The Forbidden (11 page)
Even so, how did a girl tell a good apple from a rotten one? Fact was, Glenn had fooled her but good.
She got up and tiptoed to the window and lifted the shade a bit, careful not to awaken Nan. What had happened last night seemed like a bad dream now that she was secure in Dat’s house, having shared the comfort of the bed with her younger sister. Why had she placed herself in such jeopardy?
Nan must never know about Glenn,
she resolved.
Rhoda looked out at the sky, clearing to the east as the dawn penetrated the dreary gray. A ray of hope, perhaps?
Turning, she stared at the pretty necklaces she’d collected and strung along her side of the dresser mirror. Was it wrong to feed her fancy desires in this manner?
Brushing aside her musing, Rhoda went to the row of wooden wall pegs and reached for her bathrobe. She slipped it on and headed downstairs to the washroom, where her father had gone to the trouble of putting indoor plumbing in their house. Even so, the small bathroom was nothing compared to the thoroughly modern, even glamorous
two
at the Kraybills’ house.
She closed the door and ran the water for her second bath in less than twenty-four hours, preparing to wash away the memory of Glenn—his offensive breath on her neck and face, his arms around her. . . .
Rhoda shuddered. Had he planned to lose his way all along, tricking her by saying they were lost? Was he like some of the church boys who whispered sweet nothings, hoping to get a girl to let her hair down before her wedding night? She’d heard some terrible stories from Nan, especially, about a handful of young men in their church district—well, their former one. She honestly didn’t know much about the new church’s youth, because she’d refused thus far to attend any gatherings. She was tired of being overlooked by Amish fellows, even though her sisters and Mamma all had told her she was plenty pretty.
As had Curly Sam Zook, five long years ago. But though that was an eternity past now, she couldn’t forget how he’d held her hand and said the nicest things out behind the barn one cold night, only to break her heart a month later. Like Nan’s beau had done not so long ago.
She shivered anew, thinking what a
Dummkopp
she’d been with both Sam and Glenn. No way would she let such a thing happen again.
I won’t be anybody’s fool!
“One day I’ll have me a fine automobile and a nice young man, too,” Rhoda promised herself while staring into the small mirror over the sink. She slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose and then opened the mirrored medicine cabinet, looking for an aspirin to alleviate her headache. But the aspirin bottle was empty.
Frustrated, she was determined to get a bottle of her own and put it in one of the drawers in the room she shared with Nan. Stepping into the warm bath, Rhoda wondered why it was suddenly so important that her things belong solely to her, just like her future.
Before Saturday breakfast, while Reuben was pulling on his work trousers, Betsy brought up the daily ad for Nellie’s Simple Sweets. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes—just ain’t befitting us at all.” She stood near the loveseat at the window, holding the very paper.
“Why do ya say that, love?”
“Because it isn’t. Honestly, I see no reason why Rhoda would do such a thing.”
He stopped dressing, suspenders pulled midway up. “You know for sure she did?”
“Nan assumes it, and since they’re ever so close, I guess she should know.”
He found Betsy’s conclusion flimsy. Just because Nan said Rhoda placed the ad, why should Betsy blindly believe it? Nan had been known to misinterpret things in the past. But he refused to point that out. If more customers came to Nellie’s bakery shop because of the ads, then the tables and chairs he’d made might come in real handy.
“Why not simply ask Rhoda?” he suggested.
“Jah, I will.”
“Well,
gut
.” Reuben had more on his mind than Betsy’s notions. For one, he was still put out with Ephram—Bishop Joseph, too. Not only had he butted heads with his son, but his frustration over his conversation with his older brother— revered as the man of God—continued to escalate in his mind.
He combed his oily hair, wishing it were closer to bathing time tonight, when he would wash for the Preaching service over at Cousin Manny’s place. Presently Bishop Joseph was overseeing both Manny’s New Order church and the Old Order group, as well as trying to persuade those who were still inclined toward the Beachys to say no to cars and telephones.
As for himself, Reuben had no inclination toward the Beachys, though he relished the idea of bathing more often.
A right pleasant thing.
