The Rebel (22 page)

But this jealousy was his problem, not hers. She'd done wrong and knew it. The course ahead was clear enough—the Ordnung, developed over years through the accumulated wisdom of the Leit, spelled it out.

He drew up at the hitching rail near the back door and managed a smile at Mary—a smile that wasn't returned. “Here you are. Have a gut day.”

Mary nodded, her face averted, and slid down. In a moment she'd disappeared into the house.

Ben was turning the buggy in preparation for going back out the lane when he spotted another buggy headed toward him. He backed the gelding out of its way and waited. The lane was only wide enough for one, and he didn't want to go through the grass when it was still wet from last night's shower. With a jolt as if he'd been struck, he saw that the approaching driver was Barbie.

What could he expect from her? Was it better simply to nod and drive away? Somehow he couldn't, even if it might be the wisest reaction.

Instead, he waited until she'd stopped at the hitching rail and climbed down, looping the lines. “Barbie, I . . .”

Ignoring him as if he weren't there, she busied herself with getting down, averting her face from him. It was no good. He could still envision the dimples when she smiled and the way her blue dress reflected the blue of her eyes.

“I know you're angry with me.” He fought to keep his voice firm. “But I had no choice. I couldn't refuse to impose the appropriate punishment when the bishop brought it up.”

“No, of course not.” Her tone was brittle, and she still refused to look at him. “You must have been glad it was taken out of your hands, so you could clear your conscience.”

“That's not so.” Wasn't it? He couldn't be sure.

“Well, it's out in the open now, isn't it? I suppose you'd like me to leave the farm-stay, so I don't contaminate your sister with my presence.”

Her words sparked the complex mix of feelings she alone seemed to bring out in him—anger, frustration, desire . . . He
grabbed her arm, pulling her around to face him, and realized too late that he shouldn't have touched her.

She stared at him, her eyes wide, the blue seeming to darken, and he leaned toward her—

The screen door slammed, making the gelding toss his head. Mary erupted onto the porch, her attention only on Barbie.

“You're here.” Her hands clenched. “How could you? How could you act like you were setting an example for me? How could you expect me to obey the letter of the law? When all the time you were doing what you wanted to and probably laughing at me for swallowing all of it!”

“Mary, no.” Barbie took a step toward her. “That's not true. I only wanted the best for you, always.”

“Am I supposed to believe that? You preached one thing to me and did something else yourself.”

Barbie's face lost whatever color it had. “It's not the same. I'm older than you, and I—”

“Ja, you're older.” For a moment Ben let his anger have free rein. “You should be setting an example for the younger girls, not running around with Englisch men.”

“Leave her alone!” Mary turned on him with a startling reversal of sides. “You're a fine one to talk. For all your preaching about what I should do or shouldn't do—you don't care about me. All you care about is what other people think!”

Whirling, Mary ran into the house, the door slamming again behind her.

Frustrated, Ben swung on Barbie. “I should have known better than to rely on you to guide my sister. You're the last person in the world to serve as a good example of what an Amish woman should be. It's a wonder to me that you haven't left already.”

Barbie's head went up, and her blue eyes seem to spark dangerously. “Really? Well, maybe you should look to yourself when it comes to setting an example. Because I think Mary is right about you. You don't care about people. You just care about what people think of you.”

Ben glared at her, defying her to see that her words had hit home. Then he flung himself into the buggy and slapped the lines, sending the horse jolting down the lane as if he could run away from what he feared was the truth.

Such a short time ago he had accused Sarah of being driven by jealousy and malice. Maybe he ought to accuse himself of the same thing.

•   •   •

Rebecca
was waiting in the kitchen when Barbie burst in. Instantly she put her arms around Barbie as if she were one of her own kinder.

“I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

Barbie dabbed at the tears that persisted in overflowing. “You must have already heard, haven't you?”

“I don't listen to gossip.” Rebecca led her to a kitchen chair and pulled another one over so that she could sit close to her. “I only want to hear what you want to tell me.”

“Mary?” Barbie glanced around, but the girl was nowhere in sight.

“I sent her upstairs to make up the beds. She'll be a while.”

Barbie wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, trying to think through the misery that swamped her. “I should try to make things right with her.”

