The Forgiven (4 page)

“How did you finally get out?” she prompted, knowing he was fond of telling a story, just like his daad.

“Mamm got after him. She told him I had better things to do than listen to him.” He shook his head slightly, and she sensed the movement. “She always seems to know when I'm coming to see you. I have no idea how.”

“Mothers seem to know things,” she offered. “I wonder if I will, when I'm . . .” She let that trail off, not sure she should mention the kinder she hoped one day she and Jacob would have.

“I'm sure you will.” He clasped her hands a little tighter, and his voice was deep with meaning. He hesitated, and she felt as if the night had gone quiet, listening for what he might say next.

But he must have drawn back from whatever the emotion was, as if the time wasn't right. “What were you writing about with such a serious look on your face?”

She shivered a little. “Daad came home from the mill today, saying that all the talk was of war. Saying that we'll be in it before long. Jacob, that can't be true, can it? Surely the country will not go to war.”

“If President Roosevelt has his way, we will.” Jacob's tone was somber. “He's saying this Hitler must be stopped, and America is the only one strong enough to do it.”

“All this talk of killing . . .” She shivered again. “I think Daad is worried about what might happen to us. But how can a war affect the Amish? We believe in peace. We live separate from the world, just as the Bible teaches us to do.”

“We might not be able to avoid being caught up in it.” Jacob let go of her hands, and she felt cold. “I've seen the effects of the war talk myself already. Some of my Englisch friends are avoiding me now because I'm Amish.”

“Ach, you're imagining it.” Anna tried to say the words convincingly, longing to persuade herself as well as Jacob.

“I wish I was. The last time I went to town, a bunch of boys in the grocery store started yelling at me, saying I was talking German.” He shook his head again, the movement somehow sorrowful. “Anna, I just don't know what the future holds for us anymore.”

The future.
She seized upon the words. The future was her and Jacob getting married next November. She and Mamm were already filling her dower chest, putting in the quilts and linens that every Amish bride would expect to have.

She and Jacob would get married. Jacob's father would help them buy a farm. They'd have a family and bring them up in the faith. That was the way things were meant to be for them.

She wouldn't give that up. She couldn't. But fear seemed to slide along her skin, chilling her worse than the cold air of the November night. What if Jacob was right?

•   •   •

Rebecca
let the diary drop into her lap, yawning. She'd love to continue reading, but morning came early. Her brothers insisted on milking the two cows she kept, just as they did Daadi's, so she cooked breakfast for whichever of the boys came over. Usually the kinder were up by then, and it wouldn't do for her to be heavy-eyed at the breakfast table. Still, she suspected she'd be turning over and over in her dreams the story of this long-ago Anna.

By the time Rebecca went to her grossmammi's house the next afternoon, she was determined not to give in to her emotions again in front of her cousins. She would not be so foolish a second time.

Maybe Barbie and Judith feared they had set her off the previous day, because they were careful to avoid any mention of how life was constantly changing or of anything that might remind her of her loss. The three of them worked throughout the afternoon with a semblance of harmony.

Except, of course, when Barbie suggested that old letters and diaries were better off burned. Judith rolled her eyes.

“Barbie, we've been through this already.” Judith was unusually firm for someone who typically was the peacemaker between quarreling factions. “Even if we don't take the time to go through them now, no written records must be destroyed without serious thought.”

“I know, I know.” Instead of flaring up, Barbie's eyes twinkled. “I just wanted to spark things up a little.”

“If you keep doing that, one day you'll set a fire you can't easily put out,” Rebecca said. “Just remember that this is your family's history, too. One day you may want to tell your children about it.”

Barbie made a face that suggested she didn't plan to do any such thing. Maybe she wanted a new history to go along with the new furniture she claimed she'd have if and when she set up housekeeping.

Rebecca exchanged glances with Judith, suspecting they were both thinking the same thing. One day Barbie would fall in love, and then all her preconceptions of the life she wanted could well fly out the window.

