Rebecca's Choice (24 page)

“Emma seemed to think you might be tempted to marry for money,” he said, his eyes gazing on the water again.

She knew he waited for her answer. “Then Emma was wrong. I’ll give the money back as soon as I can.”

“Noble,” he said.

She glared at him.

He smiled. “You do look like Emma. Be that as it may, neither of us can do much about the money one way or the other. That’s not really why I came to see you.”

“Really? You have more nice things to say?”

“Not really. Do you trust Emma?”

“Of course,” she said, turning to face him.

“I see.”

“Thought for a minute maybe I shouldn’t go through with it.”

“Would you stop talking in riddles.”

He sighed and settled back. “It’s like this. Emma wants me to give you some letters—letters she wrote to me but never sent. I was her boyfriend way back when.”

She looked sharply at him.

He laughed at her look. “Nothing like that. Just love, not even a kiss, but love.”

“Emma?”

“Yes, Emma.” His tone carried sorrow. “Seems she wants to be noble now. Noble to the end. After it’s too late. Seems a little… well, strange to me, but you knew her better than I did. I mean… in her later life. You sure you trust her?”

Rebecca stood up straight. Emma’s face flashed in her memory. “With all my heart.”

“I… well, I can just leave, and you’d never know. Maybe that would be best. You sure?”

“Of Emma? Yes,” she said.

“I suppose so. Imagine Atlee wants to know too,” he sighed and slowly got to his feet. “I have them in the car. Come.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE

W
hat did you say about Atlee?” she said, standing beside the car, as he reached inside. What he brought out was a small brown package that bulged in the middle. Behind them they heard the sound of a buggy crossing the bridge. She tensed as the sound ended, the clip of hoofs on pavement approached.

“Someone you know?” he asked, when it had passed.

She nodded. That it was the deacon’s wife, she didn’t inform him.

“Oh, Atlee,” he said, as if the thought had just returned.

“Yes,” she said, her mind distracted. “Why would Atlee be interested in Emma and in what she left?”

“Only because it involves you.”

“Me? He’s engaged.”

“Was.” He raised his eyebrows at the look on her face. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t do so well myself.”

“But he knows I’m getting married. He wouldn’t… think I would change that?”

“They had problems anyway. Atlee didn’t know about this then. He thinks it might work in now—at least he wants to know.”

“Wants to know what?” She didn’t try to keep the anger off her face.

“Sorry,” he said. “I really am. As I said, perhaps it was a mistake, but you said you trusted Emma. You want to see what she wrote?” He held out the package.

Rebecca hesitated, then took it, her mind a whirl of conflicted thoughts. Yet the thought of Emma brought sanity to the moment. Emma, her solid rock through her school years, her source of wisdom.

“When you have read them, write me. There’s an address in the front. It’s mine. Either way, please write. I’ll wait, okay?” He made as if to leave.

“Letters?” she asked, the package held at a distance.

“Emma’s,” he replied nodding. “Mine aren’t in there. Not necessary. She wanted you to read hers.”

Rebecca stepped back as he closed the car door, and then he abruptly swung it open again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his smile apologetic. “I forget my manners. Let me drive you home.”

She thought to protest but knew the time to bring in the wash had already passed. Her mother would no doubt have the first hamper inside and be glancing out the window in the direction of the bridge, ever more frantic with each moment that passed.

He opened the car door on her side, and she slid in. With a soft thump, he shut the door, the sound causing a lump to form in her throat. Why she wasn’t sure. It seemed to transport her from one life to another. From a horse and buggy to a car, shut in and caught, yet she had driven in automobiles before.

Perhaps it’s this,
she thought, glancing toward the package on her lap.

He turned the key, looked behind, and eased the car forward. “Getting old,” he said and groaned. “Oh, to be young again.”

She had to chuckle in spite of herself. “You’re not that old. You said you worked in Haiti. Where Mary goes?”

He nodded. “I’m the director there.”

“Not too old for that?”

“Keeps me young,” he said. “Helps at least. Good mission down there. You ever think of visiting?”

“I’m Amish.”

“Amish come,” he said smiling, “from Holmes County, sometimes.”

“That’s what Mary said.”

He slowed down for the Keim driveway, then accelerated up the driveway. Used to the slow climb in a buggy, it seemed just seconds before he stopped beside the kitchen door. Mattie came around the corner of the house, a hamper full of wash in her hands.

“There we are.” He smiled again, then nodded in Mattie’s direction. “Tell your mother not to work too hard. Let me know.”

She thanked him and got out. The car door shut with a soft thump. Mattie nodded her head as he took off, but her smile disappeared the moment the car was out of sight.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Rebecca said. “He’s the executor of Emma’s will.”

Mattie sighed, the cloth hamper clutched in her hands. “That does explain it. I hope you got everything straightened out.”

“Not really. He gave me letters from Emma. I have no idea what’s in them. Let me take that.” Rebecca took the hamper from her mother’s hands.

“I hope it’s not more trouble,” Mattie said, as they walked toward the house. “You really don’t need it.”

“I’m sure anything Emma wrote… won’t cause more trouble.”

“She left you the money,” Mattie told her. “Don’t be too sure. Did anyone see you while you talked to him? What was his name? He told me but I forgot.”

“Manny Troyer. And the deacon’s wife went by.”

“Oh, well… It’s explainable, I should think. Though I’m getting tired of all the explaining. Troyer? He wouldn’t be related to Atlee, would he?”

“He’s Atlee’s uncle.”

Mattie held the front door open. “I don’t like this Rebecca. I really don’t. This is all disturbing, much too disturbing for our lives. For you and John too. Nothing good can come out of all this. First there’s money, lots of it. Then
The Budget
article about you. This is just too much. Now you get a visit from a Mennonite man. At least he’s older. He seemed nice enough. Don’t get me wrong.”

