The Rebel (23 page)

Painful though it was to listen to Benuel's voice, Barbie couldn't help being caught by his words. She'd never heard him speak this way before—impassioned, caring, obviously longing to get through to his hearers.

He didn't spend time on the prodigal's sins, to her relief. Instead, all of his passion was for the forgiveness of the father, for the rejoicing of the community over the return and restoration of the lost. He spoke with such power—she had never heard him so passionate before. The barn was absolutely still, with none of the rustling and movement that was common. Even the babies were silent.

She dared to raise her eyes enough to see his face. His eyes seemed to glow, and he leaned forward as if to reach each of them and demand their attention. “The father didn't even allow his son to say the words he'd prepared. He didn't need to. It was enough that he'd returned, and his father welcomed him with open arms.”

She saw Mamm, opening her arms to the son who'd hurt her so much; Daad, wiping away tears of joy at his return. Her heart twisted, and tears began to spill down her cheeks.

She wasn't the only one. There was a stifled sob from somewhere behind her, and others besides her wiped their eyes.

“Never forget,” Ben said, looking from person to person as if he spoke to each one of them. “If all of us received justice instead of mercy for our sins, each one of us would be sitting in the penitent's chair this morning.”

Ben sat down. There wasn't a sound in the place. It was as if his words had struck them all to silence.

Bishop Caleb, not waiting for any response, stood to pray. Then he cleared his throat. “All children and unbaptized persons
are now dismissed. Baptized members should remain in their seats.”

Silently the kinder and teens filed out. Some of the older girls would automatically take on the job of watching out for the little ones during members meeting.

Barbie took a deep breath, knowing what was coming. It was so quiet that no one could possibly believe there were still seventy-some people sitting on the backless benches in the barn.

Bishop Caleb spoke again. “Remember, ‘where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in the midst of them.' Our decisions here must be pleasing in God's sight.”

Having ensured that members were taking this business seriously, he nodded to Barbie.

She rose, knowing full well what was expected of her. Somehow, her legs managed to carry her to the front of the barn, where she sat on the chair that had been placed before the members. Now for the words, used over and over in confession.

“I have sinned.” Her voice shook, but she kept going. “I earnestly beg God and the church for patience with me, and from now on I will carry more concern and care with the Lord's help.”

She longed to keep her face buried in her hands, but when the bishop spoke, she forced herself to look at him. She could read nothing but sympathy in his lined face.

“Have you gone out with a man who is not Amish?”

“Ja.” She breathed the word.

“Did you fail to tell your parents what you did?”

“Ja.” Her voice broke on the word. She sensed him look to the other ministers, as if silently asking whether they had other questions.

When no one spoke, he bent over her, giving her a
reassuring smile when she managed to look at him. “You may go out now,” he murmured. “It won't be long.”

She nodded and fled.

Standing outside the barn, she dried her face, fighting to compose herself. But the questions lingered. Had she done the right thing for the wrong reasons? If she repented because she didn't want to hurt her family, was that true repentance? If she accepted she'd been wrong . . .

Barbie's breath caught. It was wrong to lie, even by implication, to those who loved you. But did she really mean to spend her life obeying the rules? She rubbed her forehead, tired of the thoughts. Maybe she really belonged in the outside world, like James. Maybe her longing for adventure was a sign that she should heed, telling her that she didn't belong.

The door opened behind her. Smiling, her mother gestured her inside, hugging her. “It's all right,” she murmured. “It's all over.”

Barbie moved forward, uncertain now of what to expect. But when she reached the front of the gathering, Bishop Caleb's wife waited to give her the kiss of peace.

Bishop Caleb, smiling, held up his hands. “Our sister has confessed her wrong and been forgiven. The matter is buried and may never be brought up again in either word or thought.”

In another moment Barbie was surrounded by family and friends, taking their turns to hug or kiss or offer words of encouragement. Even Moses joined the group.

