The Forbidden (31 page)
In spite of a lack of appetite, Caleb forced himself to eat. He kept his eye on his grandfather in mute dread as the older man set down his coffee and rose unsteadily to his feet. Caleb watched over the rim of his own cup as Dawdi lumbered across the room with grim determination. Standing before Caleb’s father, Dawdi tilted his head to the side, beckoning Caleb to follow. At least the whole room wouldn’t be privy to the confrontation to come.
Realizing it was futile to avoid the impending clash, Caleb rose from the bench and followed his father and grandfather out of the room, pausing only long enough to squeeze his mother’s hand as he passed.
In the utility room, he pulled on his coat. From the small window, he glimpsed his father and grandfather already in the yard, their breath rising and mingling over their heads at the heated force of their words. There was no mistaking the reddening of Daed’s cheeks above his beard.
Caleb sighed and headed out to meet his fate.
His grandfather passed him on his way back toward the warmth of the house, his expression worrisome, though regretful nonetheless. Daed remained several yards off, hands on his hips.
“Son,” his father began, “I would not have believed it if your own grandfather hadn’t told me. Did I not forbid you to see that Fisher girl? That’s bad enough. But to carry on with her in your Dawdi’s house? What kind of—”
“We did nothing wrong.”
“All night, with her hair down—not wrong? What kind of son have I raised? And you wanted me to believe you loved this girl, respected her?!”
“I do, Daed, I plan to—”
“Were you hoping to force my hand? Well, you’re dreadfully mistaken if you think I would give you my land, my life’s blood, just so you can have your way with that loose girl!”
“Daed, please—”
“Do you reckon me ignorant? Just because you are— thinking with your body instead of your brain! New church indeed—a woman up to Eve’s old tricks, if you ask me!”
“I don’t deny I was foolish to take her to the Dawdi Haus. But that was my doing. On my word, Nellie is as innocent today as she ever was.”
“And how can that be?”
“It’s my fault, Daed, not hers. I bear the full responsibility.”
“Indeed you will, Caleb. A mighty heavy price you’ll pay. I demand you abandon your relationship with Reuben’s daughter and repent . . . to me. Then, and only then, will I consider handing over my land. Meanwhile, you have a single hour to pack your things and get out of my house.”
The words—and the cold calculation in which they were delivered—were a knife to his soul. He assumed his father would be angry, but he hadn’t expected this. Nor had Caleb expected to feel his father’s rejection so deeply. Still, this man was his Daed, his pillar and strength since boyhood. How could it not hurt to be condemned so mercilessly?
Since it was such a sunny, nearly balmy day, Rebekah suggested she visit the Old Order Amish family where she helped each week with the little ones. Nan offered to take her and invited Nellie Mae along. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
Even though Nellie had gone on the long ride to church, she jumped at the chance to ride with Nan and her friend. She felt disconnected and anxious for companionship.
It turned out Rebekah was invited to stay with the family, who offered to come by the Fishers’ later for her things. Nan and Nellie rode back home together, talking for a while about Rebekah’s eagerness to influence all of her old church friends toward saving grace. “She views livin’ with them as a way to witness . . . hopin’ to lead them to the Lord.”
Nellie Mae hardly knew what to think. Caleb’s sister had become a zealous soul in only a short time, a transformation she’d also observed in both Dat and Mamma, as well as in Nan. “God’s Word has amazing power to divide and to heal,” Preacher Manny had said that very morning. “Allow it to renew your mind . . . and your heart.” He’d quoted a Scripture, too, one she’d never heard.
“Let this mind be in
you, which was also in Christ Jesus.”
Renew her heart? Would that remove the sting of her guilt?
I can be forgiven,
she thought.
Made clean—like new?
Looking out at the stark black trees as she rode, Nellie knew her goose was cooked, and by her own hand—just as Caleb’s was, only for a different reason. If she continued to soothe her conscience by going to the new church, which had pleased her family today, then Caleb would not want to court her.
How will he ever convince his father to relent now?
Deacon Lapp’s house came into view as they rounded a bend, and she saw Susannah outside with several of her sisters, playing with their dogs. Nellie’s heart sank at the sight of her.
Nan looked over at Nellie from the driver’s seat. “You’re so quiet all of a sudden.”
“S’pose I am.”
