Rebecca's Choice (15 page)

“They like you,” he assured her. “We can look at the chips in my room.”

He was certain she blushed, but he kept his eyes on the lane. At the blacktop he turned back the way they had come. At the river they rattled across the bridge again and drove up Wheat Ridge Road toward Unity.

Isaac and Miriam were already seated in the living room when they walked in. John figured the conversation with his father could wait, so he led Rebecca toward the stairs door.

“We have some things to look at,” he said as explanation. He knew a silly grin played on his face, and he made no attempt to hide it.

“You can put your things in there,” Miriam said to Rebecca. John was surprised at the sober look on her face.

“We’d better talk first,” Isaac said. He rose from his chair, then must have thought better of it and sat down again.

“Really. This can wait,” Rebecca told John and went toward the sewing room. She came back out with her hands empty. John waited until Rebecca was seated before joining her on the couch.

“Bishop Martin received a letter yesterday from a Rachel Byler. Do you know her, Rebecca?” Isaac asked, his voice gentle but firm.

“Well…yes,” Rebecca said. John thought her voice sounded hesitant, uncertain.

“How much does she know about your life? Your past life?”

“Dad,” John interrupted.

Isaac held up his hand. “Son, this is a serious matter. Hard as this may seem, the whole world apparently will soon hear this. We might as well be ahead of the news.”

“But…Rachel,” Rebecca began, then must have changed her mind. “I don’t know. What would she say about me?”

“She’s one of the family. Emma’s will,” Isaac said.

“I have nothing to do with the will,” Rebecca told him.

“So you said,” Isaac paused, apparently in thought. John knew the conversation wasn’t over.

“What I said was true,” Rebecca told him.

“We don’t doubt you,” Miriam assured her.

“It’s what you might not have said,” Isaac continued.

“This is really painful,” Miriam interrupted. “We all wish this wouldn’t be happening.”

“What is happening?” Rebecca sat up straight on the couch, her back pulled away from the back cushion.

“You told John about Atlee, correct?” Isaac asked.

“Yes,” Rebecca said nodding.

“Dad,” John said again.

“Have you told him everything?” Isaac continued.

“As far as I know.”

“There’s something about a ring—the one Atlee gave you?” Isaac asked, leaning forward in his rocking chair.

“Oh…” was all Rebecca said.

“You didn’t tell John that?” Isaac asked.

She shook her head.

“Maybe you had better tell us now.”

“We had nothing to do with this,” Miriam interrupted. “It was in the letter—the one Bishop Martin received.”

“How would Rachel know about that?” Rebecca seemed to ask the question to no one in particular, her face drawn in pain.

“It doesn’t matter how she knew,” Isaac said. “It matters only if it’s true.”

“It’s true,” Rebecca said, her gaze looked blank, fixed on the living room wall. “Atlee gave me one when we were in school.”

“But Rebecca,” John said, finally finding his voice, “you didn’t mention that in the hospital.”

“I know,” she said. Her eyes focused on his face. They looked frightened, John thought, and his heart reached out to her. “I didn’t think it was important. I did tell you everything else.”

“She did. I still remember even though my brain was fogged up,” John said but didn’t feel like he ought to add anything else. Their conversation had been private, almost sacred to him, not to be spoken of in the presence of his parents.

“Do you still have the ring?” Isaac asked.

Rebecca shook her head.

“When did you have it last?”

“Before Christmas.”

“Last year?”

Rebecca nodded.

“You were a church member then, not just a schoolgirl. You know that.”

Rebecca nodded again.

“I’ll have to pass this on,” Isaac said. “I hope Bishop Martin will understand.”

“You know he won’t,” John spoke up.

“I still have to tell him,” Isaac said. “Someone will let you know what is decided then.”

John glanced at Rebecca’s face, now that his father was done. It was all the time he needed to decide. “Get your things,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

Back in the buggy, he saw her eyes fill with tears. He drove slowly. Where they went, here or there, made no difference at the moment, and he assumed Rebecca felt the same. Above them the sky was still clear, the weather even warmer than earlier. Yet he knew they had just experienced the first cloudburst of a hurricane. He needed no words from Rebecca to know she also knew.

“You should have told him,” he said, as they drove through Unity, “about needing the ring to meet Atlee.”

“That was not for their ears,” Rebecca told him.

“It just made the situation worse.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t,” she said, her lips tightly pressed together.

“I’ll try to talk to Dad when I get back.”

“Don’t do that either. The problem’s not him.”

“Then who is it?” he said almost shouting. “Who is pushing this stuff? Who’s behind these rumors, the letters to me and to the bishop? What about the money coming to you if you marry Amish—if you don’t marry English?”

“Or Mennonite,” she added. “You’re not leaving me, are you?”

“No. Why would I?”

“For lots of reasons,” she said. Her voice trembled, the tears close again.

John held her hand, which didn’t seem to help much.

“It’s the whole world,” she said. “I feel as if it’s out to get me, to get us, to destroy what we have. First the accident and now this—is God against us, John? Do you think He is?”

“No,” he said shaking his head, “He’s for us. I’ve known this since the accident.”

“Then why is He allowing this? Do you know what this could mean? Communion is coming up next month. This ring thing could make the other seem believable. You know people will object.”

