Rebecca's Choice (11 page)

There were so many threads in the story Clara told. They all tied in with her article and yet threatened it at the same time. Emma had been such a good person, everyone agreed on that point. Ruth knew this from her own school experience and from what others said. She had never gone to Emma’s school, but Emma’s reputation and word of her methods had reached her school.

Yet, now Emma had done a strange thing. There was no doubt about it. This action threatened to increase the misconception of the weird old maid—an image so typical and easily associated with a woman who chooses to remain single throughout her life—a tragedy, Ruth thought, and no doubt unjustified.

In a zealous fervor, she wrote her
Budget
article. The motive was both to defend Emma’s actions and propagate the finer points of her own article. As a result, she spilled the beans, as they say, and the results went far and wide. Once published in
The Budget,
the matter could no longer be ignored, even if one wished to.

Rachel first became aware of Ruth’s work when Reuben, deep in
The Budget
the first night of its arrival, grunted mightily. Rachel bitterly thought he sounded like one of his billy goats.

“Now that’s a stupid thing to do,” he said. “Doesn’t Margaret have any sense anymore?” Then he found the name at the bottom and grunted again. “Why’d she let her do it?”

Rachel found enough interest in this outburst to draw her attention, although little else associated with Reuben did of late. She had yet to recover from the shock she received at the lawyer’s office and doubted, in her private moments, whether she ever would. There were some things in life, she told herself, from which one did not return to normal.

“Let me see,” she said and held out her hand.

Reuben looked like he was on the verge of saying something—as if that would do much good, she thought—then changed his mind. He gave her one page of the paper. The rest he kept and continued reading.

Rachel found the place Reuben had commented on and read the article.

    The funeral for our local long-time schoolteacher, Emma Miller, was held this past week. Family and friends attended from too many places to mention. Emma was highly regarded by all. Her former pupils and their parents had much good to say.

    Emma lived the life of a single woman and never married. While many consider such a choice to be strange and often forced by circumstances beyond the individual’s control, Emma considered none of these things to be against her. She apparently was single by choice and in good standing with the church all of her life. Emma displayed an excellent example of a godly life to all who knew her.

    Reports have surfaced that Emma left all her worldly possessions to Rebecca Keim from West Union, Ohio, on the condition that Rebecca marry an Amish man. While this might also be considered strange, it could well be in line with the godly life Emma lived, in which she considered both a single life and a married life to be of equal value.

“There is a God in heaven,” Rachel said. Her face lit up with hope. She clutched the page of gray paper against her chest with both hands, unaware of the ink stains the grip left on her fingers.

“It was a mighty stupid thing to do,” Reuben said, looking up from his own section of the paper. “There can be nothing but trouble from such things. They should be kept quiet. Instead, it’s been broadcasted from the rooftops. Only
Da Hah
knows how such things ought to be said. Humans ought to stay out of His business.”

“He is doing His business,” Rachel said, a smile on her face.

Over in his chair, Reuben glanced at Rachel as she got up and walked out to the kitchen.

Across the state line on Wheat Ridge, Miriam found the article after supper. She handed the page silently to Isaac. He read it and went back over the words twice.

“So it’s true,” he said, as he returned the page to Miriam.

“That’s what it says.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know.”

“You just trying to protect her?”

“Don’t think so,” Isaac said. “I just want to be fair.”

Miriam nodded. “We should be. It’s very possible she doesn’t know.”

“Would Emma just do this out of the blue? There has to be some connection somewhere.”

“Now you’re doubting Rebecca.”

“Maybe, yet we have no reason to.”

“No, we don’t,” Miriam agreed. “She has always behaved herself above suspicion.”

“Should we tell John?”

“Maybe.” Miriam sounded noncommitted. “You think he can handle it?”

“He’s better at those things since the accident.”

“It matured him,” Miriam agreed.

Isaac walked over to the stair door and opened it. “John,” he called, “come down here for a minute.”

He waited until John’s door opened, the light from the room flooding the hallway. Isaac, now that he knew John would come, walked back to his rocking chair and sat down.

“Yes,” John said, sticking his head through the doorway, “you called.”

