The Forgiven (7 page)

“Maybe you need to get away for a bit,” she suggested. “Take a trip to Ohio, for instance, to visit the relatives out there.”

Barbie's snub nose wrinkled at that idea. “Are you kidding? The church is even stricter out there than it is here.”

“There are good reasons for all the church's decisions, Barbie. They're meant to keep us separate and humble, the way the Bible teaches, ain't so?”

Barbie didn't look in any mood to appreciate the reasons behind the church's rulings. “I know, I know. Be humble, be patient, accept what happens as God's will. Honestly, sometimes I just want to smash something when people say that. Don't you?”

How could Rebecca deny it, with the realization of her anger against God for Paul's death still fresh in her mind? But she could hardly tell her young cousin so. What if Barbara cut loose and did something drastic, and it was her fault?

“Barbie, don't.” She touched her cousin's hand. “You don't really mean that.”

Barbie gave her a pitying look. “I suppose you're past feeling the way I do.” She made it sound as if Rebecca were a hundred and two, with all her passion burned to ashes.

Well, maybe that was true. Certainly she felt that way sometimes. But what was she going to say to Barbie?

Fortunately for her, since she couldn't think of a thing, Grossmammi called up the stairs.

“It's time you girls had a break. I have lemonade and cookies on the table for you.”

Barbie stood with her characteristic quick grace. Rebecca got up as well, shaking out her skirt, wrinkled from kneeling. Relief was her predominant emotion, but she couldn't let Barbie's comments go so easily.

“Why don't you talk to Grossmammi about how you feel? She wouldn't tell anyone.”

But Barbie dismissed that with a quick shrug of her shoulders. “It's nothing. Forget it.” She darted down the steep, narrow stairs before Rebecca could urge her.

Rebecca followed more slowly, her own concerns temporarily eclipsed by her apprehension over her cousin. Barbie was so impulsive—quick to act and quick to anger—but she had a warm heart. Rebecca felt sure of it. Still, that might not keep her from making a mistake she couldn't easily mend.

By the time Rebecca reached the kitchen, Grossmammi and Barbie were already sitting at the table, a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of oatmeal cookies between them.

“You must have dropped this when you came in.” Her grandmother pushed an envelope across the table to Rebecca.

Rebecca looked at it blankly for an instant before remembering. “Ach, I took yesterday's mail from the box when I came past and then forgot all about it.”

“Go ahead and open it.” Grossmammi poured a glass of lemonade for her, and Barbie pushed the cookie plate closer.

Barbie bit into a cookie. “Yum.” She seemed to have recovered her equilibrium already. There was no hint in her face of the girl who'd spoken so passionately of being trapped. Clearly she had no intention of speaking to their grandmother about her feelings.

Trying to dismiss the sense that she ought to have been of more help, Rebecca turned the envelope over in her hand. Usually she walked out to get the mail before going to meet Katie when she came home from school, but she'd completely forgotten it yesterday.

She stared at the return address sticker. Mr. and Mrs. Roy Strickland. Memory struggled back to the days before her life had crashed into rubble. Mr. and Mrs. Strickland had been among their first guests when they'd opened the house to visitors. A retired couple from Baltimore, they'd been enchanted with their taste of farm life, following Paul around like lambs. But why were they writing to her now?

She tore open the envelope and spread out the single sheet of paper, vaguely aware of Grossmammi telling Barbie something about her herb garden.

The letter was written in Mrs. Strickland's flowing hand. Rebecca stared at the words, her forehead furrowed.

“Rebecca?” Grossmammi reached across the table to pat her arm the way she'd done when Rebecca was a child. “Is something wrong?”

She roused herself, managing a smile. “No, not wrong. It just took me by surprise, that's all.” She glanced up to find both her grandmother and her cousin looking at her expectantly. There were no secrets when you were part of a big, caring family, not that this was exactly a secret.

“It's from a lady who stayed with us the summer we opened the house to visitors. She and her husband want to come back again.”

“Well, that's great, ain't so?” Barbie said. “When you open for the summer, you'll already have guests lined up.”

When?
Her thoughts echoed the word. “If,” she said. “I'm not sure I can do it.”

“But why not?” Barbie's face was bright with enthusiasm. “I'd do it in a minute. It's a great way to earn money.”

“It's . . . It's not that easy. Without Paul . . .” She let the words die away. Even with Paul there to carry the load, she had found it difficult to open their home to strangers, and Englischers at that. How could she possibly do it alone?

