The Forgiven (15 page)

“That's ridiculous,” she said sharply. From everything she'd seen, Matt would be just as happy to give Isaiah back his job, so that he could get on with his furniture-making. “And I'll tell him so. As for Isaiah . . . You mean his mamm and daad haven't heard from him?”

People left, jumped the fence, usually boys younger than Isaiah, but generally they were predictable about it. Their family had some notion, at least, where they were.

Matt was shaking his head. “Nothing at all, and they've no idea where he's gone. Apparently he left a note saying he wanted more than this life. They haven't received any word since. Aunt Lovina . . . well, you saw how she is.”

Rebecca's heart hurt at the thought of poor, confused Lovina. “I know. She can't understand.”

“She keeps searching for him.” Matt stared bleakly into his coffee. “I've tried telling her he's working away, but then she wants to know why he hasn't written. In the night I hear her weeping.”

Her heart twisted in sympathy. “He should at least write. He should let them know he's safe, even if he doesn't want to come back.”

“He should, but he hasn't.”

Rebecca couldn't understand it. “Isaiah always seemed so . . . well, typical. At his age, everyone expected him to be getting baptized, joining the church, finding someone to marry. It's not as if he was a sixteen-year-old.”

Matt looked at her then, and Rebecca could see the pain in his eyes. “Sadie says it's my fault. That he was copying me, just like he always did.”

“That makes no sense at all,” Rebecca said quickly. Not that it surprised her to hear Sadie was taking out her pain and worry on the nearest available person.

“She ought to know. They were always close.”

Rebecca's lips tightened when she thought of her own recent experiences with Matt's cousin. “Sadie is too quick to blame everyone else when things go wrong. Think about it. You have been away from Isaiah for years. Any decision he made was formed recently, we both know it. You surely have more sense than to believe her.”

Matt grimaced. “Sadie can be pretty convincing. And she knows I already have plenty of guilt where Isaiah is concerned.”

“Why? How could you possibly . . .” She stopped, recalling nearly forgotten fragments of grown-up conversations.

“You remember.” Matt studied her face.

She shook her head. “Only that there was something people talked about. I don't think I ever knew the rights of it.”

“Your parents probably thought it wasn't suitable for you to hear.”

Was it guilt or bitterness he felt? She wasn't sure. Maybe, if she treated it lightly, he'd go on.

“Kids do foolish things every day.” She took the pad from his palm and studied the cut, not looking at him. “I don't suppose you were any more foolish than most.”

“Foolish, maybe. But they don't all nearly cost someone's life.”

“Isaiah's life?” she guessed. That was the only thing that seemed to account for his attitude.

When he didn't respond she rose, retrieved the first-aid box from the kitchen cabinet, and resumed her seat, trying not to betray too much curiosity.

He watched as she dealt with his hand, not wincing when she applied the antibiotic cream to the cut. She could sense the struggle in him. He wanted to talk; she was sure of it. But she shouldn't force his confidence.

Folding gauze into a thick pad allowed her to focus on the task. If he spoke, it would be his decision.

“Isaiah,” Matt said heavily. “He was just a kid then. I was thirteen—old enough to be responsible, so my daad said. I took him fishing over at Miller's pond.”

She nodded, fitting the pad over the cut. His hand, callused and strong, lay relaxed on the table. She forced herself to concentrate on the job, not on the warmth that radiated from him.

“Isaiah must have liked going someplace with his big cousin.”

Matt's fingers twitched. “I guess he did. We were fishing down by the old dock. I don't know if it's still there.”

“It fell down a couple of years ago,” she said. “All for the best, since it was so rickety it was a danger.”

“It was dangerous then, too. I let Isaiah sit on the end closest to the bank, where it was fairly stable. Told him we couldn't go farther out—it wasn't safe.”

Rebecca risked a glance at his face. He seemed to be staring into the past, probably at two barefoot kids sitting on a dock with fishing poles on a summer day.