“Not now.” Rebecca patted her hand. “Give her time to
think. She flew off the handle, and in a bit, she'll be feeling sorry and ashamed.”

“I don't blame her.” But she was relieved to have time to gather her thoughts before coping with Mary. “I let her down. Maybe Ben was right about me. How can I guide Mary in the Amish way when I'm so restless with it myself?”

“Ach, Barbie, you're young yet. It's natural enough to have questions and wonder. That's what you're supposed to do when you're young. It doesn't mean you're not meant to join the church and take your place in the community.” Rebecca spoke with quiet maturity.

Barbie rubbed her temples. “I just wonder if maybe I'm like James.”

“James?” Rebecca clearly took a moment to realize Barbie was talking about her brother. “Just because James disappeared . . .”

“Not any longer. He came home for a visit.” Her voice trembled as she thought about the moment she'd seen him after all those years. “I . . . I got in touch with him.” There was no point in bringing Ashlee into it.

Rebecca blinked, her eyes growing serious. “Has James been influencing you to leave?”

“No, no.” She shook her head in emphasis. “He was just eager to make peace with the family. Ach, Rebecca, you should have seen him—scared as a kid at the thought that Mamm and Daad might not welcome him.”

She seemed to be back in that moment when she and James had approached the house, watching Mamm turn, surprised at the sight of a stranger, and then recognize him and hold out her arms. And Daadi, wiping his eyes unashamedly at seeing his son again.

“They must be so happy. And dear James.” Rebecca's lips
curved in a reminiscent smile. “He was a few years older than me, but I remember him so well. He broke a lot of hearts when he left, and I don't mean just the family. Half the girls in his rumspringa gang were crazy about him.”

“Really?” she asked, diverted for a moment. “I never knew that about him. He was just . . . my big brother.”

“Ach, what am I thinking? We must go and welcome him. Will he have time to come for a family picnic, do you think?” She looked ready to start preparing immediately.

“Not this time. He's over at your folks' visiting Grossmammi, but then he has to head back to his family in Ohio.”

Rebecca glanced out the window toward her parents' farm. “Ach, how happy Grossmammi must be. Will he come again soon? He's married now, is he? An Englischer, I suppose?”

“Slow down,” she said, smiling. “Ja, she's Englisch. Her name is Andrea, and they have two kinder. You should have seen my mother crooning over the pictures.”

“He'll come back and bring them, ain't so?”

Barbie nodded. “They're making plans already for a visit.” She smiled, thinking of James's astonished joy at his welcome. “He really was worried, you know. After all, he was the one who disappeared. Never getting in touch—he thought they might find it hard to forgive.”

Rebecca gave her gentle smile. “Then he underestimated a parent's heart.”

“I'm thinking seeing James again mended their hearts a bit after I broke them. It would be ironic if James came back and I . . . and I left.”

“Left?” Her cousin seized her hands in a fierce grip. “No, Barbie. You can't be serious.”

“Why not? Isn't that what people say about me?” Ben's words sounded in her heart, stabbing like broken glass. “That I'm too rebellious, too restless. That I'll jump the fence?”

“People are saying that you've been foolish, going out with an Englisch boy.” Rebecca seemed to choose her words carefully. “But if you confess, you'll be forgiven. It will be forgotten. That's what you want, ain't so?”

“I don't know,” she muttered. “Ben said—”

“Ja, I heard what Ben said through the screen door. He was loud because he was angry and hurt, I think.” Rebecca patted her hands again, her touch comforting. “And you were hurt, too, because you love him.”

“Love?” The word frightened her. “I don't . . . Surely this isn't love. It hurts too much.”

Rebecca nodded. “If you didn't love him, it wouldn't hurt so much,” she pointed out.

“I should have known better.” She was talking to herself as well as to Rebecca. “Everybody knows what Ben's like. He's so strict, so determined to obey every little word and thought of the Ordnung. According to him, there's no wiggle room. You're either obedient or you're on your way out. And he made up his mind a long time ago which camp I'm in.”

“Funny,” Rebecca said innocently. “I got the impression that he had trouble keeping his mind off you. Are you saying he never did anything to show that he cared?”