“It is up to you,” Grossmammi said quietly. “You'll make the right decision.”

Rebecca shook her head slowly, but she wasn't at all sure whether she was denying the possibility of opening or her ability to make the choice.

Lancaster County, November 1941

Anna closed the lid of her dower chest on the dish towels she'd finished hemming last night. She ran her fingers over the fading paint on the front of the chest. It had come down to her from her great-grandmother Martha Esch, and it gave her a little spurt of happiness each time she put something away in it for the day when she and Jacob would move into a home of their own. She and Mammi would start work on a log cabin quilt soon. She'd already decided on the colors. No Amish girl would think of marrying without having five or six quilts tucked away for her future home.

“Anna?” Her mother's voice echoed up the stairs. “Where are you?”

Giving the chest a little pat, Anna hurried to the steps and down to the warm kitchen. “Here I am. What is it, Mammi?”

“This will be a gut day for you to take those bushels of extra apples around to the neighbors, ain't so? It's getting colder, and they won't keep in the shed much longer without freezing.” Mamm drew a black wool sweater more snugly against her body, as if she was cold even when standing next to the wood stove. “Tell Seth he must go with you.”

Each year she took the last of the apples around to the neighbors. Since none of them had the big apple crop that Daad did, they were usually happy to buy a last bushel for applesauce or drying.

“I don't need Seth along just to drive down the lane.” Sometimes Mammi treated her as if she were eight instead of eighteen.

“Do as I say, Anna.” Mammi's voice was sharp, and she rubbed her arms as if she couldn't get warm. “You're not to go without your brother along.”

Knowing an argument wouldn't get her anywhere, Anna nodded and took her black jacket from the hook by the door. Even though Mammi hadn't seen the book burning, she seemed far more affected by it than Anna, who had.

For sure it was upsetting, but that was no reason to go around acting scared to death. Anna hurried toward the barn, eager to find Seth and get going before Mamm found an excuse to call her back. After all, nothing else had happened. School went on as usual for the young ones, while the rest of the community prepared for winter.

It would soon be time for long evenings in the warm house, reading or sewing or playing board games with her younger siblings. Jacob would come over as often as he could, and they'd find some moments to talk and make plans for their future. Everything would be fine.

When she reached the barn and found her brother, Seth made a face at the idea of doing anything so tame as selling apples with his sister. But at a look from Daad, he helped her hitch the mare to the wagon, and together they loaded the baskets. In a few minutes they were rolling down the dirt lane to the gravel road that connected a string of houses and farms.

“It's gut to get out of the house.” Anna lifted her face to the thin November sunshine. “Ain't so?”

Seth just grunted, snapping the lines against the mare's back.

Anna poked him with her elbow. “What are you in such a bad mood about? Did someone else take Susie King home from the singing?”

Seth glared at her. “It's nothing to me what Susie does. Anyway, there's no point in sweethearting when the world's turning upside down.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

Seth hunched a shoulder. “You should know. You were there, weren't you?”

“Are you still fussing about the book burning? You're getting as bad as Mammi. So what if some people we don't even know decided to do a mean act? It's nothing to do with us.”

Seth's young face hardened. “Yesterday it was the German books. Next time maybe it'll be the people who speak German, like us. And maybe it will be coming from people we think are our friends.”

“That's nonsense.” She had to make her voice sharp, because her heart was thudding in a very unpleasant manner. “Everybody around here knows we don't have anything to do with what's going on clear across the ocean in Germany. Our family has lived here in Lancaster County for almost two hundred years already.”

Seth just shook his head. He turned the mare into the next driveway, the one that led to the Cochrans' house. Mary Cochran could usually be counted on to buy a bushel of apples or two. Anna glanced back at the eight bushels they'd loaded into the wagon. Maybe they'd be able to move all of them today. That would please Daad and Mammi.

Seth pulled the mare up when they reached the back door, and Anna slid down. As grumpy as Seth was today, she'd better be the one to do the talking.

No sooner had she knocked than Mrs. Cochran was coming to the door, wiping her hands on her flowered housedress, clearly visible through the glass panel. She paused for a moment when she saw who it was, and then she opened the door a few inches.

“What is it?”

