The Forbidden (4 page)
Feeling guilty at the thought, Rosanna allowed a short prayer to form on her lips. “Lord, help me to be generous with these little ones . . . so graciously given.”
Betsy Fisher overheard her daughters talking in Nellie Mae’s room prior to Saturday breakfast. They had never before congregated there, at least not that Betsy recalled. Yet they were certainly there now and talking quite loudly, too—loud enough for her to make out every word.
Rhoda’s sharp voice rose above the others. “You really ought to go again, Nellie Mae. You seem to think you’re better than the rest of us—standin’ your ground thataway!”
“What way?” asked Nellie. “That ain’t fair to say.”
“Sure it is,” said Nan. “Rhoda can speak her mind—it’s ’bout time someone did.”
Nellie fell silent.
“Jah, you should come along on Sundays,” Nan said, her tone more gentle. “Why not?”
“I know you’d like me to join you, sisters,” Nellie answered, her words less defensive. “But I like followin’ the way we were all taught to follow since we were babes.
Why’s that wrong now?”
“Well, there’s nothin’ at all wrong with that if you like livin’ without electric and cars and whatnot,” Rhoda said, worrying Betsy.
“Seems to me you’re chasin’ after the world, not Scripture,” Nellie spoke up.
Betsy touched the small sachet pillow Suzy had made for her—the headache pillow was often tucked inside one of her pockets—and walked toward the door of Nellie’s room, her hand poised to knock. More than anything she wanted to put a stop to the senseless conversation. She’d had no idea how interested Rhoda seemed to be in fancy things, other than the necklaces dangling over her side of the dresser of late. Was Nan leaning the same way?
She sighed, folding her hands now. She yearned for her children to know the Savior, not fuss over living in a house with or without electricity. She’d hoped they would catch that insight from Preacher Manny’s sermons, or from the Sunday school the new church was talking of starting up soon. The thought gladdened her heart, for she prayed daily that more souls would come to understand the saving grace of the Lord Jesus, bishop’s deadline or no.
The girls were talking again, but the conversation had veered away from Preacher Manny’s Sunday meetings to the upcoming Singings and other youth-related activities planned for those in the New Order. Feeling awkward about listening in, Betsy knocked on the door.
Nellie appeared, looking well rested, her big brown eyes brighter than usual. “Mornin’, Mamma.”
“Anyone hungry for breakfast?”
That got a quick response from Rhoda, who rushed past her and down the stairs. Nan followed close behind, but not before giving Nellie Mae a sidelong glance.
Nellie remained, going to sit on her bed. Betsy said no more and simply headed toward the stairs, wanting to give her pensive daughter the room she needed.
Rhoda entered Mamma’s kitchen ahead of her sister. Being she was not scheduled to work today, she would attempt to help as much as possible in her father’s house . . . her home for the time being. Today she would simply go through the motions again, just as she’d done since first starting to work for Mrs. Kraybill. Preparing breakfast
there
was a joy, what with such appealing and thoroughly modern appliances. Mamma and her sisters would surely succumb, too, if they had the opportunity to see such wonderful-good things as blenders and electric mixers in action.
Jah, they’re missing out something awful.
Her thoughts swirled back to yesterday, when Mrs. Kray-bill had caught her paging through one of the several family picture albums. Rhoda had closed it right quick, apologizing, but the still-youthful Mrs. Kraybill had not been at all displeased and had even encouraged her to “enjoy whatever you see.” Rhoda had relished the look of kindness and even pleasure on her employer’s sympathetic face. That moment she turned a corner in her thinking about what she’d always been told was sinful.
What would Mamma think?
Rhoda was torn between wanting to shield her parents from her longings and moving forward with her secret plans.
Truth be told, she was itching to immerse herself as much as possible in the Kraybills’ wonderfully enticing world—full of not just fancy items but lovely ones. Rhoda craved beauty; she craved travel, too. She dreamed of owning a car and of seeing the country someday, especially the ocean. Other than pinching her pennies, which she was quite happy to do, it might not take much effort at all to realize her dream.