Determined that she'd not leave any too early today, Rebecca lingered after Judith and Barbie left. Barbie was still arguing mildly, as if for the sake of argument, when they walked to Judith's buggy. Judith, as far as Rebecca could tell, was keeping her peace and probably only half listening. Rebecca smiled. Perhaps that was the best way of dealing with their young cousin.

Rebecca went back to the living room where Grossmammi sat in her favorite rocker, her sewing basket by her side.

“What are you working on?” Rebecca drew a stool next to her grandmother and sat down. “Another quilt?”

Grossmammi nodded, smoothing the quilt patch out in her lap. “It's a variation on an autumn leaf design that Ann Stoltzfus showed me. Look how the leaves seem to curl.”

Rebecca touched the intricate design. “It's going to be so pretty.”

Her own sewing was almost entirely taken up with clothes for herself and the kinder, to say nothing of the constant stack of mending produced by two active little ones. She admired her grandmother's skill. Grossmammi had an artist's eye. The leaves, worked in shades ranging from yellow to gold to orange to red, were remarkably lifelike.

“I love the colors,” she said. “It reminds me of the ridge on a sunny fall day.”

Grossmammi nodded, her faded blue eyes seeming to look off in the distance. “That's what I see, too—the blaze of beauty before the cold of winter. I think that's what it must be like to enter heaven.”

The Amish seldom speculated about such things, content to live their lives in obedience to God's laws without wondering overmuch on what came after. Rebecca studied her grandmother's serene face, wondering what had led her thoughts in that direction.

Before Rebecca could form a question, Grossmammi's forehead puckered slightly.

“How is the sorting coming? Did you find the little chest of drawers with the blue paint? I want that put away for your brother Simon when he marries.”

“I haven't forgotten, Grossmammi.” She patted the blue-veined hand, idle for the moment atop the quilt patch. “We'll make sure everything goes where it should.” Even if she and Judith had to hogtie Barbie to do so.

Grossmammi shook her head, the frown deepening. “I still think I ought to do more of it myself. I can at least tell you what to do, even if I can't do any of the bending and lifting. Where is the key?”

“Judith has it,” Rebecca said, grateful that they'd thought of that precaution. “And anyway, you know what the doctor said about climbing stairs.”

“Ach, he's overcareful, that's what he is. I feel fine.”

“We want to keep you that way,” Rebecca said. “So that means no climbing up the attic stairs.”

Grossmammi's eyes flashed with a bit of their old fire. “I was climbing those steps before you were born. Besides, I know just how to do it. I could go up a few steps and then stop to rest. Then a few more. There's no harm in that, ain't so?”

Rebecca was slightly appalled that her grandmother was actually giving the project some serious thought. She certain-sure wasn't going to be drawn into agreeing. “And what if you tripped on those narrow steps? Just think how we'd feel if we came and found you lying at the bottom.”

“I wouldn't be lying there at all. I'm stronger than anyone thinks. Just because I have a little trouble catching my breath sometimes, that doesn't mean I'm ready for the scrap heap.”

Grossmammi's strong will was legendary, and she seemed intent on proving it now.

“No one's suggesting that you are. What use is it to pay the doctor for his advice and then not take it? Anyway, I don't have the key, so there's an end to it.” Thank goodness Judith had the key safe in her hand. For all her gentle manner, Judith could be firm when she had to be. Maybe that came of being the mother of a houseful of boys.

“When Judith comes tomorrow—” Grossmammi began.

“Ach, that reminds me of something I wanted to talk to you about.” A diversion was clearly in order. “I took home a little wooden dower chest so I could sort the contents. When I was looking through it last night, I found a diary that I wanted to ask you about.”

“A diary?” Grossmammi took the bait, her face lit with curiosity. “Whose was it, do you know?”

“The name in it is Anna.” Rebecca paused, trying to collect what little she knew about the writer. “She seemed to be writing about things that were happening just before the Second World War.”