“
Was ist letz?—
What’s the matter?”
Nellie hesitated to tell Nan all that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours, yet here was Nan, wanting to chat, her face reflecting genuine concern.
Nellie took a breath, hoping she wasn’t handing off a burden to Nan. “Did you ever let your hair down for a beau? Ever even think of it?”
“Why
would
I?” Nan was staring at her. “Why’d ya ask such a thing?”
“Just wonderin’.”
“Well, I know some girls who do. But from what I’ve heard, it ain’t such a good idea. Leads to . . . well, worse things.”
Quickly Nellie changed the subject to Rhoda, and thankfully Nan latched on to that. “Should we stop over at James’s to visit? You miss her as much as I do, I’m sure,” Nellie Mae said.
“More than she prob’ly realizes.”
“We could drop in right quick.”
“Not today,” Nan said.
Nellie paused. “Surely she’s sorry she left, wouldn’t you think?”
Nan sighed and urged the horse onward. “She seemed bent on leaving, and we haven’t seen her since.”
A wave of renewed sadness swept over Nellie. “We can only hope she gets her fill of the fancy . . . and soon,” she replied.
It was a bit chilly in the Kraybills’ formal dining room, and Rhoda was glad to be offered some tea. When it was served, piping hot, the steam floated above the dainty cup. She tried to hold it just so, the way she’d seen Mrs. Kraybill do. Mr. Kraybill, on the other hand, was having black coffee, as was Ken Kraybill, their blue-eyed nephew. His eyes weren’t the only appealing thing about him as he sat tall in his chair across from her, frequently singling her out with his friendly gaze.
The tea gradually warmed her, and when it came time for Mrs. Kraybill to serve her homemade strawberry cheesecake pie, Rhoda noticed both Ken and Mr. Kraybill waited until Mrs. Kraybill picked up her small fork—the only one left at each place setting—before reaching for theirs.
She felt rather ignorant, though relieved at having managed to somehow make it through the meal this far. The multiple forks and spoons on either side of the lovely china plates, the neatly pressed white linen napkins, and the crystal vase of flowers that graced the center of the table—all of it was a wholly new experience.
Even knowing when to speak was a challenge. She’d taken small bites, like Nan and Nellie Mae always did, to make sure it didn’t take long to quickly chew and swallow before replying when someone spoke to her. Thankfully the food was just delicious, all made from scratch, as she knew Mrs. Kraybill enjoyed doing.
Self-conscious in her outfit, despite Mrs. Kraybill’s— and even Martha’s—assurances that she looked very nice, Rhoda had to remind herself to breathe. Especially when she looked up only slightly to ask for the sugar and felt Ken’s eyes on her. Did he think she looked like a Plain girl masquerading in an Englischer’s getup? Or did he even know she was Amish?
Thank goodness for Mr. Kraybill, who had carried the conversation nearly the entire meal. Presently it was Mrs.
Kraybill who was telling an amusing story about having gone to the pantry and realizing one of the children had removed most of the labels on the soup cans. They’d had what she called “mystery meals” for weeks on end.
Ken chuckled, and Rhoda watched the corners of his mouth turn up, accentuating his handsome features.
Rhoda took another little bite of the pie and was reaching for her teacup when Ken addressed her. “Have you lived in this area long?”
“My whole life.”
Mrs. Kraybill intervened. “Rhoda’s father raises horses not far from here.”
Not a peep about her Amish background. Was that purposely left out? Try as she might, Rhoda did not recall Mrs.
Kraybill ever saying that Ken was aware of her being Plain.
But now that she was here, flaunting fine and fancy clothes and a loose, English-style bun, she guessed it might not be such a good idea to come right out and spoil things—not with the admiring way Ken looked at her.
Pushing away the memory of another Englischer’s gaze, she asked, “How long have you lived in Strasburg?”
“Nearly three years. My family lived and farmed in the Georgetown area, southeast of Strasburg, where I grew up.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I purchased an old house listed on the National Registry of Historical Buildings, right on Main Street. It’s something of a real-estate investment. I live on the third story and rent out the first and second floors.”
“Like a bed and breakfast?” Rhoda blushed, realizing he probably was not a cook, unless he hired someone to do that.