“Anyway, a couple of Englisch teenagers came by, looking to go fishing, too. Older than I was, with a cooler of beer and plans that didn't include sharing the spot with us.”

Rebecca found she was visualizing the scene as he spoke, and she didn't have much trouble seeing what was coming next.

“So they told us to get out. Said this was their spot, we shouldn't be there, acting big. Isaiah . . . I don't know if he was afraid or not, but he wanted to go. I said no. I said we had just as much right to be there as they did.” His fingers twitched again. “There was some pushing and shoving. I saw red. Lost my temper. Waded into the biggest guy with fists flying.” His right hand curled into a fist as he spoke, his fingers closing over the bandage.

“Something happened to Isaiah,” she said softly.

“Right in the middle of it I heard a cry, a splash—it was Isaiah. He'd gone clear out to the end of the dock, maybe trying to get away from the fighting. Backed into the railing, and it broke and went right into the pond with him.” Matt's jaw was so tight it wondered her that he could manage the words.

“We had an awful time fishing him out. He was tangled up in the broken boards and the reeds. Muddy bottom, so you couldn't get a grip—” He was reliving those moments too strongly, and beads of sweat appeared at his hairline. “I thought he was dead when we pulled him to the bank.”

“But he wasn't,” she said gently, longing to comfort him but sure that words weren't enough. “Isaiah is fine.”

“No thanks to me. It was my hot temper that nearly killed him.” His gaze met hers. “You should know. You saw it in action just now. Every time I think I have my anger conquered, it crops up again.”

“Everyone has some failing, Matthew. You're only human.”

“Human, ja. But Amish?” He pulled away from her, smoothing down the tape she'd put over the bandage. “I left the faith because I thought I could never live up to our beliefs. And I came back because . . . well, because I thought it was safer. But even here—” He gestured with his injured hand. “You see what happens.”

“Matt . . .” She felt so inadequate to deal with what he'd said. “You're not solely to blame for what happened. My brother bears an equal share of responsibility.”

He only looked more stubborn. “He's still hardly more than a kid, for all he's doing a man's work. I'm older. I should be able to control myself.”

“We're not meant to be perfect, Matt,” she reminded him. “Not in this world. That will happen only in the next.”

“Maybe.” He stood, pushing his chair back, and his gaze focused on her face. “You're a kind person, Rebecca. But you'll be better off if you don't trust me. The Lord knows I don't trust myself.”

Before she could find the words to reassure him, he'd swung away and strode out the door. Rebecca sat where he'd left her, turning the whole conversation over in her mind.

Safer. What had Matt meant when he said he thought it would be safer for him to return to the Amish? She didn't know, and she suspected he wasn't likely to tell her.

Lancaster County, May 1942

Anna stepped over the strawberry plants, eyes searching the thick green mat for a sparkle of red. Nothing ripe yet, it seemed, but it wouldn't be long. She stooped at the row of rhubarb and began to pull stalks, snipping off the fanlike leaves and dropping the ruby-red stalks into her basket. Maybe by concentrating really hard on what she was doing, she could keep her thoughts from running round and round after her worries.

All the rhubarb in the world couldn't do that, she feared. She waited daily for Jacob to learn his fate, praying and hoping and too afraid to talk about it. If only they'd let him stay here, where he belonged, and work the farm . . .

Her gaze caught on her daad and brother, hoeing weeds away from the rows of corn seedlings. Was Daad talking to Seth again about applying, as Jacob had, to be exempted from service because of his religion? He'd been pushing Seth to start the process. So far, Seth had managed to evade the prompting. He'd evaded her, too, each time she'd tried to renew their conversation about fighting.

She spun around at the sound of buggy wheels, spilling rhubarb from her basket. Jacob pulled to a stop, lifting a hand in greeting, and jumped down. By the time she'd gathered up the rhubarb, he was coming to meet her.

“Jacob. I'm wonderful glad to see you.”

His answering smile didn't seem to reach his grave eyes, and a little chill settled on her.

“Will you take a walk with me, Anna?”