Anna's confident smile slipped at the curt tone. “It's nice to see you, Mrs. Cochran. We have some late cooking apples from the orchard, and we thought—”

“No.” Mrs. Cochran cast a quick look behind her and then leaned toward Anna. “I'm sorry, Anna,” she whispered. She started to close the door, but Mr. Cochran appeared behind her, grabbing the door with a beefy hand.

“You heard what she said. We don't want anything the likes of you are peddling. Go home and don't come back.” The door closed with a resounding slam.

Anna stood where she was, too startled to move.

“Get in the wagon, Anna.” Seth's voice was urgent. “Hurry up.”

She scurried back to the wagon and climbed up to the seat, suddenly awkward and clumsy, and realized her hands were shaking. Seth slapped the lines. The mare moved off quickly, as if infected by their emotion.

They'd reached the end of the lane before Anna found her voice. “I don't understand. We've always been gut neighbors, ain't so? Why did they act that way?”

“We talk German. We dress funny. We think fighting is wrong.” Seth's voice was tight.

“I know some people think that way. But not the Cochrans. How could they? When Mr. Cochran was laid up with a broken leg, Daad cut his hay for him. Mrs. Cochran always asked us in and gave us gingerbread cookies. Remember how she always gave us gingerbread cookies?” She felt as if she were holding up a tiny match in a windstorm.

“Forget it. They have.” Seth's face twisted. “You'd better get used to it. How are we going to get along if nobody will buy what we grow? And don't talk to me about living separate. Nobody's going to be able to live separate, not anymore.”

Anna wanted to deny the words. More than that, she wanted to take the pain out of her brother's heart. But she couldn't. She couldn't find a thing to say.

R
ebecca
had returned home from her grandmother's with her head a jumble of thoughts—the letter, Barbie's confidences, her own uncertainties about the future. Emptying a jar of beef stew into a casserole dish, she tried to empty her mind at the same time.

The kinder would be hungry for their supper before long. Concentrate on that, nothing else, she told herself. Seizing an onion from the bin, she cut it into thin slices to put atop the stew. With homemade drop biscuits over the onions, twenty minutes in the oven would turn it into a dish Katie and Joshua loved.

As she mixed the biscuits, she glanced out the window over the sink. Daffodils fluttered in the breeze along the hedge, and the tulips wouldn't be far behind. She could see the first hint of purple from the old lilac bushes along the creek. Soon their fragrance would perfume the air.

She reached for comfort from the familiar, peaceful scene, but still her worries jostled one another in her thoughts.

Consider the lilies of the field . . .
The scripture, with its reminder that worry was a useless exercise, touched her heart. If only she had the strength to cling to that promise—she hadn't realized, when she was young, that following the Lord's teachings with all her heart could be so difficult.

A car pulled in next to the house, startling Rebecca from her train of thought. She wasn't expecting anyone, that was certain-sure.

The car door opened, and Rebecca immediately recognized the man who stepped out. Mr. Philmont, thin, graying, neatly dressed in his businesslike banker's suit, wasn't just an officer of the local bank. He and his wife lived no more than two miles down the road, and Molly Philmont was a familiar sight, always working in her flower beds when Rebecca went past on her way to Grossmammi's house. Wiping her hands on the dish towel, Rebecca hurried to the back door as he mounted the porch.

“Mr. Philmont. It's nice to see you.” At least, she hoped it was going to be nice. He'd worn a solemn expression when she'd first glimpsed him, but now his face creased in a smile.

“You're looking well, Rebecca. How are the little ones?”

“Thriving,” she said, standing back to gesture him into the kitchen. “Please, sit down. You'll have some coffee?”

“None for me, thank you. I can't stay long, but there's something I need to discuss with you.” He pulled out a chair and seated himself at the kitchen table, hands folded on its surface, much as he'd sat at his desk when she and Paul met with him about buying the farm. A slight chill touched her.

“Is something wrong?” She slid into the chair across from him, trying to keep the apprehension from her voice.

He hesitated, and she suspected he was trying to find a good way of saying something he didn't want to. “It's just a little matter of business to discuss. I didn't see any need to ask you to come to the bank when I go right past your house on my way home.”

The chill intensified. “That's sehr kind of you.” She took a breath. “If it's something about our loan, my father has been taking care of business for me since . . .”

Since Paul got sick.
Paul had dealt with finances, and when he couldn't handle them any longer, Daad had taken over, saying she had enough to deal with.