Heat flooded Barbie's cheeks. “No, I can't say that. He kissed me, and it was . . . it was like nothing I ever felt before.” The memory flooded back. “But then he looked like he'd committed the biggest sin in the book. He made me feel like I was some kind of temptress.”

Her cousin chuckled, and the sound coaxed a reluctant smile from her.

“I don't imagine he thinks so. And I'd guess he's so upset about you seeing someone else for other reasons besides the Ordnung.”

“No, I can't believe it.” The weight of all that happened landed on her again. “He sat there with the other ministers while the bishop questioned me. He was condemning me, I know. He left without even looking in my direction. And you heard him just now. He made it pretty clear what he thinks of me.”

“He'll calm down. Once you are forgiven in worship, he will forget all of it. You'll be able to go on.”

Barbie shook her head slowly. “No. I knew from the beginning that if I cared for him, he'd break my heart.” She pressed her hand against her chest, imagining she could actually feel the sharp edges of the shattered pieces. “The worst of it is, he's right. How can I ever commit to anybody when one day the call to leave might be too strong to resist? What if I disappear, too, like James did?”

Lancaster County, Summer 1960

E
lizabeth
stooped to pick the strawberries, the skirt of her dress flaring out around her. First the ones that were exposed—the birds would be swooping down on them as soon as they saw the flash of red. Then she brushed the full green leaves gently back to find the hidden berries, choosing only the ripest ones. The sun warmed her back, and the earth beneath her hands was warm as well, seeming to pulse with life.

“It's going to be a fine crop this year, if only we get another shower or two.” Mamm Alice cast a practiced gaze at the sky. “Maybe a shower this evening, ain't so?”

Elizabeth followed her glance at the western horizon, mentally measuring the darker clouds there. “Looks like it.” She brushed the earth from a particularly ripe berry and popped it into her mouth, where the sweetness seemed to explode. “Best be sure we get all the ripe ones, in case it comes down hard.”

Mamm Alice nodded, knowing that a hard rain could bruise any overripe berries, pounding them into the earth. “If you
don't have room for a strawberry patch at your new place, you must come here next spring and share with us. We can put up the jam while the babies play together.”

Elizabeth smiled at the baby comment while her mind busied itself with the rest of what her mother-in-law had said. “I'm sure Reuben will want to have a garden and berries, no matter where we are.”

Straightening, Mamm Alice put one hand on her back and stretched. “Ja, I'm sure he will. But if you have to move someplace close to town for his job, you might not have much yard. Some of those places the yards are so tiny it wouldn't take five minutes to cut the grass.”

“I hadn't thought about it that way, but I suppose Reuben will want to be close to his work, wherever that is.” She reminded herself that as long as they stayed here in Lancaster County, she'd be happy. Even if she had to give up having her own garden.

But Reuben would miss that even more than she would. She looked at her mother-in-law again, but couldn't make out any opinion from her expression. “What did you think about Reuben wanting to go out to central Pennsylvania to settle?”

Mamm Alice shrugged. “Ach, you know full well I'd hate having all of you so far away. Still, I suppose the way things are going here, there will be more and more of the Leit moving out to the valleys.”

The valleys.
That was the popular term among the Amish for that central area of the state, probably because of the alternating lines of ridges and valleys running northeast to southwest across the area.

“You really think so?”

She nodded. “I hate thinking it, that's certain-sure. But
things are changing here, and I guess we'd be foolish not to see it.”

“I wish things didn't have to change.” She rose, picking up her basket.

“I know.” Mamm Alice looked at her with what might have been pity. “We've been settled here for a couple hundred years, and I guess we got used to it. Maybe we shouldn't have. God's people have always been wanderers, ain't so?”

“Like Abraham and Sarah, you mean,” she said. “I guess so.”

“I think sometimes God wants to remind us that we aren't meant to find our home in this world, no matter how happy we might be.”

Elizabeth blinked in surprise at the words coming from her mother-in-law, always the most practical of people. “I haven't heard you talk this way before.”

“Usually I leave the preaching to the ministers, you mean.” Mamm Alice's smile was wide. “But just because I don't say anything doesn't mean I don't have opinions.”

Elizabeth couldn't help laughing at that comment. Everybody knew that Mamm Alice had an opinion on just about every subject.