“Sit down,” Isaac said. “You need to read this.”

John raised his eyebrows. He wondered what could be in
The Budget
that required such urgent reading. If someone had died, his parents would simply tell him. If other reasons existed, they were beyond him.
The Budget
normally didn’t contain any great secrets begging for special attention or that required reading in the presence of parents.

Isaac pointed with his finger toward the heading of Milroy, Indiana. “It concerns Rebecca,” he said simply. He now had John’s full attention.

John read quickly, yet he hardly believed what he read. “There must be some mistake,” he said, the paper drooping in his hands.

“Probably not,” Isaac told him. “There might be a reason, though. Rebecca might not know.”

“Why is it in here then?” John asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know,” Isaac told him.

“Maybe John ought to look into it,” Miriam suggested.

Isaac shook his head. “Don’t push him. This is hard enough. There may be a simple explanation.”

“There may not be,” Miriam said. John stood and stared out the window and into the darkness.

“I’d better go over,” he said, a great weariness filling his voice.

“Surely it can wait,” Miriam stated. “You’ll see her at the youth gathering. There is one this week, isn’t there?”

John nodded. “There is. This thing will be all over the place by then. I’d better know first. Aden might even ask.”

“You shouldn’t doubt her,” Isaac said, as John went to get his coat and shoes.

“I don’t,” John said. “We just need to talk.”

“Poor boy,” Miriam said, as he went out the door.

“Poor girl too,” Isaac added. “Seems like they’ve been through enough.”

“Maybe it’s not a big deal.”

“Perhaps,” Isaac said but didn’t sound too convinced.

Rachel sat at the living room desk, her hands busy with another letter. Reuben saw her when he glanced up from his section of
The Budget,
the part he had left to read. He then scanned the room, searching for the rest of the paper. On the other end of the couch, he caught sight of it. When he went to pick it up, he thought to ask Rachel what she had written but changed his mind.

When she finished the letter, Reuben saw her sign her name, seal the envelope, put a stamp on it, and set the letter on the desk. He dared to catch a look at the address as he went to bed. The letter was addressed to West Union, Ohio. The recipient’s name was covered by a book.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

A
s he hitched up his driving horse, John felt a great sorrow sweep over him. Perhaps, he thought, it was the lateness of the evening. Perhaps his body rebelled against the drive after a hard day’s work. He knew, though, it wasn’t either of those reasons. The memories of another drive he had made at night haunted him. Then too he had left in haste. Would this one also end in tragedy?

John told himself it wouldn’t. This time he wouldn’t drive to Rebecca’s place in fear with doubts running through his mind, causing his whole body to hurt. He would go because he loved and trusted her and needed to stop this before it got any worse. That it could get worse, he was sure of. He only had to remember his parents’ faces to know the answer.

He got in the buggy and urged his horse on. They drove down the long slope of Wheat Ridge toward the town of Unity. When he passed his place on the right, he gave it only a quick glance—not quick because little could be seen of the house in the dark, but quick because he thought the fear could rush in. The fear might come in like a lion if he even thought of what all might be at stake.

The noise from the clattering of his horse’s hooves crossing the Harshville covered bridge disturbed him for some reason. The peeping of the frogs and songs of the night birds suddenly became silent. Although the racket was amplified in the still night air, it was not unusual nor any louder than normal, heard a hundred times before when he drove across the bridge. Yet the occurrence seemed ominous, threatening, a foreboding of danger to come.

John shook his head and slapped the reins. The horse jerked forward, then slowed back to its steady pace.
We’ll make it,
he told himself.
We have been through so much already. God will not forget us. There is a reason for all of this.

He felt a calm come over him and found the Keim driveway easily. The pull of the reins came too quickly, and the buggy bounced, as it hit the side of the culvert. John pulled left sharply and missed the bump with his back wheel. He shook his head again. At the barn he found his usual place to tie the horse. Since he had no plans to stay long, he didn’t unhitch the buggy.

A light burned brightly in the living room, two of them he was sure because he heard the loud hissing sound of the lamps. He knocked on the door. There was a pause in which he felt a moment of hesitation and the possibility of a returning fear, but he gathered himself together.