Rebecca's Choice (21 page)

“I’m leaving by myself,” Matthew hollered, this time from inside the buggy. His hands gripped the lines, ready to release them.

Rebecca knew he wouldn’t dare leave without her. If he did it would be the end of his privileges with the single buggy. She smiled at him as she climbed in, and he made a face. As Matthew let the lines out and the horse shot forward, their father came out of the house to get his own horse.

“You’d better take it easy,” Rebecca warned him. “Maybe I should drive.”

That Matthew wouldn’t let her was a forgone conclusion. The very idea was a joke in itself. To drive into church with his sister at the lines might well destroy his masculinity beyond repair.

Matthew confirmed her conclusions with a snort through his nose.

“I’m your sweet sister,” she told him.

“All the more reason for me to drive,” he said.

“You are making no sense.”

“Perfect sense,” he said. “I drive.”

After Matthew dropped her off at the end of the walk, Rebecca went in to wait in the wash room, a line of women ahead of her. She left her bonnet and shawl on the corner of the table. Slowly she moved with the line, time seeming to hang still in the air.

She figured most of them knew about her and Emma by now, the news received when they read
The Budget.
What they didn’t know, they were to find out before this day was over. She, Rebecca Keim, had to stay back from communion. It would be the beginning of many uncomfortable days.

Rebecca saw Wilma with several other younger girls. She was certain Wilma would not turn away from her. Drawn by the hope, she walked over and stood beside Wilma, though there were still other women she had not shaken hands with. This morning the matter would have to slide.

“We heard from Milroy,” Wilma whispered.

Rebecca leaned toward her, their shoulders together.

“It’s true. Mom heard from her sister. She talked with Ezra’s wife, Elizabeth, and Emma did leave you almost everything if you marry John.” Wilma’s eyes were big.

“I’m not marrying for money,” Rebecca whispered back.

“I know,” Wilma said, and the line moved toward the living room.

So it is true,
Rebecca thought, as she followed Wilma. Her father’s hope that some new information would surface lay on the hardwood floor, stepped on, squashed flat. Her head hurt already, and the day was young.

They were early Rebecca noticed when the line of girls walked in front of the seated women. Usually the boys were already at their benches. She sat beside Wilma and waited. The house was still and silent, broken only by the soft shuffle of feet on the hardwood floor and the squeak of hard benches as bodies settled down on them.

Rebecca searched for John’s face in the line of boys. They came in, one after the other, almost shoulder to shoulder. They took rapid steps forward, their faces turned to the ground. Rebecca found John’s face and wondered,
Did Father speak with him? Will he stand with me today—in this hour of trouble?

She felt shame in her hope yet yearned for his support.
Is he not to be my husband? Am I within my rights to expect this much of him?
She imagined this might soften the blow. Perhaps it would make it harder for the ministers to leave her dangling in the wind. With John, a minister’s son, by her side and abstaining too, the ministers might have more of a chance of changing their minds.

They would change their decision, she was certain. She had done no wrong. She didn’t regret the past. She felt as if she would do the same thing again, and yet she knew things might not look so to others. Others might misunderstand.
Surely,
she thought,
the tide will soon turn and the matter will clear up.

She found and held John’s gaze, the warmth of his look filling her and almost causing her to gasp. Wilma glanced sideways at her in astonishment. John dropped his eyes, but in the moment of their contact, she knew. She was certain John would stand with her. He would risk all to show them her innocence. He would demonstrate his belief in her. Today they would be together in heart and mind.

With the song announced, the songs began, and they heard the familiar sounds of the ministers’ feet moving upstairs. What they said this morning, Rebecca really didn’t care. The delight of the prior moments still filled her. John would stand with her. With that love she felt impenetrable, like a fortress that couldn’t be breached.

She wondered if it would always be so. Was this what it felt like to be wrapped up in John’s arms and held? Was this how God created love to feel like—so safe and secure, so like Himself? The voices rose all around her in song, and she joined in, her heart full. This surprised her because she knew what would come afterward.

As the ministers returned, the singing stopped. Isaac got up first, and then Bishop Martin completed the last sermon, his voice rose and fell with a rhythmic sound. He closed the service and asked the members to stay seated. The younger children stood up and filed out.

In the silence that followed, Martin got to his feet again and began. The list of items he had to go over was long, which wasn’t unusual. A few old rules needed refreshment, and some new rules needed consideration. Rebecca listened, but her heart wasn’t in it. It didn’t matter anyway. Women would get to express their views when the deacon or one of the ministers came around, but few did. On rule changes, the word of the men carried.

Although she wanted the end of this to come, she dreaded it at the same time. She would soon have to whisper the dreaded words,
Ich kann nett mitt gay
—I can’t go along. She would wish them God’s blessing both because she did wish them a blessing and because it was expected.

Then with his round completed, the deacon would give his report. There was a sister, he would say, who stayed back. She wished them all God’s blessing and hoped by God’s grace to be able to go with them to the sacred table next time.

That it would be so, she knew, just not when. The voice of Bishop Martin went on and on. Then the time came. She spoke, and the report was given. Only one report was given. No brother stayed back and wished them God’s blessing.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

R
ebecca felt frozen to the backless bench. The women stood up and moved toward the kitchen. Wilma turned to look at her.

“So you did it?” she whispered.

Rebecca nodded, the answer obvious. “I had to.”

“I know,” Wilma said.