But not Benuel. He stood apart, his head lowered.

Lunch after worship went on as usual. Nobody stared at her, and if there was any whispering in corners, she didn't detect it. So it really was over. She'd finish up her next two days of work,
tell Walt and Ashlee and the others good-bye, and try to be content with working at the farm-stay. People would forget.

If only . . . She found herself glancing in Ben's direction, and she resolutely turned away to talk to her cousin Judith. Whatever might have been with Ben was over. Still, her decision hung in the balance. Was she meant to be Amish? Could she be happy if she stayed, or would the regret taint her future?

She was helping to carry serving bowls to the kitchen when Sarah, Ben's sister, came out. Sarah stopped, staring at her. Barbie stared back, not sure what Sarah expected of her. If she intended to add her two cents' worth to how she was an unfit example for Mary . . .

“Can we . . . Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Barbie stiffened, wondering if she ought to remind Sarah of what the bishop had said. The wrong, once admitted and forgiven, must be forgotten as well.

“I need to take these into the kitchen.” She gestured with the bowls she carried.

“I'll wait,” Sarah said. She moved to the side of the porch, out of the stream of traffic into and out of the kitchen.

Apparently there was no help for it. Barbie took the used bowls to the sink. When she went outside, she found that Sarah had moved a bit farther away, as if eager that she not be overheard.

“What is it, Sarah? I said I'd help with the dishes.” She glanced toward the door. Even dishwashing sounded better than a little chat with Sarah.

“I had to talk to you. I have to tell you . . .” Her voice died, and to her astonishment, Barbie realized Sarah was fighting back tears.

“What is it?” Moved, she put her arm around Sarah in a comforting gesture.

But Sarah pulled away, shaking her head. “I didn't think it was wrong. I told Ben that when he spoke to me. I was angry and stiff-necked. Then I heard what he said today.” Her face twisted as she fought back tears. “I should have been the one confessing in front of the church. I wrote you those letters.”

For an instant Barbie didn't even grasp what she was talking about. Then it came to her. The letters . . . the ones accusing her of being a bad example to the youth. Sarah had written them.

“But why, Sarah? Why? What could you know about me?” Well, she knew more now, but she couldn't have then, not when she'd found the first note.

Sarah blotted tears from her face. “I don't even know why I did it. Mary kept talking about how nice you were and how she could talk to you, and I guess I felt . . . I felt jealous. I wanted her to think that about me.”

Barbie's heart twisted. Mary certain-sure didn't think that about her now. And that wasn't Sarah's fault. She had lost that by her own actions.

“You don't need to be jealous,” she said. “I'm glad Mary thought of me as a friend, but you're her sister. Your bond is for life. She'll always need you.”

“Do you really think so?” All of Sarah's confidence seemed to have deserted her, and she was pathetically eager for reassurance.

“I'm sure of it.” She patted Sarah's arm. Any anger she'd felt at the revelation vanished before it could blossom. “Don't worry about it anymore. Just forget it.”

What was the point of being angry with Sarah? Everyone in the church now knew too much about what she'd been doing. The notes hadn't done any harm. Maybe they'd even helped by making her think about the pain she could cause her family.

Sarah shook her head. “You're generous. I didn't see it before. Maybe . . . Well, anyway, I'm sorry and ashamed of what I did. If you want, I'll confess to the bishop.”

“No, don't. That's not necessary.” She didn't want to put anyone, even Sarah, through what she'd just endured. “It's enough that you've spoken to me. We'll forget about it now, ja?”

“Denke, Barbie.” Sarah studied her face. “I think I understand why Mary is so fond of you. I hope you'll keep helping her.”

She tried not to wince. “I'm afraid Benuel might have something to say about that. He's not likely to want me around his little sister after everything that's happened.”

And Mary wouldn't want her friendship, anyway. That hurt more than any of it.

