Rebecca's Promise (2 page)

“Well,” she replied, casting her eyes to the ground, “woman things I suppose. Look at the river. Watch the squirrels. Think about life. Nothing like skipping rocks on the water.”

He glanced sharply at her and was rewarded with a slight chuckle. “Isn’t that what boys do?”

His usual confidence vanished when her eyes turned on him. And yet he couldn’t let this moment be lost. He mustn’t say the wrong thing, but his response hung up in his throat. And then he decided to take the chance. Let the ripples go where they wished.

“You shouldn’t judge us all the same,” he said. “Some boys do more than skip rocks on the water. We all grow up sooner or later…” He hesitated, not knowing quite what else to say. She was still looking at him.

He had better get a firm grip on his emotions, he told himself, if he was to say what he intended to say.

“Let’s go see the bridge,” he muttered quietly, turning in that direction. He couldn’t help notice that she was following quite willingly, her step right by his side, her form so near.

“Where do you go when you come down here?” he asked, stopping at the edge of the road, the clear sound of running water beneath them.

“Sometimes,” Rebecca said, “I go down to the water over there.” Her hand rose to point to the other side. “But the path is a little rough, and we are in our Sunday clothing.”

He nodded. “Let’s try it though.”

As they walked across the bridge, he was again taken by the sense of her presence. She was so close to him that her arm almost brushed against his, and the sound of their steps echoed in the enclosed area.

The possibility that this might be the girl he would spend the rest of his life with overwhelmed him. He so wanted to take her hand,
swinging there beside him, so near and yet so far. They were separated by a chasm, as deep as it was wide, of church rules and personal commitment. John was not about to bridge it, except under extraordinary circumstances. Those had not arrived yet.

He kept his eyes straight ahead, not looking at her until he could think of something other than her closeness. Awkwardness was almost overwhelming him, but he could not become clumsy now. She was too fine a girl to be proposed to by some bumbling boy.

As if breaking a spell, the sound of an automobile came from the road behind them. Slowly the same red sports car approached.

“They went by us when we first stopped,” John said.

“I thought so,” she agreed. “Lovebirds out for a Sunday afternoon ride.”

He chuckled at the thought, again struck by the contrast between the two worlds.
Could they be feeling what I am feeling? A boy and a girl in a flashy car? Could it be different than a boy and a girl in a simple buggy? It must be.
Nothing else made sense to him. Turning, his eyes found her face. He accepted the love he saw, allowing it a place in his heart and feeling at home.

“You think they are like us?” she asked him.

“They can’t be,” he responded.

“You’d be surprised,” she said. “A car doesn’t change people that much.”

“Oh yes, it does,” he insisted, moving easily into a discussion of church beliefs. “It has to. It makes you a whole different person. If it doesn’t, then why’s it so important that we don’t have one?”

She shrugged. “In that way, yes, it makes us different, but in this way,” she looked at him with her eyes now sparkling, “we are all the same.”

Her answer both startled him and reassured him.

“Let’s go see where you watch the river,” he said, pulling his eyes away from her.

“It’s over there.” She raised her hand to point, all fingers extended
in the gesture. To him the arch of her arm pointed not just toward the spot she intended but into the future itself. Almost wrapping itself in powers beyond flesh and bone, her hand pointed toward his hopes and dreams, toward a tomorrow he would gladly enter with her. Beneath him the bridge and the murmur of the water added to the voice of his emotions.

Above him a few leaves still hung on the trees in their last attempt to stay the turning of the seasons. Like his single life, he thought, but he was not going to hang on to anything. He would let it go. Let it go for her and for their life together.

Silently he let her take the lead. She stopped at a small ledge overlooking the river.

“So this is where you come?” he asked without looking at her.

She said nothing, but gave a slight nod. She pointed a little further down the road. “That’s where the path goes down.”

“You think we should?” he asked.

“Yes, let’s do.”

As they reached the bank of the river, they stood silently watching. Then Rebecca raised her eyes to meet his, and John knew with a certainty that she understood what was coming. This was what she wanted too. This was what love was, and he welcomed it.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and gently took her hands. The sensation of her fingers in his shocked him, moving him into what felt like a frightful, forbidden realm. Yet it was right, he told himself. Did not this feeling confirm and validate the feelings he had earlier, which he was certain were from God? This love he felt for her and her love for him, it must be right.

She never flinched or pulled back as he held her hands and formed the words, “Rebecca, I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said, without breaking eye contact. “I would like that very much.”

He slowly let her hands drop from his. The last brush of his fingers thrilled her, creating as strong a feeling as when he had first taken
her hands only moments before. This was a boy she could truly love for all the right reasons. He was strong, not just in body but in moral convictions and fortitude.

“When do you want to?” she asked him, hoping he would embrace her and hoping he would not.

“In the spring,” he said with certainty.

“This coming spring?” she exclaimed in surprise. “That quickly?”

He turned back toward her, a twinkle in his eye. “No, a year from next spring, after the winter’s gone,” he said softly. “That will give us plenty of time to plan. I can get more of the farm paid off.”

She knew what he meant by the farm, having been to see it when he first purchased it two months ago—a simple white framed building for a house and a red barn on eighty acres on the ridge. In the back, a creek meandered through the land, feeding the pond on the property before flowing into the river.

“Yes,” he said, looking out over the rippling water again, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, “the farm. When the winter is past.”