Wilma would think something was wrong if she didn’t move soon. Rebecca forced herself to her feet, her legs still weak. John had not stayed back.
Is Father to blame?
His arguments surely made sense, but sense did not console her heart. Her heart was gripped in the horror of what lay ahead. Communion was in two weeks, and she would stay back alone.

Rebecca told herself John’s decision was understandable, but the pain wouldn’t go away. Her heart ached as she joined in with lunch preparations. She carried peanut butter bowls, refilled the pickle jars, smiled when spoken to, and finally got to eat, the food tasteless in her mouth.

John would soon pick her up at the end of the walk, and she knew her face would show the hurt. She could make an effort to hide the fact, but things were beyond that. The attempt might not work either. Since the accident John was different, more sensitive, and would know anyway.
Why then did he not join me?

Wilma must have sensed her distress and seated herself beside Rebecca, even though she had eaten at an earlier table.

“I’m so sorry,” Wilma said, meaning one thing, while Rebecca really hurt over another.

“Thanks,” Rebecca whispered. She was thankful for what Wilma could give, knowing that her troubles with John were things she couldn’t share.

“This is all just so ridiculous,” Wilma said. “It’s not like it’s your fault at all.”

“Some of it is,” Rebecca said.

“Like what? Did you ask for the money?”

“No.”

“Did Emma offer it to you?”

“No.”

“Then tell me how you are to blame?”

“I broke some church rules.” Rebecca followed her urge to say it aloud. Chances were good that word would leak out. Not that she suspected the ministry, they wouldn’t spread confidential matters, but it happened anyway. Better that Wilma know now than hear it some other way. Their friendship might be saved, and she needed friends at the moment.

Wilma made a skeptical face.

“See I used to like a boy in school. His name was Atlee.”

Wilma nodded. “Don’t know him. I never lived in Milroy.”

Rebecca continued. “Anyway, his parents went Mennonite and moved away. Before he left he gave me a ring.”

“A ring?” Wilma’s eyes got big.

“Yes. I kept it until just recently, and then I threw it away.”

“You kept it.” Wilma spoke a little too loudly for Rebecca’s comfort, but she could do little about it. Several women glanced their way.

“Yes,” she said softer this time, in the hopes Wilma took the hint.

“All this time?” Wilma said whispering.

Rebecca nodded.

“Even when you were dating John?”

Rebecca let the look on her face answer.

“How could you?”

“I sort of forgot about it.”

Now Wilma’s face gave away her answer. She wasn’t swallowing the story.

“Really. That’s what happened.”

“So you strung two boys along at the same time?”

“I didn’t,” Rebecca retorted, causing heads to turn again.
This is really stupid,
she thought.
If I argue with Wilma until the day I stay back from communion, everyone will start putting two and two together—if they haven’t already.

“You kept his ring. Did Emma know about this?”

Rebecca hesitated and lost her advantage. “I told her later and asked for counsel.”

“No wonder the ministers are upset,” Wilma said.

“It makes sense,” Rebecca said, “from my point of view.”

“Maybe to you,” Wilma said, “but not to the rest of us. You really need to make things right both with God and the church. It’s awful. Emma has to give you money to make you marry John. Really, Rebecca.”

Rebecca shook her head.

The look of horror was already on Wilma’s face. “So that explains it.”

“Explains what?” Rebecca wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“The accident. That’s why you were so sure of yourself. You stayed with John even when it looked like he was a cripple. Here I thought you were so wonderful and blamed myself for thinking I’d leave if my boyfriend was a cripple for life. You were doing it for money.”

“No,” Rebecca said trying again.

Wilma had moved away. Only a few inches, but the gulf was fixed. It stretched across two hearts, and the gap could not be mended.

The heavy silence settled over them, and Rebecca knew more words were useless. What she had intended as an extended hand, a heart shared, had turned bitter in a moment.

“You really need to make things right,” Wilma whispered.

“How can I?”

“You must,” Wilma said. “Your soul is in danger. Selling your love for money. What will John say when he finds out? You’ll be excommunicated. He’s a minister’s son.”

That he was, Rebecca well knew. Earlier this morning she would have whispered back, “He understands.” Now she said nothing.

“I’ll try to help you when I can,” Wilma said, obviously trying to salvage what once was, but the gulf stood between them.

“You can’t do anything.”

“I know.” Wilma nodded, then stood to leave. “I have to go. Will just left to get his horse.”

Too distracted by the conversation to have noticed, Rebecca wondered whether John had already left for his horse. She tried to control her emotions while searching the room of men and boys. Some were still in the house, others out in the yard. Frantically her mind flew to the fact that John might already be outside with his horse in line, frustrated and ready to go but held back by the lines. What was she to do?

She dreaded the moment ahead. John had not stayed back. She would have to face him and hear his apology, given for whatever the reason. None of which would heal the hurt, now made even more painful by the severing of a deep friendship. Her world lay unraveled before her eyes.

Had the very heavens forsaken her? Had judgment come for sins she was unaware of? The possibility seemed real. She continued to search for John’s face, driven by force of habit. Regardless of her own pain, it wasn’t necessary to add to his by embarrassing him in public.

She needed to find her bonnet and shawl and go outside. If John wasn’t in line, the mistake would be understood better than the alternative. At the very least, the boys would laugh at John’s girlfriend, at her eagerness to be with him. That was better than to have her present reluctance known.

She stepped outside, women ahead and behind her. Women who knew where they were, where their husbands or boyfriends were. She searched the line of buggies but didn’t see John. Four buggies down, her father’s surrey came into focus. Matthew, alone now, was evidently overjoyed to be in his own buggy.