She nodded, her heart thudding. Had he heard something? She wanted to know, but she was afraid, as well. “Toward the woods or down to the creek?”

“The creek,” he said, and fell into step with her. “Your mamm won't mind waiting for the rhubarb?”

She shook her head. “It's just a small batch for supper. Will you stay?”

“I can't.” He was frowning, his gaze shadowed by the brim of his straw hat.

The fear bubbled up. He couldn't stay to eat. And he wanted to walk down by the creek, where the willow trees would hide them from view.

“Has Seth gotten his notice yet?” he asked.

“Not yet.” She hesitated. “I suppose it will come soon. Daad has been trying to get him to start applying for exemption, but he won't.”

What about you, Jacob?
She shouldn't ask. She should let him tell her in his own way.

“Why not?” They were under the willows now, with the stream running smooth and high from the recent rain.

“Oh, Jacob, I'm afraid of what he might do. He hasn't talked to Daadi about it, but he spoke to me a little. He's thinking that maybe it's not wrong to go and fight if you're doing it to help other people. I'm so afraid that if he's drafted, he'll go in the army.”

Jacob turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. “I'm sorry. I know how much it must worry you.” He shook his head. “I guess every one of us has been tempted.”

“Not you.” Her voice wobbled a little. “You couldn't take up a gun against another person.”

“I don't think I could.” His clear blue eyes were troubled. “But sometimes I wonder if maybe I'm just a coward, not a pacifist.”

“Ach, Jacob, how silly.” The foolishness of it would make her laugh if the subject weren't so deadly serious. “I remember when that gelding my daad got at the auction started rearing and bucking and trying to kick the cart to pieces. Everyone else stood clear, but you jumped right in and grabbed its head. I was so scared, and you were as cool as can be.”

“That's not the same.” But there was the ghost of a smile on his face, and some of the tension had gone out of it.

“It is. If you're brave in one situation, you will be in another.”

“My Anna, just being with you always makes me feel better. I will miss your sweet smile.”

“Miss?” Her voice choked, and she knew the moment she'd been dreading had come.

“I got my orders.” He was surprisingly calm about it. “I'm being sent to a Civilian Public Service camp to work for the duration of the war. So I won't have to find out if I could shoot at a person.”

Anna told herself she should be relieved. She was relieved, of course she was. At least he wouldn't be given a choice between the army and jail. But why couldn't they have let him stay here and work the farm?

She couldn't say that to him. She had to be brave, no matter what she felt inside. He was still clasping her hands, and she moved her fingers against his in a silent caress.

“Where?” She managed the word without letting a sob escape.

“I don't know yet. I'm to report in at Harrisburg, and then I'll be sent to the camp from there. They won't tell us anything about where it is except . . .”

“What?” Her heart twisted at his serious tone.

“It won't be anywhere nearby. Not even in the state. All the conscientious objectors are being sent to camps in a different state, the bishop says. Maybe the authorities are afraid we'd try to come home again if we're too close. Or maybe they think that if the Englisch boys have to go far away, we should, too.”

“But that's not fair.” Tears stung her eyes. “If you were closer, maybe we could come to see you, at least.”

He blotted a tear from her cheek with the touch of his finger. “I'm sorry, Anna. I know it's hard on you.”

The idea came, so quickly it might have been hiding there all along. She could hardly get the words out fast enough. “Jacob, we should get married before you leave. You talk to the bishop. I'll speak to Mamm and Daad—”

“No, Anna.” She'd never heard him sound so stern. “We will not rush into a wedding that way. It's not fitting.”

“But we could be together.” Her cheeks flamed with what she was saying, but she meant it. If they could be together as husband and wife, even for a little while, it would be worth anything. Somehow, if they were married, she could find a way to bear this separation.

“No.” He grasped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “I love you, Anna Esch, but that is not the way to approach being united by God. Promise me you'll let it go.”

The brief flare of hope died away. She wanted to argue, but she couldn't.

“I promise.” She blinked rapidly to hold back the tears. “We'll wait. We'll wait until you come home to stay.”