“Yes, I realize that, but since you're the owner of the property, I felt it was appropriate to speak to you, and then you can discuss it with your father if you wish.” He paused, as if considering how to go on. “Your father and I had a long conversation about your situation when Paul was ill. Clearly it was impossible then for you to keep up with your regular mortgage payments, and your father agreed to make such payments as he could.”

She nodded, trying to look calm despite the fact that her heart was thudding against her ribs. “He told me everything was taken care of.”

Mr. Philmont's smile seemed strained, but his narrow face was kind. “We've never had cause to worry about any of our loans to our Amish neighbors, and I knew I didn't have to be concerned that you were falling behind a bit on your loan. You would always honor your commitments. However—” His words died out.

Rebecca gripped her hands together in her lap, reading what he didn't say. “Something has changed.”

He nodded, and she could sense his reluctance. “Small local banks like ours have been facing some difficult times lately. We've had to tighten up on our policies in order to survive. I don't like it, but there it is.”

The meaning of his words sliced through the fog that seemed to be clouding her thoughts. “You mean I have to pay what's owed or lose the farm.”

“Not all of what's owed,” he said quickly. “Not all at once. But I need to assure my board that you'll begin making regular payments or . . . or I'm afraid they'll insist on taking action.”

Humiliation mixed with her despair. Why hadn't she realized what was happening? Poor Daadi. He wanted to take care of everyone, but he had the younger ones to provide for, to say nothing of Grossmammi moving in. She should have realized.

And poor Paul. He'd never have insisted on taking out a mortgage to buy the farm and a loan for the new stable if he'd had any idea she'd be left facing the repayment without him.

“Denke.” She managed to keep a quaver from her voice. “I appreciate all you've done for us.” Thank goodness she had something positive to offer him. “I just recently rented the stable, so that's bringing in money now. I'll be able to pay that over to the bank each month.”

She spared a moment's regret for the plans she'd had for the extra money—new shoes for the kinder, a little put back for a rainy day. It looked as if the rainy day had come already.

“That is good news,” he said, relief relaxing the taut muscles in his face. Poor Mr. Philmont—she hadn't realized until now just how difficult he was finding telling her. “And it's a sensible solution to the difficulty, since you no longer have a use for the building. I'd suggest you discuss the whole situation with your father. I'm sure he has a record of what's been paid and what's still owed. Then you'll have a better idea of where the repayment schedule is at the moment.”

“I will.” And she'd find some way to make it clear to Daadi that she had to stand on her own feet.

And can you?
The voice of doubt whispered in her ear.

She had to. Her thoughts flickered to that letter about the farm-stay. Paul had seen taking in summer guests as a means to earn the added income they'd needed even when he was alive. Much as she shrank from the idea, there was a way at hand to earn the money she needed, if only she had the courage to seize it.

•   •   •

Matt
held the two rocker pieces up to the light, comparing them to be sure the curve was exactly the same on each. Onkel Silas had said they might as well knock off early today with the kitchen job finished, so Matt should have plenty of time to work.

Matt smiled, running a work-roughened hand over the smooth wood. If Joshua came in today, he'd recognize the piece as a rocking chair this time.

Joshua had continued to visit the shop despite Simon's opposition, so that probably meant Simon hadn't spoken to Rebecca about it. Matt's smile faded at the memory of that encounter with Simon. He'd done nothing that he knew of to get Simon's back up, so he had to assume Simon was reacting to Matt's reputation.

Well, he couldn't fault Simon for wanting to take care of his sister and her little family, even if in this case he'd gone after the wrong person. Matt certainly didn't intend any harm to them.

Rebecca surely knew that Joshua had been hanging around the workshop, as careful a mother as she was. So apparently she didn't object, and it was her call, wasn't it?

As if thinking about her had summoned her, Matt heard Rebecca's light step behind him.

“Matt? I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you.”

He swung away from the workbench to give her a quick smile. “No problem.”

Now, what had put that added strain in her eyes? Something was worrying her. Maybe he'd been too quick to assume she didn't mind Joshua hanging around him.

“I just wanted a word.” She crossed to him and then seemed distracted at the sight of the rocker. “How lovely. It's near finished. Josh was telling me about it.” Her gaze shifted. “What's this?”

Belatedly he realized that the birdhouse he'd been helping Josh make lay on the workbench in plain view. He reached out to toss a piece of canvas over it.

“That's something you'd best pretend you didn't see. Josh wants to surprise you with it.”