His smile lingered and she had to look away. “Interesting you mentioned that, because I’ve thought I might want to go that route someday.”
She wondered suddenly if he was looking for a cook, perhaps. But no, surely that was not why he was sitting here at the Kraybills’ candlelit table. His presence was, after all, Mrs. Kraybill’s doing, or so Rhoda assumed.
“Shall we move somewhere more comfortable?” Mrs. Kraybill asked, getting up.
Rhoda rose as well, reaching for her plate and the teacup, thinking she would help by carrying them into the kitchen.
“Leave everything on the table,” instructed Mrs. Kraybill in a near whisper.
The adjournment into the front room, or living room as Mrs. Kraybill was fond of calling it, was more relaxing for the three of
them
than it was for Rhoda, who was seated next to Ken on the sofa.
Glancing occasionally at Mrs. Kraybill, who seemed very pleased with herself, Rhoda put two and two together.
Here was a young man who looked to be in his mid- to late-twenties, yet with possibly no prospects for a wife. Had he, too, been passed over for some reason? She studied Mrs.
Kraybill’s demeanor, wondering.
The talk turned from Ken’s favorite movie star, Sean Connery—whoever that was—to Mr. Kraybill’s obvious concern over the cost of the war in Vietnam. “Over twenty-five billion dollars a year. Imagine that!” he said with a fierce frown.
Well, Rhoda certainly couldn’t begin to. She wasn’t even certain how to
write
a number that big, let alone comprehend how it might otherwise be spent. Mr. Kraybill obviously had no such difficulty himself as he sat with one leg balanced on his other knee. “Really,” he said, leaning forward as if to emphasize his next point, “this war has become too personal for LBJ.”
Rhoda listened carefully, concerned that Ken might think she was a bump on a log. She’d heard the president referred to by his initials before, but she didn’t know enough about politics to express an opinion.
Just now she felt like a fish flopping on dry land. How might she ever fit in with fancy folk, really? It was one thing to work for them, but to socialize? She must start reading the newspaper more carefully, during her morning break.
More interaction with English folk was key if she truly wanted to be part of their world.
When it came time for the Kraybills to put their children to bed, Rhoda and Ken found themselves alone. Unexpectedly, he asked if he might call her sometime, and she felt terribly shy. He seemed very gentlemanlike—nothing like the dreadful Glenn Miller—and Rhoda thought it might be nice to spend more time with him.
Another way to get
better acquainted with the English world
. Demurely, she nodded and smiled before giving him James and Martha’s new phone number.
“I’ll look forward to it.” Ken smiled a most pleasant smile.
“So will I,” she replied, glad she hadn’t said “jah.”
All six of them, including babies Eli and Rosie, were situated in the bishop’s front room Wednesday afternoon. The two couples faced each other, Rosanna cradling Rosie as she sat beside Elias, and Kate holding Eli, next to John.
Bishop Joseph stood before them, all in black, except his white shirt. He explained to them the purpose of the meeting, his expression grave. Swallowing hard, Rosanna could hardly keep her eyes off little Eli, sound asleep in Kate’s arms. Oh, but if he hadn’t grown in the past week! She longed to hold him again, to breathe in his sweet baby scent, but she refused a single tear, determined to keep a sober face, no matter what might result from this most awkward and difficult gathering.
“Are the four of you in unity?” the bishop asked.
John and Kate shook their heads no.
“Elias and Rosanna?”
“We pray only for God’s will.” Elias’s voice was steadfast.
“The outcome, then, is not your concern?” asked the bishop, singling out Elias.
“We desire what is best for these little ones” was his confident reply, and Rosanna regarded him with a healthy dose of pride.
“And you, John? What is your answer to that?”
John’s face turned red. “This here’s my son, and –Rosanna has our daughter . . . over there with her.” He breathed slowly and Kate momentarily put a hand on his arm. “We’ll be raisin’ the twins as cousins, if you see fit, Bishop. ’Tis how we look at it.”
Everything within Rosanna began to churn. “No . . .”
The word slipped out before she could stop it. She looked to Elias for support, groaning inwardly.
“My wife thinks of Eli as her own—we both do. We love him just as we love Rosie and intend to follow through with our agreement to raise them both.” Elias looked across at Kate. “You’ve broken your cousin’s heart, Kate. Truly you have.”
