and she had encouraged his attentions. Reuben Byler had fit well into her plans for a life with plenty of money. Without the money, it was another matter.

She was now with child again, and because she was in her forties, it made things worse. Although her age was a concern, it wasn’t what pushed her over the edge. It was the goats—the mere sight of them and the fact that Reuben had purchased the animals with borrowed money. Rachel she was sure he would lose that money, and she was sure she would be the one who would have to pay it back.

How the money would be paid back was outside the realm of her imagination, unless she could get back what was hers—the money from her father’s lost inheritance. Millet Miller—old M-Jay they called him—willed all the money to his sister, Emma. It was lost as far as Rachel was concerned.

There was a time she had adored her father, nearly worshipped the ground he walked on. Her father had taken her with him often when he worked on the farm, let her ride on the hay wagon, work with him while he threshed wheat with her three brothers. Abe and Jonas had married and moved away to other communities, while she and Ezra had stayed.

Ezra was younger than she was and looked down his nose at girls who worked in the fields. It was M-Jay who thought girls had as many rights as boys did. He was the one who encouraged her to come along to the fields, even when the day was hot and the work rough. He had raised her in the Amish faith, and she would die in it as he had. She knew that without a doubt. That was one thing that would never change.

What had changed was her memory of M-Jay. The issue of the money made her bitter, and the bitterness ate at her soul. At first the bitterness circled her heart but was now deep within her being. Their son, Luke, had tried to help by sympathizing with her, even helped obtain information when she needed it, but that had changed too.

The change in Luke was Susie Burkholder’s fault. Rachel felt that Susie drew Luke away. Luke was convinced that he would continue to date and eventually marry the girl, but how could he be so certain? They weren’t engaged, but then perhaps Luke wasn’t telling her everything.

Luke had drifted far from her already, Rachel thought. The boy could be hiding an engagement from her. In a way Luke should be ashamed of himself, but not because he was hiding things from her, but rather because Susie’s parents were poor—even poorer than they were.

That Luke kept secrets from her still hurt. Luke was her only son. Before Susie he would have told her everything.

In addition to being poor, Susie was a common girl in looks. Rachel wished Luke had fallen for someone like Ann Stuzman, who just turned eighteen last winter. Ann was pretty, and her father was well-to-do, but instead Luke had chosen Susie. Amos Troyer dated Ann now—Luke’s opportunity was likely gone forever.

Rachel’s bitterness ran deep. Luke had not just rejected her and chosen Susie, he had chosen poverty. That was the hurt that stung the most. Rachel had hoped Luke would turn out differently, had hoped he wouldn’t take after the ways of his father.

Surely Luke could see what that road brought—the struggle to survive, the limited money supply, the constant scrape at the bottom of the barrel. Yet Luke hadn’t seen it or so it seemed to Rachel. With the passing of time, she lost hope he ever would.

Reuben was a good man at times, she told herself. In many ways he was. He tried—just as he now tried with these goats. Yet his efforts didn’t improve their income. In her mellow moments, she remembered the early years, the sweetness she had shared with him. Those were the days when she still expected money from her father to come at any time.

When M-Jay’s will was revealed and everything passed to Emma except a token amount of cash that was set aside for his children, those sweet times with Reuben changed. Reuben now had the bishop’s ear, which he counted as great value, but she didn’t. It failed to fatten any bank account, which to Rachel was how you counted the value of everything.

Just this morning she had gone to her desk in the living room, written the letter, made sure it was addressed correctly, and then mailed it. The news of Emma’s death had arrived only minutes after the mailman picked up the letter, but Rachel told herself she wasn’t sorry the deed was done. Ezra had brought the news himself, drove over in his single buggy, his horse lathered from the fast drive. She had been the last on his list of stops.

Rachel wondered what Ezra’s rush had been, but then perhaps Ezra needed to get back to his work in the fields. He was one of the children who seemed to suffer the least from the lost inheritance. That Ezra should bring the news seemed appropriate to her. It might well be a good sign of things to come. Surely the one who was to make the money would not be the one to bring the news that would again take away her hopes.

The news of Emma’s passing raised her hopes. She didn’t deny the fact, and she wouldn’t ever tell anyone—especially Reuben. The money would heal all things in her life. She thought again of the letter she mailed. Would it cause problems with the money?

Rachel thought this unlikely and brushed the unpleasant thought aside. In the worst case, the letter would be written off as a prank and quickly forgotten. In no case could the letter be traced back to her. Of that she had taken great care by making sure the spelled words bore no resemblance to her handwriting. The result was more likely to be taken as the product of an untrained child rather than an adult.

Rachel’s heartbeat quickened. Was she finally to realize her dream? The thought thrilled her, filled her with anticipation, and then her emotions plunged.

What if Emma had done the same as her father? Surely this wasn’t possible! There hadn’t been time for the lawyers to fix things—not after Luke had intercepted the letter from Emma’s mailbox. She had written her letter this morning with the assumption there would be time. Now this turn of events filled Rachel with delight. She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, overcome with her thoughts.

Outside one of the goats broke loose from its tether and headed for the rose bush that grew beside the sidewalk. Rachel was blind to the goats at the moment. Before her eyes came the sight of money—piles of it. The huge amount filled her checking account till it bulged. In her giddiness she wondered whether the local bank could hold it all. She could just imagine the looks those haughty tellers would give her when she walked in the morning after the deposit.

“Good morning,” they would say, their fancy English heads bent forward in respect to her bonnet and shawl. They would nod to her. No longer would she carry shame on her shoulders—the shame of poverty. She would now be able to look anyone in the eyes and know that she was as worthy as they were.

Reuben could then be as lazy as he wanted to be. He could have a thousand goats if he wanted. She wouldn’t care. Why, Reuben could have individual veterinarians for each goat come out to the farm if he wished. What did it matter? The inheritance would be hers.

Rachel calmed herself down and immediately saw the goat greedily eating her rose. Quickly angered she ran outside, yelled at the smelly thing, grabbed it by its ears, and hauled it back to the slipped rope. What was wrong with the man? Reuben couldn’t even tie a rope.

She held the goat in its proper place, tied it up, and made sure the rope was well fastened this time. The knot was better than any Reuben could tie, but what did that matter now. Everything had changed. Of this Rachel was certain. The spring day had brought more than just new life to the earth, it had brought new hope to her soul.

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