“I doubt it.” Sarah smiled and patted her hand. “I wouldn't take Ben too seriously. And after the sermon he preached today, I don't see how he can hold anything against you.”

“Maybe you're right.” But she suspected Ben would find some way to rationalize keeping her away from his sister. And away from him.

I
t
was Barbie's final shift at the café, and as it turned out, Ashlee wasn't there. She'd worked breakfast and lunch today, but Barbie had agreed to do the supper shift. It felt strange, not to be checking in with Ashlee every few minutes.

Still, she'd better get used to it. Although they'd promised to stay in touch once Barbie left the café, she knew what would happen. Once they weren't seeing each other daily, and Ashlee couldn't text or call at a moment's notice, she'd drift out of Barbie's life.

Moving behind the counter, she refilled coffee for the three local guys who sat finishing their desserts, knowing already how they liked their coffee and who would want to switch to decaf. Listening idly to their talk, she glanced up at movement and saw that Terry had come in.

Another person she should be saying good-bye to, she guessed. Still, she hadn't seen much of him since that day she'd learned that Grossmammi was in the hospital. Maybe the
reminder of how different her life was from his had discouraged him. Pulling her pad out, she approached his table.

“Hi. What can I get for you tonight?”

He slid the menu back into its holder. “Just a cup of coffee. Is it true? Ashlee says you're quitting your job.”

She nodded, wondering how much Ashlee had told him about it. Did he realize he was the inadvertent cause of her trouble?

Not fair,
her conscience insisted. She'd brought her problems on herself.

“Listen, is all this because of me?” He caught the hand holding her pencil. “Because those people saw us together?”

“It wasn't your fault,” she said quickly. “I should have known better.”

“I'm sorry.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Guess this means we won't be going out again. At least, not as long as you're . . .” He let the sentence fade, gesturing to her clothing.

“Afraid not.” And if she did, at some point, decide she was leaving, it wouldn't be because of Terry, nice as he was. “I'll get your coffee.”

She was smiling a bit when she reached the counter. Terry wasn't heartbroken at seeing the last of her, not that she'd thought he would be. There must be something he took seriously, but she didn't know what it was. He'd be off smiling at the next pretty face he saw, with never a passing thought for the Amish girl he'd once gone out with.

“All I'm saying is, don't take that road out by the reservoir tonight,” one of her three customers was insisting. “There's going to be a big teenage bash out there, and you know what they're like once they get a few beers in them. Lucky if they don't drive anybody into the ditch.”

“Celebrating school being out soon, I guess,” his buddy commented. “Still, a few quiet beers isn't anything worse than we did at that age.”

“Quiet beers, nothing. They've got half the high school coming by what I heard. Some of the boys were bragging that they're bringing a few Amish girls. They'll get an education, I guess.”

His friend elbowed him, nodding toward Barbie.

“Hey, I'm sorry.” His face reddened. “I didn't mean anything.”

“You're sure of that—about the Amish girls?” Barbie asked. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last, but it sounded as if this party might be wilder than anything they'd be ready for.

He shrugged. “That's what I heard. Maybe it's not true. Just kids talking big about the fun they're going to have.”

“Not as much fun as they expect,” the man sitting farther along the counter put in. “Way I hear it, the cops know all about that party at the reservoir. They've messed around out there one too many times, and tonight they're going to get raided.”

Barbie's breath caught.

“Well, it's not so bad,” the other man said. “Maybe if their folks have to come down to the station and pick them up, they'll keep tabs on them better. And like Gus said, it's nothing we didn't do in our time, but our folks sure got after us for it.”

Maybe it meant nothing for the Englisch kids. Maybe it was even a good lesson for them. But if there were Amish girls at the party, caught by the police—

She could imagine the headlines in the newspaper only too well. The misdeeds of Amish teenagers always made news. Their families would be shamed—the whole community would be.

Pressing her hands against the counter, she tried to think what was best to do. If she knew which girls were involved, she might be able to reach them. Warn them. She glanced out the window. It was dusk already, which meant the party would start soon. It might be too late for warnings to help.