“What do ya say we go ’n’ visit your parents after church tomorrow?” Betsy suggested as he put away the comb.
He missed chewing the fat with his father. “Jah, a good idea, indeed.”
Heading downstairs, he wished that whoever was tying up the washroom would hurry so he could get in there and shave his upper lip. He chuckled to himself as he waited near the door. Sure seemed you could never have enough of most anything, no matter how much of it you already had. But if cleanliness was next to godliness . . . he was ready to take a dip in the bathtub each and every day.
He heard what sounded like Rhoda in there muttering to herself. Abandoning the idea of waiting, Reuben headed for the kitchen and wondered what was keeping Betsy, impatient now for his first cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun or two.
From the moment they arrived at Marsh Creek State Park on Saturday, Chris Yoder knew it was a mistake. Yet Zach insisted they stay, getting out of the car nearly before Chris set the brake. Zach stood stiffly near the front fender, eyes fixed on the enormous lake.
It was late morning and the sky was as dismal as any January day Chris could recall. Everything from the lake to the boat launch was gray and solidly blanketed with ice and snow.
“If you don’t want to stay—” Chris suggested, not sure of his own voice.
“No, we’re here now,” Zach interrupted, heading for the lake without inviting Chris to tag along.
Yeah, we’re here, all right.
Chris clumped through the deep snow, eyeing the lake—more than five hundred acres fed by a nearby watershed.
Today was a bleak contrast to the clear and balmy June afternoon the last time they’d come. He would never have imagined Zach would want to take him up on driving out here. Winter had stolen what little remained of its summer allure.
Turning, he saw Zach walking gingerly on the ice. Chris hoped it was good and thick. After months of frigid weather, he assumed so. He watched Zach make the labored trek toward the middle of the lake.
Where Suzy died.
But as Zach trudged onward, Chris breathed a prayer that it might be a healing time.
Somehow.
Zach folded his hands momentarily as he went, either praying or talking to himself, his lips moving. Occasionally he looked toward the sky, then back at the frozen surface.
Shifting his muffler to cover more of his face, Chris headed toward the area where Suzy had fallen overboard and drowned. He recalled how perfect the day had been when the whole bunch of them had piled into several rowboats, bringing Suzy along for the first time. One of their older brothers had pointed out how the sunlight looked like diamonds bobbing on the water’s surface that afternoon. Some of the guys began to row harder, showing off a bit for Suzy and several other girls from church who were with their three older brothers in two more boats. Once they were well toward the center of the lake, Zach suggested they drift awhile, having in mind a quiet moment to present a gold bracelet to Suzy.
Chris hadn’t intended to stare, but it had been hard not to watch their infectious smiles as Zach had placed the delicate bracelet on her small wrist.
Moved by the memory, Chris shook his head. He forced air through his pursed lips, looking again at Zach in the distance.
Why does God spare some and not others?
Sure, God was sovereign. To seek to understand the whys was not as important as putting one’s complete trust in God’s will. He’d learned this from his parents, observing the way they chose not to fret over the challenges that came their way. They believed Suzy’s death would prove to be part of the “all things” found in Romans chapter eight, verse twenty-eight—that some good might ultimately come from her death.
All the same, Chris’s private questions plagued him, especially because he saw such a discrepancy between prayers that were obviously answered and those that were not. He’d heard a sermon after Suzy died about letting waiting times be trusting times as one sorted out the complications of life. Difficult as it was, especially for Zach, they both attempted to be patient, waiting for God’s timing in helping them—as well as Suzy’s family, who were often in their prayers— through this tragedy.
Pushing forward, he managed to catch up with Zach, who had clipped across the lake at a surprising pace. Chris stood next to him as they absorbed the silence, interrupted only by the calls of a few hardy winter birds. Chris could almost guess what Zach’s thoughts might be, for his own weighed heavily.
“I promised myself I’d never come back,” Zach ad–mitted.
Chris understood. This was new ground for them. Besides losing Suzy, nothing truly dreadful had ever happened to them or their family.
Zach continued. “Just thinking . . . this is the last place Suzy was before . . .” He stared at the spot, and his shoulders heaved.