“Anna Esch, that would be. Ach, that is what I would have picked for you, and you found it on your own.”

“Picked for me?” Rebecca repeated the words. “What do you mean?”

Grossmammi's gaze slid away from hers. “Nothing, nothing. I'd like to be sure each of you has something especially meaningful. I was entrusted with some of Anna's papers and such when she passed on. She must have been . . .” Grossmammi paused, seeming to search the endless files of information stored in her mind. “Maybe about eighteen or so when the war started.”

Rebecca nodded. “I thought so. Her writing sounds as if she was fairly young and hopeful. She was writing about her come-calling friend.” She hesitated. “She seemed a little naïve, maybe, dreaming that marriage meant being happy forever.”

“That's how girls are at eighteen.” Grossmammi's tone held a touch of gentle laughter. At Rebecca? Maybe so. She had to admit she'd probably been equally foolish at that age.

“Girls married a little younger then than they do now,” Grossmammi said. “The war years turned everything upside down, that was certain-sure. Not that I remember much about it myself, but even a child hears folks talking.”

“Anna said that the war had turned the Englisch against the Leit.” Rebecca used the familiar word by which the Amish referred to themselves. “It's hard to imagine our Englisch neighbors acting that way.”

Her grandmother shook her head. “Maybe. Maybe not. There's no telling how folks will react in times of trouble. We haven't always been on such gut terms with our Englisch neighbors as we are now. And even today, some folks don't understand why we live the way we do. They think we're backward.”

“Separate,” Rebecca said. That was at the heart of the matter, she supposed. The Amish took seriously the words that they were to live by God's standards, not the world's.
Be not conformed to the standards of the world . . .

Her grandmother nodded. “You'll read more of Anna's diaries, I hope. She lived through a time of tumult and change. Maybe she has something to teach you.”

“I guess I will,” Rebecca said. Did Grossmammi have something specific in mind, or was she just intent on seeing that the stories were kept alive?

“Change isn't easy.” Grossmammi said the words, her old voice as soft as a sigh. Her gaze drifted across the contents of the familiar room—the faded sofa, the rocker where Grossdaadi used to sit every evening, the mending basket that had probably once been as overflowing as Rebecca's was. “It always means giving up something.”

Rebecca's heart clenched at the sorrow in her grandmother's voice. Maybe, in their concern for Grossmammi's safety, they hadn't given enough consideration to her feelings about losing the home where she'd spent most of her life.

Rebecca searched for the right words. “I know change is difficult. Maybe all we can do is try to look at the good things about it. You know how much Mammi and Daadi want to have you living with them, and the boys are looking forward to it, as well. And maybe I'm selfish, but I'm glad Katie and Josh will be able to spend more time with you. We'll love having you right next door.”

“You're a gut child, Rebecca.” Grossmammi's soft, wrinkled hand patted hers. “We will make a bargain, the two of us. I will try to look ahead if you will, too.”

The words startled Rebecca, bringing her gaze to her grandmother's face. “Me?”

“You,” Grossmammi said firmly. “You were trying to reassure me. But what you said goes for you, too, ain't so?”

Heat rushed to Rebecca's cheeks. “I . . . I'm doing fine. Really.”

“Then there's no harm in agreeing to welcome change.” Grossmammi's wise old eyes held a challenge.

“No, no harm.” What else could she say? And how did her grandmother manage to look into her heart so easily? “I'll try, if you will.”

What that would mean for her, Rebecca couldn't imagine, but if it put Grossmammi in a better frame of mind about the future, perhaps it was worth it.

M
att
glanced at his uncle's face as they loaded tools into the back of the buggy. He'd been a bit surprised when Onkel Silas had suggested knocking off early. The job they were doing, installing new kitchen cabinets in a home on the edge of the village, might be taxing on an older man, but Onkel Silas was as whipcord wiry as he'd ever been. Maybe his lack of energy was more a matter of losing heart now that Isaiah wasn't working next to him.