The thought hit her like a sledgehammer. What if Mary were one of those girls? She'd care about any of them—want to help any of them. But if Mary were in trouble, she'd be guilty of contributing to it. Guilty of letting down the vulnerable girl who had depended on her.

Once the idea took possession of her, she couldn't let it go. If Mary were at this party, if Mary were caught by the police . . . Her heart cringed painfully, and she felt for a moment as if she couldn't breathe. She had to do something, but what?

Think, Barbie, think.
As far as she knew, Mary didn't have access to a cell phone. But David did, just as she had when she'd been younger. She'd given hers up when the last of her rumspringa gang had settled down. What was the point of it then?

But David might know about the party. Might even have heard who was talking about going. And he wasn't really all that good at keeping secrets from her.

She hurried to the phone in the back hall, leaving her customers to fend for themselves. Luckily she'd memorized the number, even though this was the first time she'd had occasion to use it.

Pressing the receiver to her ear, she listened to it ringing.
Please, pick up.

Finally the ringing stopped, and a cautious voice spoke. “Um, who's this?”

“It's Barbie,” she snapped. “Listen to me. I'm at the café,
and I just heard there's supposed to be a big teen party out by the reservoir tonight. Are you there?”

“No!” He was indignant. “I'm too old for that stuff.”

“Well, I hoped you were. Do you know anyone else who is planning to go?”

There was a long hesitation before David spoke. “Why . . . why would I?”

He was trying to protect his friends, she supposed. “Never mind trying to protect anyone. According to some of my customers, the police know about the party. They're going to raid it.”

His gasp was audible. At least now she had her brother's attention.

“Listen, they also said there may be some Amish girls there. Do you know anybody who that might be?”

She could almost sense the struggle going on in his mind. He was still enough of a teenager not to want to tell on his friends.

“David, the only way to protect them is to stop them, or at least get them out of there, fast. Now tell me.”

“All right, all right,” he said, giving in. “Sadie Esch and her sister were saying they'd been invited. And . . .” He paused again, and she thought she knew why. “And Mary Kauffmann,” he added reluctantly. “But, Barbie, it's too late. They'll have gone already. I'd go after them, but a buggy isn't going to make it out to the reservoir in time.”

“I know.” Anxiety pooled in her stomach. “You can't make it, but maybe I can. I'll do it.”

She clicked off and stood for an instant, holding the phone. She could call the Kauffmann place and leave a message, but
what would she say? Anyway, by the time they listened to it, they wouldn't be able to do anything, any more than David could. It was up to her.

She hurried back into the dining area, going straight to Terry's table. He looked up with a smile, but she couldn't return it, not now. “Terry, I don't have any right to ask you this, but I need help. Will you drive me somewhere?”

He looked startled, and for a moment she feared he'd refuse. But then he stood, pulling keys from his pocket. “Sure thing. Where are we going?”

“Some kids I know are at a party out by the reservoir. They're going to be in big trouble if they're caught by the police.”

He grinned. “I guess we'd better hurry, then.”

“I'll meet you outside.” She didn't wait to see his reaction, but hurried to catch Jean before she could go to another table.

“Jean, I'm sorry, but I have to leave. It's an emergency. I don't have time to explain . . .”

Jean's startled look was quickly replaced by sympathy. “That's okay. You go. I'll handle everything.”

Everything but Walt, who'd be furious, Barbie thought as she hurried out the door. Well, she'd tell Walt how sorry she was later, but this was too important to waste time arguing.

Terry's car was parked at the curb. Hand on the door, he looked at her. “Speaking of trouble, isn't this going to get you in trouble if you're caught?”

“Yes.”

More trouble than he could imagine. For the first time she actually looked at what it would be like to leave the community. Really looked, not just daydreamed and wondered. In that moment, she knew what she wanted for her future. An
Amish life. A life she was putting in jeopardy by what she did tonight.