First chance she got Monday, she’d have another look at the Kraybills’ newspaper to see how much money a used car might cost her. She didn’t feel comfortable going to a used car lot by herself to look around, like some boys in their Rumschpringe were known to do, but she could easily read the classified ads. Who knows? If she had enough gumption to ask, perhaps sometime Mrs. Kraybill would take her car shopping.
Monday’s the day after Preaching,
Rhoda thought, not knowing why she should plan such outright wickedness after the goodness of the Lord’s Day. When did willful disobedience ever pay off?
She shuddered, thinking of Preacher Manny’s urgent calls to the youth for repentance . . . and Suzy’s drowning came to mind. No matter what Nellie Mae had shown them in Suzy’s diary about her surprising turnaround, Rhoda still assumed the Lord God had allowed her youngest sister’s death. Might her own disobedience come to a similar bad end?
Rhoda shrugged. With so many opinions about which way was right flying around Honey Brook, it was up to her to find her own way. Right now that meant letting her enthusiasm for experiencing what she’d been deprived of all these years guide her.
No, I’m not at all ready to join the
old nor the new church, neither one.
Part of Rhoda’s hope was to catch a man, fancy or otherwise.
A shiny blue—or even green—car might do the
trick,
she thought. Hiding her yearning for a beau had not been easy, but she’d managed to conceal from Mamma and her sisters her dire disappointment at being passed over at Singings and other gatherings. What good were such finicky fellows? She would gladly leave them in the dust and make her own future. She refused to die a
Maidel
. She pictured herself driving along dressed fancy, her long, uncovered hair flowing in the breeze. She’d find herself some pretty new glasses, too, though she would not stoop to wearing those sleeveless tent dresses or silly-looking halter-top blouses she’d seen in the catalogs on Mrs. Kraybill’s coffee table.
She laughed with glee at the Rhoda of her imagination, a Rhoda who would not remain lonely for long. Fact was, if she made the jump soon, she could be married within the year.
Still, I must keep my plan a secret,
Rhoda thought.
And
I best be careful. . . .
Christian Yoder had a powerful sense that someone was hovering near his bed. He lifted his head and saw his younger brother, Zach, leaning on the footboard, his shape visible by the light of the moon streaming into their shared bedroom.
“Zach?” He paused. “What’s up?”
The room was weighty with silence.
Chris sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet touched the floor. “Man, it’s cold in here.”
Zach made a gesture in the dim light. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He reached up to his bulletin board to straighten a five-by-seven photograph of Suzy Fisher, an enlargement of the only snapshot he had of her. The picture had gone up the week after her untimely death. “I . . . couldn’t sleep.”
It was hard to see his brother like this. Until last year, most people would have described Zach as an incurable optimist. “Don’t worry about it. I’m awake,” said Chris.
Still standing by the bulletin board with its mementos and news clippings, Zach shook his head. “She’s with the Lord, right? Isn’t that what we believe?”
Chris sat quietly. He understood Zach’s grief. Suzy was his brother’s first love, and there had been something remarkably special about her, beyond being interesting and full of life.
Or was it Zach’s guilt, knowing they were partially responsible for Suzy’s death? The guilt dug at Chris’s soul, too. She had several sisters, if he remembered correctly, including Nellie Mae, the sister Suzy had talked about most often. It had been his idea to ask Suzy’s close sister along that day, an offer she’d refused.
How devastated Nellie Mae—the whole family—must have been. Must
still
be. Great as the gulf was between their way of life and his, he’d wanted to express his utter sorrow and somehow . . . apologize. As if that would make a difference.
“Suzy is more alive than we are . . . don’t forget that,”
Chris said.
“Yeah.” Zach wandered from the window back to his bed, where he sat staring out at the moonlight. “I guess we’d better get some sleep.” His eyes looked hollow.
Suzy’s death had affected everything—even Zach’s spiritual life. Not to say he was struggling in his faith, but he’d been shaken to the core, just as Chris had been. Their whole family had felt the loss; they’d all been so fond of the freckle-faced Amish girl with wheat-colored hair.
“Ever think of going back out to the lake?” Chris hadn’t planned to say that.
But Zach nodded slowly. “Maybe we should sometime. When do you want to go?”
Chris already regretted making the suggestion, but he couldn’t back out now, not with Zach agreeing to it. “Next weekend’s good. Too much going on today at church.”
