The Forgiven (25 page)

“It's going to be hard to do that when you don't look fine to me. From what I've heard, it seems like you've been getting into trouble.”

“What do you mean, trouble? Nobody's got anything on us.”

The older guy flared up instantly, and Matt recognized the hair-trigger temper that had him itching for a fight. He'd seen it too often in the bad old days to mistake it.

“Isaiah, look.” He reached out to put a hand on his cousin's shoulder, feeling bone and muscle. “Your mamm's getting worse all the time. All she does is cry since you left.”

Isaiah pressed his lips together. “I couldn't do anything for her.” It was a feeble protest, and they both knew it. “Sadie's better at—”

“Sadie tries to help, but how can she comfort her? It's you she wants. And your daad's lost heart for the business without you. I'm trying to help him keep it together, but it's you he needs, not me.”

Isaiah's hard expression cracked, showing the boy underneath. “Mammi . . .”

“Don't listen to him.” The older man gave Isaiah a buffet on the shoulder that made him stagger. “Can't you see he's just trying to guilt you into going home? It's probably not half as bad as he's saying.”

“Yeah,” the other one echoed, his hands clenching and unclenching, his eyes dark and staring.

Matt balanced on the balls of his feet, muscles tightening. If this turned into a physical confrontation . . . No. He couldn't let it.

“This is between me and my cousin.” He kept his tone even with an effort. “I think he knows I'm telling him the truth.” He focused on Isaiah's face, staying aware of the other two in the periphery of his vision. “Isaiah, stop and think before it's too late. From what I've been told, people around here are tired of dealing with you. The police have been called in. You keep on the way you're going, and you'll end up in jail.”

Isaiah managed a sneer for that idea. “So what? You're trying to scare me, but it's not working. I'm not afraid of a little jail time.”

“You should be.” Memories assailed him.

“You don't know anything about it.” But Isaiah's voice had lost some of its bravado.

Matt looked into his eyes, knowing what he had to say. “I know too much about it. I've been just as dumb as you in my time, and I ended up spending six months behind bars. Believe me, it's not something you walk away from easily.”

Isaiah's face was shocked. Open, the way it used to be.

Matt grasped Isaiah's arm. “Listen to me. Komm home. Now, before it's too late.”

Matt was intent on his cousin's face, longing to see understanding—and then the blow, coming from nowhere; he'd forgotten to keep his eye on the other man. Matt fell, sprawled on the ground, trying to clear his head, bracing himself for another punch.

The older man stood over him, fists doubled. “We don't need your kind around here. Get out before I let you have more than a taste.”

Matt got slowly to his feet, eyeing the man as he would a rabid dog. A quick glance showed him Isaiah—still shocked, looking young and afraid. The third guy stood a step away, fists doubled, face eager. He'd jump in if necessary, Matt decided, but the main adversary was the older man.

“Go on. Get out.” He tried to emphasize the words with a shove, but Matt ducked it.

He could take him, he thought. Or at least, give a pretty good accounting for himself.

But how would that show Isaiah that the Amish life was right for him, if Matt himself deserted their ways because of a bully?

“Get out!” The man swung at him again, the blow striking his ear when Matt dodged. It stung, infuriating him.

His hands automatically doubled into fists, the rage rose in him, he pulled his arm back—

He saw Isaiah, watching him. Ready to copy him, just as he always had. He saw Rebecca's face, expecting the best of him.

The rage died, replaced by a great weariness with the whole idea of settling anything by blows.

“I won't fight you.” He wouldn't run, either. He stood, waiting.

The bigger man rushed him, the other close behind, and they were both on him, landing blows, and he absorbed them, trying to keep on his feet—

“Stop it!” Isaiah rushed into the fray, putting his body between Matt and the other two. “Leave him alone.”

“You siding with him against us?” The bigger man struck, not waiting for an answer, and Isaiah stumbled into Matt.

Matt grasped him, holding on, not sure how they were going to get out of this, but sure that this time, he was going to be the man he wanted to be.

A motor roared, and Joe's vehicle shot past the house, across the lawn, and braked feet away from them. He swung open the door, holding up his cell phone like a banner.

“I've called the cops,” he yelled. “You better back off, before you get in any deeper.”