Those expressive green eyes of hers softened. “Ach, Matt, you mustn't let my son take up too much of your time. It's wonderful kind of you to be bothered with him at all.”

“It's no bother to be kind to such a sweet kid.” Joshua must get his lovable nature from his mother. It would be way too easy to be kind to Rebecca as well.

“He is sweet-natured, isn't he?” Rebecca's eyes lit at his words. “I can usually tell just what he's thinking. Now, Katie is another story.” Her face clouded.

“I haven't seen much of Katie,” he said, wishing he could wipe the cloud away. “She always seems to be busy with her grossdaadi and onkel when I'm here.”

“Katie loves nothing better than to help them with the chores. Far more than she enjoys helping me in the house, I'm afraid. I'm sure she's not trying to avoid you.”

Her tone said the opposite was true. Fixing his gaze on the chair, he proceeded cautiously. “Maybe she doesn't like to see someone else using the stable built for her daadi's business. That's not surprising.”

“It's not, isn't it?” Rebecca seemed to be seeking reassurance. “She remembers much more about Paul than Josh does, since she's older. So it's natural she'd be more troubled by . . . well, changes.” She said the word as if it held a world of meaning.

Matt studied her face, wondering how far he dared probe into things that were rightly none of his business. “It wasn't Katie who had you looking so upset when you came in here, was it?”

Color bloomed in Rebecca's cheeks. “I don't know what you mean.”

He shrugged. “When I see Mr. Philmont from the bank driving away and you looking as if the weight of the world has been dropped on your shoulders, I sort of put two and two together.”

“It's nothing,” she said quickly. She pressed her lips tightly, as if afraid the truth would slip out.

“Not my business, I know. But if you want to talk, I can listen.” He continued fitting the chair leg into the rocker, trying to look intent upon the task, much as he had when encouraging Joshua to come closer.

He could feel Rebecca standing there, could sense her indecision as she struggled between the longing to air her troubles and her caution about him. Finally she sighed with a soft exhale of breath.

“As you said, you can put two and two together. The problem is nothing very surprising, I suppose. We fell behind with the mortgage payments when Paul was sick. Now I must find a way to catch up.”

He could have afforded more than the five hundred a month rent he was paying for the use of the building. Why hadn't he offered more? If he tried to do so now, she'd interpret it as charity.

“Your daad . . .” he began.

“Daad has been wonderful kind,” she said quickly. “He's been taking care of all the business and farming my land along with his. But it's time I took care of things myself.”

Her hands were in his range of sight as he worked. They moved restlessly among the objects that lay on the workbench, picking up a finishing nail and putting it down again. They were small hands, but strong and capable.

“Before Paul got sick, we opened the farm to visitors one summer—what they call a farm-stay vacation.” Rebecca sounded as if she were talking to herself.

He made a sound of understanding, afraid of interrupting the flow of words.

“I've had a letter from one of those visitors, wanting to come back. It made me think. If I took in guests this summer, it could make all the difference, you see.”

He nodded. He could see, yes, but it was obvious from the reluctance in Rebecca's manner that her answer wasn't that simple.

“I take it you're not so eager.” He glanced at her, surprising her into a smile.

“You know, back when we were in school together I once overheard one of the older girls say that you knew what to say to girls because you always understood what they were thinking. Maybe that's still true.”

Now it was his turn to smile. “I was never that smart.” Full of misplaced confidence was more like it, but for some reason that cockiness had seemed to charm the girls.

“You're right this time,” she said. “That's certain-sure. Paul was always so natural with the visitors. They'd follow him around like a row of little ducklings, and he had a way of making every single chore sound so interesting they wanted to try it.”

Paul had always been filled with enthusiasm, even when he was a kid, as far as Matt could remember. “Maybe that was his gift.”

“For sure. He could talk to anyone. As for me . . . well, I was better at hiding in the kitchen and cooking the food.”

Matt leaned against the workbench to concentrate on her face, trying to understand. “Food is important when you have guests in the house. I suspect you did your share.”

“Maybe so.” She shrugged. “Folks said they liked the meals, anyway.”

“You and Paul made a good team.” It seemed to him she was too ready to put down her contributions.

“We did.” Sorrow shadowed her face for a moment, but she seemed to shake it off. “But doing it alone—I just don't see how I could. I couldn't do all the cooking and cleaning and have time to involve folks in doing all the things around the farm the way Paul did.”