Matt shoved away a familiar sense of guilt. It wasn't his doing that Isaiah had kicked over the traces and bolted for the outside world. He hadn't so much as seen his younger cousin in years.

Onkel Silas climbed into the buggy seat, and Matt swung up next to him and took the lines. Raising a hand in good-bye to Emma King, their client, who was watching from the window, he clucked to the mare and they moved off.

“Emma seems satisfied with how the cabinets are coming,” he ventured when his uncle didn't speak.

“She'll want to get back into her kitchen with all those kinder to feed.” Onkel Silas sent a sideways glance at Matt. “She was your year in school, ain't so?”

Why aren't you married with a family of your own?
Was that the question his uncle really wanted to ask? Matt wasn't sure.

“Ja, she was. She's changed a bit since then. I wouldn't have thought she and Joe King would make a match of it.”

Onkel Silas chuckled, seeming to relax against the seat. “She led him a fine chase, as I remember. Everyone from your class is married now, ain't so?”

That, Matt thought, was as close as his uncle would come to asking him directly why a thirty-year-old Amish man wasn't married.

“Everyone but me,” he said with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. “I haven't found anyone willing to take a chance on me yet.”

Onkel Silas managed another chuckle at the comment, but he didn't push. A good thing, since Matt had no intention of telling him or anyone else why he wasn't married.

“We ought to be able to finish that section of cabinets tomorrow.” Matt changed the subject firmly.

“Most likely.”

They rode along in silence then. If his uncle didn't feel like talking, Matt was just as glad to stay silent. Conversations with his uncle seemed laid with traps for the unwary these days.

Onkel Silas glanced ahead as the mare picked up her pace, sensing the lane to the barn. “Just drop me at the mailbox. That'll give you time to run over to Rebecca's and see if she's made a decision. You'll want to get your shop set up soon as you can.”

“I can take you up to the house—” Matt began.

His uncle cut him off with an annoyed look. “I'm not so old I can't walk up my own lane. Get on over to Rebecca's before she's busy with supper.”

Matt nodded, not venturing to argue. This slight testiness on his uncle's part was new. Onkel Silas had always been the most even-tempered of men. Still, given all he had to deal with now, it wasn't surprising.

His uncle climbed down, and Matt headed on down the road, conquering a faint reluctance on the part of the mare, who obviously considered that she should be heading for the barn and her feed bucket. He glanced back once, to see Onkel Silas square his shoulders and start walking toward the house.

Matt's throat tightened. It had to be small compensation to Onkel Silas to have his nephew rather than his much-loved son working beside him. Isaiah should come home, the sooner the better.

As for Sadie's implication that Isaiah had been emulating Matt when he'd jumped the fence—well, that had to be a figment of her imagination. Matt hadn't been around, and Isaiah no doubt had plenty of examples of fence-jumping closer to home. Every rumspringa group seemed to have one or two kids who decided to take a bite of the apple. Most of them came home eventually, ready to take up their proper roles.

Still, Isaiah was needed here now, not later, with his daad aging, a business to run, and his mamm in the condition she was. Had Onkel Silas made any effort to find the boy? If so, he'd certain-sure never talked about it.

Sooner or later Isaiah would come to his senses. That made it all the more important that Matt get his shop set up as quickly as possible. He could only hope that Rebecca, too, had come to see the sense of his proposal. If not, he'd have to look elsewhere, and he found himself oddly reluctant to do so.

Renting the unused stable wasn't just the best solution for him, being well suited to his needs and only a few miles from his uncle's property. It surely was the best solution for Rebecca, as well. She couldn't be finding it easy, even with her family's help, raising two children on her own.

A small farm like Rebecca's was common among the Amish, and most families eked out their income with an assortment of other efforts, like a fruit stand or a quilt shop or a part-time job. That allowed the family to work together most of the time, something that was prized among the Amish, even if it was possible for the father to earn more by working at a full-time job away from home.