Zach glanced at the bulletin board once again, then at Chris. “Sure, guess I can wait.”
“Hey, it’s already the Lord’s Day . . . lighten up.” Chris threw his pillow across the room, but Zach ducked.
Reuben Fisher waited for church to begin, killing time in the raw air. He noticed Benjamin, one of his five married sons, hurrying his way.
“ ’Mornin’,” said Benjamin, ankle-deep in snow. “Seems your cousin Jonathan Fisher’s bought himself a used car. A ’65 Rambler Marlin—a two-door fastback.”
“Ach, but you know a mite too much ’bout this here car business, son.”
Benjamin poked at the snow with his black boot. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind gettin’ me a good-lookin’ car like that. Perty beige color.”
Reuben shook his head. Were the New Order meetings merely leading to this? He glanced across the way at his eldest sons—twins Thomas and Jeremiah, both in Sunday black—and wondered how long before they would start such talk. “How is it you’re privy to Jonathan’s purchase?”
Benjamin brightened. “Saw the car myself while I was over there helpin’ in his barn. It’s a dandy, I daresay.”
Reuben swallowed hard. “A car is the last thing I need . . . or want.” Fact was, he’d heard tell of others roaming around used-car lots, asking English neighbors for advice and whatnot. All of them wasting time running helter-skelter.
“What we’ve got is a split within a split, seems to me.” Benjamin moved toward the back of the house. “How many will there be, when all’s said and done?”
Reuben recognized the truth in his words and was worried about his own family, and not merely his married sons. Even Rhoda was giving him cause for concern, since she was the only unmarried daughter outside the protection of his roof, spending more time at her employers’ place than she did at home anymore.
He paused to take in the landscape, white and crisp. Winter was a time for resting the land, but his body needed some rest, too, thanks to several new foals here lately and three older horses in need of veterinary attention. Come to think of it, his brain could use something of a respite, as well. He pondered now several recent lengthy discussions he’d had with Elias King, just twenty-four. Young, for certain, but what a good head on his shoulders. The young man seemed hungry to talk of the Lord, but not in the way one might expect of a staunch Amishman. Clearly, Elias was searching, much as Reuben himself had been. Longing for the meat of the Word, as Preacher Manny sometimes referred to spiritual sustenance.
Just then Reuben caught sight of his cousin Manny—the Lord’s appointed—coming up the lane with his family, all of them waving now, squeezed into the enclosed gray buggy.
“Lord, bless him abundantly for stickin’ his neck out,” he whispered, waiting to greet Manny and grip his firm hand yet again.
What’s Manny think of all the car talk?
Preacher Manny was not a judgmental sort, though he liked to follow the rules. He had not lightly dismissed the teachings of the
Ordnung
on salvation, and he was putting much care and thought into the new ordinance being discussed now. Soon they’d all be back to square one on that as the new church worked to incorporate God’s Word, their primary guidebook for living, into the new Ordnung. Meanwhile, those yearning for cars and electricity were already joining up with a nearby Beachy group, whose church met at a separate meetinghouse instead of in houses, and where services were held in English, of all things.
Nellie Mae huddled under her quilts, staring at the bedroom ceiling.
When have I ever been so ill?
She found it ironic that she’d wondered if Caleb was sick, and now here she was, too feverish to get out of bed.
She closed her eyes, well aware she was the only one home on this particular Sunday. For the fast-dwindling Old Order group, today remained a no-Preaching Lord’s Day. Her family, of course, had made their way to Manny’s church after Mamma had once again invited Nellie to join them. Even if she’d wanted to, there was no way she could go today.
Honestly she was so weak she couldn’t think of getting up early to bake tomorrow, as she always did on washday before helping Mamma and Nan with the laundry.
Maybe none of the regulars would notice if the bakery shop was closed. She felt sure she would still be lying there flat on her back come morning, so hot was her brow . . . and nauseated her stomach.
Is it the flu? Or did I eat something bad?
Oh, she wished Mamma had stayed home to warm up some chicken broth or brew a pot of chamomile tea. In her haze of intermittent discomfort and rest, Nellie missed Caleb even more.