She yanked open the door. “Hurry.”

Lancaster County, Summer 1960

It was the rarest of evenings for Elizabeth—a chance to have supper alone with Reuben. The rest of the family had gone off to enjoy a meal with Becky's parents, while she and Reuben stayed home to finish up the chores.

She couldn't remember the last time they'd had supper by themselves, and Elizabeth wanted to treasure every minute of the evening. Not that she didn't enjoy being part of a big family—of course she did. But living here meant that their alone time was precious.

Lifting the lid from the chicken potpie, she inhaled the rich aromas of chicken broth and homemade noodles. Just the smell of the coffee had turned her stomach on her breakfast, but now she felt as if she could eat a horse. That was one of the oddities of early pregnancy that had slipped her mind.

The rush of running water from the sink in the back hall announced that Reuben was coming in, and she hurried to set the potpie on the table. Everything else was ready, so she could turn to him with a smile when he came in.

“Mmm, smells wonderful gut in here.” He came over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “And I get to have supper all alone with my wife.”

“You're saying just what I was thinking. It's nice, isn't it?”

Reuben nodded, taking his daad's seat at the head of the table. “Unusual, you mean.” With a quick smile, he bowed his head.

She followed his lead, knowing why he'd smiled. This must be the first opportunity he'd had to be the leader in the prayer before meals, since it was always his daad's right.

Reuben reached for the potpie, and she started the dish of pickled beets. “This is what it will be like when we move into our own house, ain't so?”

“It won't be just the two of us for long, though.” Joy bubbled up in her, and she laid a gentle hand on her stomach.

“You'll be busy once the boppli comes.” He frowned slightly. “I hope it won't be lonely for you in the house all day when I'm at work.”

Elizabeth realized she'd been so preoccupied with her joy that they didn't have to leave Lancaster County that she hadn't thought much of what it would be like when Reuben was working construction.

“I'll be fine. After all, our families won't be far away.” She took a slice of fresh brown bread. “Do you know what the hours will be at the job?”

“From what I hear, we'll be working as long as possible while the weather is fine. A builder has to take advantage of summer while it's here. Then it will slack off in the fall and winter.”

Something about that worried him, she could tell. Was he fretting about leaving her alone for long hours? Or was it that he still wasn't reconciled to the choice he'd made?

The choice you've pushed him to,
a small voice said in the back of her mind.

“It's not so different from farming, ain't so? You can't stop making hay when it's ready, no matter how long it takes.” But she wouldn't be there, couldn't hurry out with a jug of cold
water or lemonade for a quick visit. She wouldn't see him at all from the time he left in the morning until he came home at night.

“I guess.” He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “But I won't be able to pop in for a kiss.”

Her cheeks grew warm. “Ach, you don't do that now.”

“Because I never get you alone.” His voice was teasing, and whatever the reason he'd been worrying, it seemed to have slipped away. “How can I cuddle my wife when my mamm is always here?”

“So that's the real reason you're ready to move to a place of our own.” She could tease, too.

“For sure.” He grinned, relaxing.

Reassured, she settled down to enjoy their time together. Surely Reuben wouldn't be able to laugh so easily if he were blaming her or regretting his decision.

They were clearing the table together, laughing over some foolishness or other, when she caught a glimpse of a buggy coming down the lane. She leaned forward to peer out.

“The family couldn't be home already. Not unless something went wrong.”

“It's not the family.” Reuben's voice had a tone she didn't understand. “That's Johnny Stoltzfus and his wife. And it looks like Daniel and Etta King are with them.”

Elizabeth's fingers tightened on the plate she was holding, and she put it down carefully in the sink. “Did you know they were coming?”
And why are they here? To talk us out of our decision?

“No.” Reuben spoke firmly, looking at her. “I didn't.”

She was conscious of a strain between them, as if something were pulled so tightly it might break.