Matt felt wry amusement at the idea. His time in the Englisch world had convinced him the Amish ideal ran exactly counter to the modern American dream.

A few minutes later he was turning in the lane at Rebecca's. In just the last couple of days, the ridge above the house had put on its spring coat of pale green leaves, their lightness a contrast to the deep green-black of the pines and hemlocks. On the lower stretches he could see the patches of pinkish white that marked the mountain laurel coming into bloom.

Insensibly, his heart lifted at the sight. Spring was a time for new beginnings. Why shouldn't it be a new beginning for him?

Mindful of what Rebecca had said about her son seeing him at the stable and thinking he was his father, Matt drove up to the house and stopped at the hitching rail by the back door. Country people always came to the back of a house, not the front. He'd never found that strange until he'd lived a bit in the city.

Sliding down, he gave the mare a pat as he fastened the line to the rail. Even as he turned toward the house, the back door opened and a small figure shot out.

The boy skidded to a halt as he realized the visitor was a stranger. This must be Joshua. Had Rebecca mentioned the boy's age? He didn't remember, but Joshua looked about five or six. Round blue eyes stared warily at Matt from beneath the brim of a straw hat. Joshua wore the typical blue shirt, black pants and suspenders of most Amish boys, and under the hat his hair was as pale and soft as corn silk.

“You must be Joshua.” Matt squatted, bringing his face to the child's level. “My name is Matthew.”

Joshua's only response was a slight nod, and he took a small step back, as if not comfortable so close to a stranger.

It was probably better not to push the boy for conversation he so clearly didn't want. “Is your mammi here?”

That got a more decided nod. Joshua turned, maybe intending to go after his mother. But the door opened just then and Rebecca emerged onto the porch. Joshua indicated him with a wave of his hand.

Matt rose to his feet, feeling a little foolish given the boy's lack of response. “Rebecca.” He nodded to her, trying to gauge her expression. “I was just getting acquainted with Joshua.”

The boy, as if released by the sound of his name, darted off across the yard. At first Matt thought he was headed for the stable, but instead he veered toward the apple tree behind it and swarmed up, his small figure vanishing into the cloud of blossoms.

“I didn't mean to scare him.” Matt turned back to Rebecca in time to see her staring after her son. The look of maternal love on her face was so powerful it unsettled him. There was a fierceness about it that didn't match his image of a shy, serene Rebecca.

The disturbing expression faded as she faced him, her green eyes intent. “Josh is shy with strangers. Just don't pay much attention to him, and he'll warm up.”

That sounded like an assumption the boy would be seeing something of him. He wasn't sure whether to take that as a hopeful sign or not. Maybe he'd better just get to the reason he was here.

“I hoped maybe you'd had a chance to come to a decision about renting the stable to me. If it's a question of the money—”

“No, no.” She shook her head, a flush coming to her cheeks at the idea that she might be bargaining with him for more. “I just . . .” She let that trail off, and Matt could feel the struggle going on inside her.

Before he could speak, her face seemed to firm, and she met his gaze. “Tell me something first. Why? Why here? Why come back to Brook Hill at all? I know you said your uncle needs you, but there must be more to your decision than that.”

Matt wanted to turn away from the insistence in her gaze, but he couldn't. “That would make it a long story,” he said, hoping to deter her.

“I have time.” Rebecca gestured toward the swing on the back porch. “Komm. Sit down.”

He hesitated for a second, and then nodded. As he mounted the steps beside her, his shoulder brushed the bell that swung from the porch roof, and it gave off a faint reverberation, humming musically. Rebecca grasped the rope instantly, stilling the bell, an expression on her face he couldn't interpret.

“Sorry,” he said. “I guess you don't want to call the kinder for supper yet.”