Chris clapped a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “It’s tough, I know.” He sighed, fighting the lump in his throat.
“All of us should’ve worn life jackets.” Zach’s words were a desperate whisper.
What were we thinking?
After a time, Zach motioned to leave. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chris was ready, too.
They crossed the lake, heading back toward the parking area, where some rowboats were stacked near the shore. “I can’t remember which boat we took,” Zach said. “When Suzy fell . . .”
He squatted beside the upturned boats, their bows held off the ground by a metal rack. Reaching over, he fingered the state-park identification numbers. “I doubt the office would have a record of which boats we rented that day.”
“Probably not.”
Zach shook his head. “Man, they all look the same.” He started to get up, then dropped back to his knees. “Wait a minute. What’s this?”
Chris wouldn’t have bothered to look, except Zach was staring hard.
Surely he doesn’t think
. . .
“Could it be?” Zach said, brushing away the excess snow.
Chris peered closer. He saw what appeared to be a glint of gold in a clump of frozen leaves and other debris.
“See it? Right there.” Zach pointed.
“Could be anything.”
“I think it’s her bracelet.”
Chris wasn’t convinced. Suzy’s bracelet was most likely at the bottom of the lake.
“It must’ve slipped off her wrist when she fell.”
Highly unlikely.
Chris hoped his brother wasn’t setting himself up for disappointment.
“We need something to pry this loose.” Zach looked around. “Anything in the trunk we can use?”
“Not that I know of.”
“We’ll have to come back with a hatchet or something to cut it free.”
Come back?
That was more than Chris had bargained for. “Come on, let’s go.”
On the drive home, Zach reminded Chris of the Scripture verse he’d had inscribed on the bracelet. “Her favorite. Remember?”
Chris nodded.
“Just think, her whole family probably knows what she believed,” he said unexpectedly. “Suzy wrote in a diary every day, you know.”
“No kidding?”
Zach nodded, breaking into a faint smile. “She didn’t want to forget a single thing. It was all so new and wonderful to her.”
Although it was good to see the sparkle in Zach’s eyes again, Chris was alarmed at his brother’s new obsession. And by the time they reached home, Zach was convinced he had indeed discovered the bracelet. “I have to know for sure,” he muttered, determined to get back to the park before anything could happen to it.
Chris knew Zach well enough to realize there was no stopping him once he fixed his mind on something. His zeal for God was rivaled only by his feelings for Suzy Fisher, and evidently his passion to connect with anything related to her wasn’t about to let up. No, the trip to the lake hadn’t helped to heal Zach at all. If anything, his brother was more troubled than ever.
Nellie was thrilled about the prospect of a visit to
Dawdi
and Mammi Fisher’s, as Dat announced at breakfast Sunday. They would leave the minute they all returned from Preaching. “We’ll see how Mammi Hannah’s doin’,” Mamma added with a smile.
Nellie hoped, if time permitted, she might also have the chance to slip away and see Cousin Treva. Perhaps she could finally persuade Treva and her sisters to come visit sometime and have a look around the bakery shop.
Her father eyed Nellie conspicuously as she ate her cold cereal and fruit. The way he looked at her evidenced his growing concern over her, living under his roof and holding firm to the Old Ways.
As soon as the dishes were dried and put away, she hurried to the washroom to scrub her face carefully, knowing Caleb would surely be looking her way this Lord’s Day. Not that he didn’t every other Preaching service, but since their recent reunion, she felt even closer to him, longing for their wedding day.
Will Caleb succeed with his father?
Nellie intended to do all she could to make sure David Yoder saw no reason to find further fault with her.
Closing the door behind her, she reached for a fresh washcloth. No need to stew. She drew the water and applied the homemade soap, pushing away thoughts of church baptism. Dat undoubtedly had that in mind. Choosing Caleb and the Old Ways over her parents’ faith was the hardest choice of all.
When it came time for the womenfolk to form a line outside Ephram’s farmhouse, Nellie was happy to see Rebekah Yoder waving to her. Caleb’s sister, her fair hair shiny and clean, slipped in beside her.