“Maybe this will explain things.” Rebecca motioned with her eyes toward the package that lay on top of the wash.

“One would hope so,” Mattie said sighing. “I have to start supper. Can you handle the rest of the wash?”

“Sure,” Rebecca said, setting the hamper down, “I’ll just put the envelope upstairs.” Her mother had already disappeared into the kitchen.

Rebecca left the package on her dresser, resisting the temptation of see what was inside. That would have to wait until she had more time. Anything from Emma needed to be opened with care, with reverence.

Outside Matthew rattled into the driveway with his four sisters, home from school. The rush of the evening had begun. Downstairs her sisters had their lunch buckets all lined up on the kitchen table and had disappeared themselves, no doubt under orders from Mattie to change. She quickly unpacked and placed the lunch buckets in the pantry and then grabbed the hamper again.

When Rebecca came back inside with another hamper of wash, Katie, the oldest of the school girls, was busy at work, piles of folded wash around her.

“Where’s your sister?” Rebecca said, meaning the next oldest. “She should be helping.”

“She’s out here,” Mattie said from the kitchen. “I’ll need Viola’s help with supper. Martha can put things away. Just tell her how.”

Eight-year-old Martha didn’t look too happy but followed the instructions Rebecca gave her. A trip upstairs with her arms full of folded wash was made without mishap.

“You listen to Katie while I get more,” Rebecca instructed and left for what she hoped would be the last hamper of wash. Not everything fit in, though, and another trip outside to the wash line was needed.

Matthew passed her, on the way to the barn for chores. She stayed until the pile of wash was manageable for her sisters, then joined Matthew in the barn. He was already on the second round of milking, surrounded by the swish of the two milkers and the sound of chewing cows.

Her younger brother would soon be a man, and she was not sure she liked the thought. She felt old herself, filled with the need to slow time down.

“The boys talked about you and John today,” Matthew informed her, his moments free as he waited for a milker to finish. “The older ones.”

“Really,” she said, not that interested.

“They seem to think there’s something to it—you marrying John for money.”

“How did you find out about this?”

“Not from around here,” he said making a face. “If you stay back from communion, then John does too. Doesn’t take too smart a fellow. Even he’ll figure out something’s going on.”

“Emma left me money in her will. We’re not taking it,” she informed him, since he already seemed to know.

“Meaning you and John?”

“Yes.”

“You have to get married first. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Deacon says he’s not allowing it. Staying Amish ought to be from the heart. That’s what his boy said he said. It should never be for money.”

“I had nothing to do with it. Really I didn’t.”

“You didn’t know Emma would do this?”

“No, of course not,” she snapped. “Sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

Matthew shrugged. He bent over to unfasten the milker. The other one quit at the same time, and she went toward it. “I believe you.”

“Thanks.” She felt relief even if he was just her younger brother.

He lifted the milker toward the next cow and used his shoulder to keep its tail away from the machine. The snap struck him across his middle, but he ignored it.

“I’ve seen you and John. I think you love him.”

“I would hope so,” she said, moving to the next cow.

“I mean… not for money. I told the boys that.”

“Thanks,” she said again. A comfortable silence settled between them.

With the third round of cows done, she left Matthew to finish up and returned to the kitchen. Martha and Katie had the wash completed and the supper table set. Her mother motioned toward the oven and said, “The casserole is almost done. Can you see to it?”

Rebecca lifted the steaming pan and carefully placed it on hot pads in the center of the kitchen table. She knew the rest of the routine. She sliced the bread, the thick slabs falling over one by one as she cut. Butter came from the pantry, store bought because her mother claimed it was cheaper than homemade.

The pecan pie came out of the pantry, made two days ago and still fresh. Mattie already had a fresh salad tossed and pulled a pan of just-set Jell-O from the refrigerator. Rebecca found the strawberry and raspberry jam, which joined the bread and butter on the table.

With supper out, Rebecca sat down, while her sisters slid in on the bench seat against the wall. Mattie still bustled about, apparently up to plans for later meals. Rebecca hoped her father and Matthew would be in soon. She couldn’t wait to get upstairs and read Emma’s letters.

“Call Dad,” Mattie said in Katie’s direction.

“I already did,” she said.

“Try again. Things are getting cold,” Rebecca told her.

Katie slid out of her seat, went to the door, and hollered her loudest, “Supper.”

There was no response from the barn, but a door slammed in the distance.

“They’re coming,” Mattie said. She sat down with a sigh. “My, it’s been a long day.”

“It’s report card time next week,” Katie informed her.

“I hope all your grades are good,” Rebecca told them.

“We try,” Viola informed her. “We have a good teacher.”

“You all do,” Mattie told them. “We can be thankful for that. Good teachers are hard to come by. All of you did well last report card time. I’m sure you’ll be okay this time.”

“We work hard,” Katie said.

“I like my little girls,” Mattie told them. Her eyes found each of their faces. “All of you. The big one too. How fast you are growing up.”

Rebecca smiled at her sisters, as they brightened up under their mother’s praise. She was surprised to find she liked it herself, even if she was the big one.

Outside the sound of Lester and Matthew’s entry came with a shuffle of feet. They took turns at the wash bowl, then came straight to the kitchen table.

“My… my, what a feast,” Lester boomed. “We are blessed with a good cook.”

“Just sit down and eat,” Mattie informed him, but the edges of her face showed a smile. Apparently she liked praise too, Rebecca thought.

“I’m going to have a wife, one who cooks like this all the time,” Matthew informed them, as he took his chair.