For a second the choice hung in the balance. Prudently, Joe got back in the car and locked the door. The older man's face twitched, the desire to mindlessly strike out obvious. Then he took a step back, fists slowly lowering. He jerked his head toward his buddy.

“Let's get out of here.” The two of them fled, disappearing around the far side of the house.

Matt grasped his cousin's shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Isaiah nodded, his face young and vulnerable again. “I'm okay. You . . .” He looked at Matt, and tears filled his eyes.

“Hey, we're both okay. That's what counts, ain't so?”

Isaiah grinned at the familiar phrase. “For sure.” He took a deep breath, seeming to shed something that had been holding him. “Let's go home.”

Together, they walked to the waiting car.

Lancaster County, September 1945

The war was over, but the knowledge seemed to do little to bring peace to Anna's heart. She sat at her desk, staring down at the pages of her diary, for once having little to say. For the past four years the diary had been a solace to her, a place to express the thoughts she couldn't say out loud to anyone. She'd come to cherish the time she spent writing, trying to record even her daily routine in a way that would help her remember it sometime in the distant future.

Anna ruffled back through the pages, looking for the day she'd written about the end of the war. When she found it, she flattened the page to read what she'd said.

It's over at last. I can hardly believe it. We can finally begin to hope for the future. Surely Jacob will come home soon.

She felt comforted in a way, knowing the killing was finally at an end. But while the whole county celebrated the return of those who had fought, what about those who would never come home?

And what about the conscientious objectors, still in their camps even now? No news had come about when they'd be released. Some people said the government didn't want to let them go too soon after the soldiers had returned, but surely it wouldn't be long now.

Still, even when they were released . . . She suspected she wasn't the only one wondering whether their faith had survived their years in another world.

Jacob's last letter had been devoted to an account of a fire they'd fought. He'd praised the courage of his fellow smoke jumpers and spoken of their comradeship. He'd sounded so different—as if that life was all he wanted. Only at the end had he mentioned the future, and then just to say he thought very little would be the same as it had been before the war.

Was that his way of preparing her for the news that he wouldn't be coming home to stay? If so, how would she bear it?

A sound she couldn't immediately identify had her straightening. One of the younger ones? Maybe Peter had had a bad dream, like he did sometimes. She got up from her chair and hurried barefoot to the hall.

The sound wasn't coming from any of the bedrooms, but from downstairs. Her heart ached. It would be Mammi, maybe, waking in the night to grieve where Daad couldn't hear.

Anna slipped down the stairs, her hand sliding on the bannister worn smooth by generations of hands, her bare feet making no sound. She'd reached the kitchen door when she stopped, stunned.

It wasn't Mammi. It was Daadi who sat at the kitchen table, Seth's letters spread in front of him. It was Daadi who wept.

Anna's heart convulsed. She had never seen her father weep before, not even when the telegram had come.

She ran to him, putting her arms around his shoulders, bent down with grief and toil. “Ach, Daadi, I'm so sorry.”

He made an effort to straighten at the realization of her presence, but then he gave it up, his hands moving on the sheets of thin paper as if he'd caress them.

Anna touched the nearest page, covered with her brother's scrawl. “We're never finished with grieving for our Seth.” Her voice choked on the words.

Her father shook his head, putting up one hand to shield his eyes. “It's my fault. I should have stopped him.”

She pulled a chair close and sat down next to him, longing to comfort him and not sure how. “I don't think you could have, Daadi. Seth was determined. He'd have found some way to do what he thought he should, no matter what.”

“He was just a boy, swayed by what his friends were doing.” There was a trace of anger in Daad's voice. “If I'd talked to him more, listened to him, I could have helped him find the courage to resist.”

She'd thought this grief couldn't hurt any worse, but it did. “Seth had plenty of courage. That wasn't why . . .” She had to find the way to ease this burden. She grasped her father's hands tight in hers. “Daadi, listen. Seth talked to me about the war. I truly believe he didn't make the decision lightly or because of what his friends were doing.”

“Then why?” Daadi lifted a tear-ravaged face to her. “Why would he go against all he'd been taught?”