“About the money?”

She nodded.

“It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t, John. You know it won’t. Things like this don’t blow over. They have to be solved. The deacon will get involved—you know he will. With the deacon nothing is easy. I had a ring in my possession, and they know that now. They’ll have me do a knee confession, and that would be let off easy.”

“No, they won’t,” John said, horror in his voice.

“How are you going to stop them? It’s not enough to be a minister’s son.”

“I guess you have a point,” John acknowledged, a frown creasing his forehead. “There must be something I can do.”

“Will you still love me?” she asked, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“You know I will.”

“Even if I can’t go along to communion?”

John nodded. “I won’t go either.”

Rebecca shook her head. “That won’t help anything. Go anyway. Will you?”

“First we have to know what they will do. We shouldn’t borrow trouble.”

Rebecca looked at him. “You know Deacon as well as I do.”

“Maybe Bishop Martin will overrule him.”

“With the will hanging over my head?”

John made a face. “Maybe you have to do the confession.”

“It won’t do any good, John.” She bit her lip. “Can’t you see that? The ring proves my motives—at least to them it does. I am guilty not just of the ring, but for wanting to marry you for money. They can’t allow that.”

“They will have to,” John insisted.

She gripped his arm, “You won’t leave me, will you, John? They won’t marry us. Can’t you see that? I’d give the money away—give it to anyone—but I can’t now, not without marrying first. That’s the only way to access the money, to prove my innocence. And they won’t allow us—not now—not with the ring to prove I’m guilty.”

“There has to be some way,” he said, more distraught over her state of mind than with what she had told him.

“A miracle,” she told him, “that’s what it would take. Do you believe in miracles?”

“I believe in you,” he said.

John expected Rebecca’s face to light up, but it didn’t. Instead she sighed and replied, “I’m afraid it’s going to take more than that. A whole lot of other people will have to believe in me too.”

“They will,” he said. “You’re a wonderful person.”

She smiled this time, but the smile fled quickly from her face. John brought the buggy up the Keim driveway and then unhitched by the barn while she waited. There was a youth hymn singing tonight, but he doubted whether either of them should go. Once inside Rebecca shooed her brothers and sisters upstairs and told Lester and Mattie the story.

“You should have told someone sooner,” Lester said, after Rebecca was done.

“It was a detail I didn’t think worth mentioning,” Rebecca replied. “I threw the thing into the river. What was there to say?”

“Apparently plenty,” Mattie said. “What is she going to do, Lester.”

“I’ll see if I can talk to the bishop,” Lester replied.

“I don’t want anyone else in trouble, including John and certainly not you,” Rebecca said firmly.

“It won’t get me into trouble. John maybe, but not me.” Lester shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe the turn of events.

Rebecca yelled up the stairs to let the children know they were free to roam the house again. The rest of the evening was spent in the living room with Lester and Miriam. Only after supper did the two venture up to her room.

The room was dimly lit by a kerosene lamp, its pale light splashing off the walls. Rebecca threw herself on the bed and allowed the tears to spill again, hard and heavy this time.

John felt quite helpless but sat beside her until the emotion receded.

“We should be talking about our plans,” she said. “Instead I’m crying.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

“No, it’s not,” she said, then sat up on the bed. “It won’t be for a long time either—I just know it.”

John couldn’t think what to say, so he said nothing. They let the silence linger, till it brought its own healing of a sort.

“I really should go,” John said. He saw by her alarm clock that ten o’clock approached.

“You won’t doubt me?” she whispered.

“Never,” he said, then left. In the living room, he said goodnight to Lester and Miriam. At the barn he hitched the horse alone and drove slowly down the driveway.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

R
achel Byler tried hard to control her impatience. If someone had been around at the moment, she would have vented. Last night Luke had caught the worst of her fury. Reuben had already gone to bed, but she was up, unable to sleep. She met Luke when he came home from his date with Susie.

“Haven’t you any sense?” she said, confronting him just inside the front door. “There’s still time to change things, Luke. You can dump the girl.”

“I’m not going to.” At the moment Luke had the same look as his father. Perhaps that was what drove her to say what she did.

“I’m taking care of the money,” she told him. “It’s coming our way.”

“I want nothing to do with your plans or your ways,” he said, his face stern. “You leave Susie and me out of it.”

“You used to help. Remember?” Rachel tried another tack. “You took Emma’s letter.”

“Go tell the world, then,” he said and went past her. “I don’t care. If Emma were still here, I’d apologize.”

She watched Luke go upstairs and shut the door behind him. The sound snapped in the night. He was shutting her out from the life he now lived and the control she once had over him. The pain came first, cutting deep into her heart, and then she covered it with anger again.

Rachel had allowed the emotion to rise. She welcomed its strength, embraced its razor edge, because it removed the pain of his rejection. Then she remembered he was her son, her only son, and she redirected the tide against what stood beside Luke—Susie. Rachel definitely didn’t like the girl.

This morning the anger was still there. She intended to remove the problem—Rebecca—the one who stood in the way. The letter would do its good work. Reuben might be lost along the way but not Luke. He was her flesh and blood, carried in her body. Luke was hers and Reuben wasn’t.