Her mother-in-law caught her eye, and she chuckled. “You've never noticed me being shy and retiring, ain't so? I guess I do speak out a bit. And you don't need to tell me that everyone knows it.”

They were laughing together when Reuben drew near. “What are my best girls finding so funny?” he said.

Mamm Alice fanned herself. “Ach, I was just being foolish, that's all. I think I'll take these berries in the house now. It's getting hot out here.”

Still smiling, she went off.

“Are you going to let me in on the joke?” He lifted an eyebrow at Elizabeth.

She shook her head, still smiling. “You'll have to be content with the berries.” She selected an especially ripe one, wiped it with her fingers, and popped it into his mouth, feeling his lips brush her skin.

“Sehr gut,” he said. “Is there a strawberry-rhubarb pie in my future?”

“If I can persuade your mamm to let me make one instead of using them all for shortcake.”

Reuben put his arm around her waist, and they walked together toward the house. “I predict our little son or daughter is going to like strawberries,” he said.

“I hope so.”
Please, God, let this babe be healthy.

“I have some news,” Reuben said, fitting his steps to hers. “I have a job offer.”

She stopped, turning to face him. “Really? That's wonderful gut news. Where? When do you start? Do you like it?”

He held up a hand to stem her questions, laughing a little. “One at a time. It's with Harper Construction. Ted Harper hires a lot of Amish, and he agreed to take me on for a job. If it works out okay, he'll keep me.”

“Reuben, I'm so glad. And you'll be working with others of the Leit, so that will make it easier.”

Her heart danced in celebration. They could stay here, they'd find a house for themselves, not far off, with room for a garden and a small stable, and they'd be happy.

“Harper plans to begin a new house in a couple of weeks over toward Bird-in-Hand, so I can start then. And he has a van to take his Amish workers back and forth. The only thing is . . .”

He hesitated, and her breath caught as she waited for something bad.

“Well, it will mean some traveling, I think. The brothers I talked to said last season they were on the road most of the summer and fall, often staying away all week. And then laid off in the winter, with no money coming in.”

“We'll manage,” she assured him. “We can save, and I'll still preserve most of our food.” She was too delighted at the prospect of staying here to let a few problems get in the way.

“I hate to think of you alone, that's all. Especially in a place of our own, where you won't have family right there to call on in case of trouble.”

Trouble. He meant with the baby, of course.

“It will be all right.” She linked her hands with his. “At least we won't be far away from our families. And maybe someone could stay with me at night.” She couldn't help smiling. “Ach, Reuben, I'm so relieved.”

“Gut. I'm glad you're happy,” he said.

He didn't say he was happy. Even though he smiled at her, Elizabeth could see the regret deep in his eyes. He was still mourning that farm he'd fallen in love with up in Brook Hill.

He'll get over it,
she assured herself.
He'll settle in to the new job and be happy.

But somehow the words didn't make her feel as relieved as she expected.

•   •   •

Ben
arrived at the site for worship on Sunday with a heavy heart. If only he could be sure about his motives, then he would still grieve over Barbie's troubles but at least not feel responsible.

Where was the single-hearted devotion he'd imagined he had the day he'd been chosen as minister? He was beginning to understand why folks were more likely to offer condolences than congratulations when the lot fell on the new minister.

Leaving the buggy in the hands of the young boys whose job it was to be hostlers for the day, he walked toward the barn where worship would be held. Then he saw Bishop Caleb, alone at the paddock fence, and veered in his direction.

He couldn't carry this burden alone. It was time to share it with someone who would surely understand. There couldn't be many quandaries Bishop Caleb hadn't faced during his years of ministry.

“Benuel.” The bishop greeted him with a nod and a searching gaze. “You look like a man who didn't get much sleep last night.”

“No, I didn't.” Ben grimaced. “Did you know I'd be wanting to talk to you this morning?”

“I thought you might. You're struggling with the issue of Barbie Lapp, ain't so?”

He nodded, planting his elbows on the top fence rail and looking out across the paddock where the boys were putting the visiting buggy horses. It was easier than looking into the bishop's wise old face.

“I know we had to act. I know it's for Barbie's own good.”

Bishop Caleb leaned on the rail next to him. “Your feelings for Barbie are causing you doubts.”

“Not about your decision,” he said quickly. “But about my own motivation in agreeing.”