“You know that Jacob's conscience told him to resist conscription, and he did, no matter what the penalty was for it.” She paused, feeling her way. “But Seth was different. He was so moved by the suffering of people who were being persecuted that he couldn't let it go. His conscience told him to try to protect them. He didn't join the army because he wanted to fight. He joined because he wanted to save others.”

“Even if it meant killing.” Pain filled Daad's voice.

“We don't know that he killed,” she said. “But we do know that God gave him his conscience. You believe that, ja?”

Daad rubbed his palms against his face and nodded.

Anna hesitated. She hadn't said this, even to herself, and she had to get it right.

“I think we must accept God's will and trust that He gave Seth his conscience for a reason we don't see now. It's not in our hands to judge. That's what Jesus teaches. Our only task is to forgive.”

With the words it seemed a weight was lifted from her heart. Whether her words helped Daad or not she couldn't say, but they helped her.

Daadi looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded, the pain in his face easing. “There's much in what you say, my Anna. I've been fighting with God instead of trusting Him.” He patted her hand, and she could see that the storm was passing for him. “It takes strength to forgive. Whatever else it has done, this war has made a strong woman out of you.”

She clung to the words, praying they were true. Praying that if Jacob chose not to return, she would be able to understand and to forgive.

R
ebecca
and Barbie stood by the driveway with the children, waving as the cars pulled out. Their biggest party of guests ever was departing, singing their praises of a delightful stay.

When the last car turned onto the road, Rebecca let her arm drop, so tired she couldn't hold it up any longer. She turned to her cousin. “They're gone. We can relax at last.”

“Just what I'm going to do,” Barbie said.

Suiting the action to the words, she collapsed into the nearest lawn chair, stretching her legs out in front of her, looking like an Amish cloth doll. Except that the dolls were faceless, while Barbie's features sparkled with her lively personality.

Katie and Josh, released from the need to behave better than they wanted to, vented their energy with a game that seemed to consist of chasing each other around the yard while squealing.

Rebecca shook her head. “How they can run around on such a warm afternoon I don't know.” She sank down in the matching lawn chair, only too glad to stay motionless for a bit.

“It's going to be hot,” Barbie agreed, fanning herself with her hand. “I'll take them wading in the creek later if you want.”

“Don't let the two of them talk you into it,” Rebecca said. “I thought you wanted to rest.”

Barbie grinned. “Only for five minutes or so. Did you hear what the guests said when they were checking out? I've never heard such raves. I think we're a success.”

“I guess so.” Rebecca could only marvel at how smoothly everything had gone. Was this whole thing actually becoming easier?

“Your meals were great,” Barbie said. “And that was really a fine idea, showing those women how to make a quilt patch. They loved it.”

“At least it was something we could do sitting in the shade,” Rebecca said. She wouldn't have expected the Englisch women to take to sewing, but they'd seemed to like it. And it was surprising how easy it was to chat over a piece of handwork, even with people who were so different.

“The younger woman, Leslie her name was, said she'd go online and post rave reviews about our farm-stay vacations.” Barbie seemed to think that was good news.

“It was wonderful kind of her, but do you think that will really make a difference to the business?”

“Are you kidding?” Barbie brightened even more, her eyes sparkling. “People do everything online anymore, especially booking vacations. We'll be overwhelmed with business.”

Rebecca couldn't resist chuckling. “I thought we were already overwhelmed.”

Barbie's lively smile faded as her face took on a more serious tone. “You feel better about running the farm-stay now, ain't so? For a while there I wondered if maybe you'd decide you couldn't do it.”

“I had doubts,” she admitted. She thought back over the events of the past few days. “It's a funny thing,” she said slowly. “I was thinking I had to do everything myself to prove I can handle the farm-stay without Paul. But I didn't.” She smiled at Barbie. “It's okay to share the dream with others.”

Barbie nodded, her serious expression making her seem older. “It is strange, isn't it? I mean, you wouldn't have known that if Paul hadn't started so many things and left them for you to deal with.”

Rebecca could only stare at her cousin, absorbing the words. Was that what people were saying about Paul?

Apparently thinking she'd said too much, Barbie flushed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by what I said.”

“It's all right.” Rebecca made an effort to chase the idea away. “I hadn't thought of it that way.”

Or had she? The question seemed to linger in her mind.