Thinking it must be okay now that John had gone there, she tenderly slid her hand back into his. She knew it was all right when he tightened his fingers gently. After another long look into each other’s eyes, they turned their gaze outward across the water. Deep in thought, they planned what life would be like, content that they would be forever—he and she.

They stood for a few minutes holding hands—the soothing sound of water and nature around them—until the noise of another approaching vehicle reached them, disturbing their world. Rebecca felt his hold weaken, and she slipped her hand out of his.

If it was an English car, it would not matter if they were seen holding hands, but even then, it was better that they didn’t. One never knew what rumors might come back to haunt one. A dropped word here or there, even from innocent English parties, could stir up trouble.

John stepped away from her in preparation for the car’s passing,
but she moved with him, nearly touching his shoulder. To his own surprise, he did not pull back.

The vehicle on the road was a van, and as it passed, John recalled that he had seen it that morning at church. The black hats and bonnets of the people riding inside confirmed the memory.

“Those people were in church this morning?” he both asked and stated.

She glanced only briefly at the passing van. “Yes, I saw them,” she said without dropping her eyes from his face.

“Visiting from somewhere,” he said, searching his memory for the clue. Usually names of even strangers stayed with him, but not this time.

“Yes, visiting,” she said quietly, lowering her gaze that held an unexpected sense of recognition.

What was it he had seen in that moment? Fear? Her reaction faintly registered, but it was enough for him to ask, “You know them, don’t you?”

“They come from Milroy. In Indiana where we used to live,” she said, with what seemed like hesitation.

“So?” he asked, still remembering the brief glint of fear in her eyes.

In his mind a quick flash of the visitors appeared, at least those whom he could remember, and revealed nothing. He cleared his throat to say something and then recalled the face of the black-haired boy. The one with the stubble of a little beard on his chin that ached from its attempts at growth and slicked-down hair that curled up in the back. The sound that came out of his mouth was, “Ah,” in a knowing sort of way, as if he had discovered the great secret before him. “An old boyfriend from Milroy?”

This brought her eyes up from the ground in a jerk. “Silly. That was Luke Byler. He wasn’t my boyfriend. Never would be.”

“So how did you know which one I was thinking about?” he asked.

“That tone in your voice and because Luke was the only boy there
this morning. The only visiting boy,” she added as explanation. “I never had anything to do with him.”

“So what is it then?” he asked, tilting his head toward the bridge side. “You seem…nervous. Is it about people from your old community? Secrets, have we?”

He surprised himself with the force and tone of his voice, as if he had a right to ask her these questions, even demand to know. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm the emotions stirring so suddenly in his chest. Why had there been fear?

She made a valiant attempt to smile. “Not really. Just memories, I guess. Childhood things…growing up…you know. We all lived in the same community. You do things as children. Silly things. Luke lived in our old district. Still does. He could probably tell you dumb stuff I did growing up.”

“Really,” he said with uncertainty, remembering the fear in her eyes. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“Oh,” she gave a little gasp, “I’m not afraid. Why would you think that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, not sure if he wanted to go down this road or not. This was their afternoon. How could either of them spoil it? Surely it was nothing. She must just be jumpy from seeing someone from her own community.

“No reason, I guess. Probably just my imagination. Do you know anything more about these people…the Bylers?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head and leaned slightly toward him. “They might be moving here. I think it’s still supposed to be a secret.”

“Are you the only one to know?” he asked.

“My mother knows. She’s sort of in on it since we come from there. I have an aunt still living there. An uncle too. On mom’s side of the family.”

“I see,” he said. And then the thought crossed his mind that one never knew what went on among wild Amish young people during their
rummshpringa
days, but surely Rebecca wasn’t like that.

Still he had to ask. “You do anything in your wild days? Something I should know about?” Certain the answer would be negative, he continued, “I never did, of course. We don’t take the time to sow our wild oats. Something about not liking the crop it produces.”

“Of course not,” she retorted, genuinely indignant. “I never was wild. We were raised better than that.”

“I didn’t think so,” he told her, lifting his one hand in contrition. “Just asking.”

“Shouldn’t you have asked a little earlier? Before you asked something else? We just got engaged, if I remember correctly.”

He met her gaze firmly. “Okay,” he said, “just forget it. It never occurred to me to ask before. You don’t seem like that kind of a girl. Not at all, really. I mean it. It was just that van going by and this Byler fellow that brought it to my mind.”

“You don’t have to worry. He never was my boyfriend.”

“Agreed,” he allowed. “Now where were we?”

“A spring wedding,” she said. “Not this coming spring but the next spring. Just you and me.”

“Yes,” he said.

It was getting late, and Rebecca remembered her duty at home. “John, I have to chore tonight. We better go.” Then she added, “Do you want to stay to help?”

He wrinkled his face as if in deep thought, although he already knew the answer. “No singing tonight in our district, right?”

“No, not tonight. So why not stay for choring?”

“I can’t resist,” he said. “Let’s go then. Your parents probably think we’ve gotten lost.”

She led the way back across the bridge to their buggy, pulling him gently by the hand before letting go to walk a little ahead of him.

“Hey, a wife should walk behind her husband,” he said in mock severity. “You’re starting things off on the wrong foot.”

“You think so?” she asked playfully, looking back at him but not slowing down.

“Yes, and I also think you’re beautiful,” he said, glad to say it out loud.

“John! You shouldn’t say things like that.”