The bishop was silent for a moment. Then he heaved a sigh. “It's always difficult. The Lord bids us to act always in love, but I won't deny that sometimes other feelings come into
church discipline.” He glanced at Ben. “What are your intentions toward Barbie?”

“None,” Ben said quickly, backing away from that idea. “I mean, it was Daad's idea to have Mary working with Barbie and Rebecca at the farm-stay. He thought they would be gut examples for her. I was afraid . . .”

“Afraid Barbie was a little too frivolous to serve as anyone's pattern?” There might have been a touch of humor in the bishop's voice.

“Something like that,” he muttered. He'd done enough to Barbie already. He certainly wasn't going to talk about the night she'd brought Mary home.

“But your feelings started to change,” Bishop Caleb prompted him when he didn't go on.

“I suppose they did. Being around Barbie, I couldn't help but see that there's a loving heart behind her foolishness. But I never intended—I mean, she's completely unsuitable to be a minister's wife.”

“I don't know that we have any requirements for being a minister's wife.” His tone was mild. “You might say that God picks the woman, just as He chooses the man.”

“Ja, well, anyway, I didn't mean to be drawn to her,” Ben added hastily. “Now I wonder about my own motivations in imposing discipline on her.”

“It's never easy, no matter who the person is.” The lines in Bishop Caleb's face seemed to grow deeper. “It's especially hard when the person doing wrong is a member of the family or another person you care about.”

“That's certain-sure.” Ben thought of Sarah. What was he going to do about his own sister?

“I'm not sure we can ever have a single purpose in that case. We just have to do our best and leave the rest to the Lord. Our feelings don't matter as much as our obedience.”

Ben nodded, accepting the rebuke. “I'll try.”

“I will be taking the text of the Good Shepherd for the long sermon today. I think that you should do the short sermon on the Prodigal Son.”

Ben was left gaping at this unexpected assignment. “I don't . . . Given my own doubts, I don't think I'm worthy to preach today.”

“None of us are ever worthy to preach God's word,” the bishop said.

Ben grimaced. It was surely truer of him than of someone like the bishop, who had given his life to God's service. “The way I've been feeling, I should be sitting in the penitent's seat today.”

Bishop Caleb put a hand on his shoulder. “You know, sometimes I think every one of us should be reminded of that. Remember, if we got exactly what we deserved, we'd all be sitting in the penitent's seat.”

For a moment Ben let the words sink in. Then he nodded slowly. He would try. He'd have to ask for God's grace, because he certain-sure couldn't do this thing in his own strength.

Too soon it was time to file in for worship. The service moved on in its usual way. Church discipline would come during a members meeting at the end of worship, after all the kinder and non-members had been excused. He glanced to where Barbie sat in the back row of unmarried women. This must be hard for her, sitting through the service and knowing what lay ahead. He didn't bother to deny the longing he felt to comfort her.

When Bishop Caleb rose to speak, Ben found he was watching his sister Sarah. Should he have spoken to the bishop about her actions? He'd rather she confessed on her own, but that seemed unlikely, given her attitude. At the moment her face was stony, as if she dared anyone, especially her brother, to hint that she'd done wrong.

To hear Bishop Caleb speak of the lost sheep was to be moved, in some cases to tears. Ben sat with his head bowed, not daring to look at Barbie. By this time the whole Gmay would know who was coming forward for discipline today. People would try not to look at her, and he prayed they were listening with a whole heart to Bishop Caleb speak of the rejoicing at the restoration of one who was lost.

Too soon, it was his time to speak. He stood, filled with misgivings, but as he stepped forward, the longed-for grace seemed to flood through him. He didn't have to wonder what he was going to say. He knew.

•   •   •

Barbie
had to force herself to remain sitting upright when Ben rose to speak. If her posture reflected what she really felt . . . well, she wasn't sure anymore just what her feelings were. She seemed to feel her mother's gaze on her back, and lowered her face to look at her hands.

It was possible that she was doing this for herself. She was sure she was doing it for her parents, especially for Mamm. The grief and pain and self-blame her mother tried to hide had pierced her heart over and over again in the past days. Even the joy of having James back hadn't been able to blot it out. Hurting her still more was unthinkable.