Barbie glanced around, as if looking for a change of subject. “You know, I was thinking we might try to line up some other options for the guests. Like different Amish businesses they might visit. I could make up a flyer listing them. They'd probably buy things, and that would help everyone.”

Rebecca nodded. “We'll need them if Matt doesn't come back.” She'd tried to keep her voice firm, but it wavered a little on the words, and Barbie was quick to catch her doubt.

“You don't really think he's leaving for good, do you? He's probably just away for a few days. Maybe some business for his onkel took him. He'll be back.”

“Maybe.”

Rebecca wished she could think so. Wished she'd done a better job of talking to him when she'd had the chance. She'd been so obsessed with her own shortcomings that she hadn't paid attention to what he was feeling.

As for accusing him of letting the past dictate his actions in the present—well, who was she to say that to anyone else? She and Matt were more alike in some ways than she'd have believed possible. Only the reasons behind their attitudes were different.

“I know one thing for sure,” Barbie said, her voice lifting. “You can stop thinking Matt has gone for good.”

“What do you mean?”

Barbie nodded toward the workshop. “Because he's here now.”

Rebecca swung around, and her heart leaped. A wagon had just pulled up outside the workshop. Matt . . . She realized suddenly that she'd recognize his particular figure anywhere, in any group of Amish men all dressed alike, in any crowd of people.

She was getting another chance. She could talk to him, show him that she wasn't so tied to the past as he'd thought, and that he needn't be, either.

“He'll be coming over to see you,” Barbie said, getting up. “I'll keep the kinder busy so you can talk.”

“You don't need to,” she began.

Barbie chuckled. “You wouldn't say that if you could see your face. Talk to him. Let him know how you feel. You'll both be idiots if you let a chance to be happy slip away.”

Barbie had obviously been noticing a lot . . . maybe more than Rebecca had been aware of herself.

Feeling the warmth in her cheeks, Rebecca looked again toward the workshop. And froze. Barbie had said Matt would be coming to see her after having been away. She'd been wrong. Matt wasn't coming this way. He'd disappeared into the workshop.

“It looks as if we were wrong.” She tried hard to keep her tone light. “Matt has other things to do than explain where he's been to me.”

“I don't believe it.” Barbie glared at the workshop. “What is he doing? Where is he going with that rocking chair?”

Rebecca's throat closed. Matt was loading the rocker he'd made into the wagon. It didn't take much to figure out what he was doing. Hadn't she told herself that he wouldn't leave without coming for his things?

She had to force the words out past the lump in her throat. “It looks as if he's clearing out the shop.”

Barbie seized Rebecca's hands. “You're not going to let him go without a word, are you? Stop him.”

“I can't.” She'd like nothing so much as to dissolve into a weeping heap on the ground, but she couldn't. She had to be the strong person her children needed. “If he's decided to leave, I've no right to stop him.”

“That's just plain stupid.” Barbie gave her a little shake. “If I ever saw two such stubborn people in my life, I don't know where. Go after him. Make him talk to you. You can't give up without trying.”

You can't give up without trying.
The words repeated themselves in her heart. She'd certainly done that often enough in the past, convinced that she couldn't do this or that. She'd told herself she was finished with thinking that way.

“Go on.” Barbie gave her a little push. “Go after him.”

Rebecca hesitated. Go after him? That seemed so shameless. But she knew how to make him come to her, didn't she?

She went to the porch, up the steps, and stopped at the bell. Her hand paused, almost without volition, as she reached for the rope.

She hadn't rung it, not in all this time. She'd finally gotten used to having the children do it, but she hadn't herself.

That was all the more reason to do it now. She clasped the rope. Paul had said that the bell would call him home. Would it call Matt in the same way? She pulled the rope, over and over again.

•   •   •

The
clamor of the bell shocked Matt, sending him spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his balance. Something was wrong—Rebecca? The children?

Then he was running toward the sound, his heart thudding, hardly able to breathe. If something had happened to Rebecca . . .

He was close enough to see who was ringing the bell. Rebecca. She didn't look hurt or upset. She looked angry.

As he neared the porch she stopped pulling the bell rope. She stalked down from the porch, coming to meet him. Beyond her he spotted Barbie with Josh and Katie. She was waving off Simon, who'd started running toward them from the far field.