Rebecca's lips were pressed together, her expression shuttered. She didn't answer, and he had a sense of strong emotion moving behind the facade. Clearly there was more here than just a bell, common as they were on farm porches. Just as clearly, she wasn't going to confide in him. Not that he wanted her to.

Matt sat at one end of the swing, hearing the chain creak. Rebecca settled herself at the other, carefully leaving a space between them wide enough for another person to occupy. She clasped her hands on her lap, pressing them against the dark green apron that matched her dress and her eyes.

She didn't speak, so she must be waiting for him to start the conversation. The trouble was that he didn't intend to tell Rebecca or anyone else his full reasons for returning to a place he'd long ago told himself he'd seen the last of.

“You already know about Onkel Silas. Isn't it natural I'd want to help out until Isaiah comes back?”

She gave a slight inclination of the head. “I suppose so. But what if he doesn't return? Will you go into partnership with your uncle?”

“Isaiah will be back.” Every day he felt that more strongly. If for no other reason, Isaiah would return for his mamm's sake.

“What makes you think so? Have you heard from him?” Rebecca's face was troubled, as if she'd seen too much of things not turning out the way they were expected to.

Matt realized he wanted to give her an honest answer, not a pat reassurance. “No, I haven't, but I think I know what kind of man Isaiah is, even though I haven't seen him in a long time.” He picked his words carefully, trying to articulate to her something he hadn't bothered to spell out for himself. “Isaiah has a good heart. He's responsible. He won't be able to ignore the call of the way he was brought up.”

“You sound so sure.” Rebecca's green eyes seemed dark with questions.

“I am.” Or at least, he was trying to make himself believe it. “After all, I did.”

Rebecca's eyebrows lifted. “You? You mean you did leave the Amish?” Her hand moved in a slight gesture toward his clothing. “I thought people had all been wrong about you when they said you'd certain-sure turn Englisch.”

“No, they had it right all along.” Clearly she wasn't going to be satisfied unless he explained a bit more. “I think my folks thought moving out west and meeting the challenge of a new place would be enough to settle me down. Maybe it did, for a time, but eventually . . . well, I guess I was just born wanting to see what lay over the next ridge.” He glanced toward the ever-present ridge that guarded Brook Hill.

“How did you get along out there among the Englisch?” She made it sound far away, even dangerous.

He shrugged, aware of how close she was. Near enough that if he moved his hand, he'd bridge the gap between them. “It wasn't as bad for me as it is for some fence-jumpers. I'd been apprenticed to a furniture maker, so I had a trade I could turn to. I did okay.”

“But you still came back to the faith eventually.” There was a question in the words, and it was one Matt had no intention of answering.

“I realized I didn't really fit in anywhere else. At heart, I will always be Amish.” He let a little impatience creep into his voice, afraid if she asked more he might reveal too much. Rebecca was just too easy to talk to, with her sweet face and innocent eyes. “Why is my life story important to whether or not you rent the building to me?”

She nodded, as if to accept the implied rebuke. “I just want to be sure you wouldn't turn the stable into a workshop and then up and leave.”

“I wouldn't.”

Again he sensed the struggle in her, and he knew he had to say something more to reassure her.

“Look, Rebecca, I'm ready to make a permanent change in my life, and coming back to where I started is my choice. I can't prove my commitment to you. I'm afraid you'll just have to accept it. Or not.”

Rebecca's expression seemed to grow still, and he had the fanciful feeling that his words had struck an echo in her. After what seemed a long moment, she nodded. “All right.” She gave a small nod. “We have a deal. You can start moving in as soon as you want to.”

He turned toward her, his hand braced against the back of the swing so that it nearly touched her shoulder. “Denke, Rebecca. You won't regret it.”

He'd like to say he promised, but experience had taught him that making promises was a dangerous thing to do.

•   •   •

Rebecca
stood by the lane watching until Matt's buggy disappeared behind the trees along the road. Was she doing the right thing? She could only pray she wouldn't regret this decision.