Barbie had a firm hold on each child. She steered them toward the barn, with Katie looking back over her shoulder and Joshua loudly protesting that he wanted to see Matt.

Matt focused on Rebecca. “What's wrong?”

“How could you?” The words burst out of her.

He could only stare at her. “How could I what?”

“You were loading up to leave.” She flung out a hand, pointing at the wagon. “You didn't even tell me.”

He was so unaccustomed to anger from her that he didn't know how to respond. “I wouldn't, Rebecca. You should know I wouldn't.”

“How? How would I know it?” Rebecca demanded, her cheeks flushed and eyes snapping. “You've already done it. You went away for days with no word to me. And now that you're back, you're loading your things up, getting ready to leave—”

“No, Rebecca. No.” He took a step closer to her, close enough to touch her if he dared. “I was just loading the rocker in the wagon because it sold. A neighbor of Aunt Lovina's bought it.”

Obviously he'd caught her off guard. She stared at him, her anger visibly deflating like a child's balloon.

He couldn't let it go at that, could he? “I'd tell you if I were thinking of giving up the workshop.”

Rebecca studied his face. “Are you?” she asked softly.

Now it was his turn to be caught off guard. He hadn't actually thought about what he was going to do now that Isaiah had come home.

His silence seemed to lead Rebecca to her own conclusion. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together. “You are, aren't you?”

She started to turn away, and he reached out to grasp her wrist and stop her. “Wait. It's not like that. I brought Isaiah home.”

“Really?” Her face came alive with joy. “Ach, Matt, how happy everyone must be. How did you do it? How did you even find him?”

She was in pain herself, but she could share the joy his family felt at having the prodigal home. It humbled him.

“Simon helped. Those leads he gave me eventually took me to people who knew something.”

Her smile trembled. “I'm wonderful glad of it. But surely Simon didn't know where Isaiah was all this time.”

“No, no. It was just a pointer, and then it was a question of going out to the area of Ohio where Isaiah might be and looking for him.”

“It can't have been that easy,” she said.

Matt still held her wrist, but she made no effort to pull away. She wanted to know.

And he wanted to tell her. He wanted to say that he knew now his temper couldn't get the better of him. That the image of her dear face had kept him from striking a blow against another person. That he knew what he wanted—a life of peace and forgiveness. An Amish life. With her and the children.

How could he say those things to her? She was still so set on pleasing Paul, and he wouldn't get into line for her love. But—

A reflection of sunlight caught his eye, and he realized he was staring at the bell. She had rung the bell, probably for the first time since Paul's death. She had rung it to call him. That had to mean something.

He held her two hands between both of his and looked into her eyes. “Something's changed with you, Rebecca. Since the last time we talked—”

“Since we argued, you mean.” Tears shone in her eyes. “I was so angry, but what you said made me think.” She shook her head, as if to chase the tears away. “Yes, something did happen while you were gone, something that forced me to make a choice. And I realized that I wanted to go ahead with the business, but not because it was Paul's dream. Because it is mine, and the children's, and Barbie's.”

He let that settle into his thoughts. He was glad for her sake that she knew now what she wanted to do and why. But did it also mean she was ready for something more?

“I finally saw something else that's even more important.” She went on as if she'd read his thoughts. “I haven't been at peace with Paul's memory.” She stopped abruptly, as if she didn't know whether she should confide in him.

“What, Rebecca?” He tried to keep the urgency from his voice. This wasn't about him—it was about Rebecca and her feelings.

She nodded slightly, as if making up her mind. “I've been angry—angry because all his dreams left me and the children in such a difficult place when he died. And I never even realized it.” She shook her head, a smile trembling on her lips. “But I know now. I forgive him. Now I can cherish the memory of what we had together without pain or regret. I'm ready to move into the future.”

A surge of confidence flooded through him. Matt lifted her hands and held them close against his heart. “With me?” he asked.

Rebecca's smile blossomed. She reached up to touch his face with her fingertips. “With you,” she said.

People would see. He didn't care. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, pouring all his love, all his wholeness, into that kiss. The past was gone, for both of them. But they would have a wonderful future, with the Lord's help.