Rebecca's Choice (25 page)

“I thought you weren’t getting into such troubles.” Rebecca teased him.

He made a face at her.

“Now… now. We all grow up. Let’s just be thankful for that,” Lester said. He bowed his head in prayer, and they all followed.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SIX

R
ebecca excused herself as soon as the supper dishes were done. Her mother seemed to understand her haste to get upstairs. “Let me know what they say,” Mattie whispered because the others were in the living room.

“I need to talk to you later,” her father said, as she walked to the upstairs door.
The Budget
lay open on his lap.

“Surely not,” she said, her eyes searching what he had read.

“No,” he said chuckling and then sobered. His eyes made a motion around the room. Rebecca knew what that meant—when the others are in bed. She wished he didn’t want to talk tonight, obviously about something serious. It didn’t take much for her to venture a guess.

From the size of the envelope, the letters would occupy her time all evening. Yet her father’s talk would have to take priority.

“Yes,” she said and opened the stair’s door.

Apparently Mattie overheard and stuck her head in from the kitchen. “You should do it now, Lester,” she said. “Rebecca has some reading to do.”

“The children.” His gaze went around the room again.

“I know,” Mattie responded. “Can it wait?”

“I suppose so,” he said smiling. “It’s trouble that doesn’t seem to go away.”

Rebecca felt relief, thankful for the allowance of time this evening to spend with her beloved Emma’s letters. Perhaps she would find courage, even hope, from them to face the subject her father wished to address.

“Thanks,” she said, “maybe tomorrow night.”

Her father nodded, focusing on his
Budget.

She took the first two steps of the stairs and shut the door behind her. In her room, she gently opened the package and a multitude of letters tumbled out. Twelve, she counted slowly, and a cover letter, apparently written in a man’s hand.

She lit her kerosene lamp, opened the window shade to let in what daylight remained, and sat on the bed.

Dear Rebecca,

I haven’t met you yet, but will have by the time you read this letter. I have already cried my tears over what is contained in these letters. I don’t know what your response will be. I hope it all turns out well. If it were up to me, I would not pass this on to you, and perhaps I won’t once I meet you. Obviously if you are reading this, I already have.

These are letters I had no idea existed. Emma sent them to me, at my office in Berlin, Ohio, just the other week. All of them were stamped but unopened, till I opened them. They are the record of a part of her life no one knew about. I wish she had not kept it secret, especially from me, but regrets are too late now.

She will refer back to letters I wrote her. I think it’s self-explanatory, so I have not included them. And just so we are clear with each other, Atlee doesn’t know what is contained in these letters. He knows only that he wishes things had turned out differently between the two of you.

I told him he ought to speak with you, and he said he would. That was when I told him to wait until I received your response. I hope with all my heart the two of you will not make the same mistake Emma and I made.

The letters are dated, and let me assure you, Emma wants you to read them. The explanation comes at the end.

The best,

Manny Troyer

Rebecca found the first letter, its date written on the outside, written in what she recognized as Emma’s handwriting. Many times she had seen that neat handwriting during school years, the letters written in large expressive curves. She opened the letter and turned the kerosene lamp up as high as it would go. Just before the moment the flame turned into smoke, she stopped.

“Manny,” it began.

I just got your letter today. I won’t call you “dear” or some such thing. Not because I don’t want to, but because it hurts too much. I know you know as well as I do, this must go no further. My brother spoke to me at length, and I think sense has entered my head. You surely know he meant no harm. He does what he thinks is God’s will about this matter.

My intense feelings are evident. I have only to pause to feel the pain or look into my heart to see how much I care about you. Remember when you dropped me off the last time and Mullet, “M-Jay” as we call him, was there? At first I was angry that he would interfere. I now see this was the kindest thing he could have done. He sees his move as the rescue of his sister, and I have to agree, Manny, no matter how much it hurts.

The world is what it is, Manny. Surely you can see that. Our worlds are so far apart. Our people think so completely differently. In some ways it would be easier had you been from the
Englisha.
At least then I could think of leaving it all behind, running off into the night perhaps because that is what it would seem like to me. Surely you understand.

Why my heart doesn’t agree with me, I don’t understand, but as M-Jay says, we must not be led around by our hearts. It is already given to another, to God, who has called us to a higher purpose. Sunday at preaching, you were all I could think about. I felt so unclean, so wrong in bringing my fleshly desires into the very temple of God. That is how it seemed to me.

When I listened to what the preacher said, I was even more ashamed. It seemed as if he were speaking to me, Manny. Maybe you don’t understand. I think and hope you do. Can you not see what forsaking the world means to me? It means you. I heard the message so clearly.

I suppose you suspected the preacher knew about us, but I know he didn’t. Only M-Jay knows, and he is too loyal to me to spread such things around. His heart is like gold, Manny. I wish you would believe that.

Just writing this, I know I will never mail this letter. I’m sorry, Manny. If I did I know where the path would lead—right back to you. I would not be able to resist if I knew that you knew. It is better this way, to walk in the will of God in silence, to live a life of holiness.

It is holy, Manny. It is. I tell myself that when my pillow is wet with tears. I whisper your name when I can no longer stand the pain. Surely God will understand, since I did not seek out this love for you. The preacher said it was lust, lust for the world. I heard him as plain as day, though he could not have known about us.

How could he know how much I want to see you? How could he know how much my heart yearns, aches with feeling? Did God do this? I cannot believe He did. It must be right. How could it be otherwise. We must have fallen, Manny, fallen with the rest of the world. This must be what Eve felt
when she saw the apple in the garden. If it is, then I am not surprised that she ate it.

Manny, I know you never dared kiss me. You didn’t because you thought you’d preserve what was sacred to you. Perhaps you thought that in your touch I would feel we were unclean and turn away from you. You cannot know, I suppose, but if you had tried I might not have been able to resist.

I can only imagine what your kiss would have been like. The burning, the flame it would have ignited in me. Yet in my imagination I can resist, but in reality I’m afraid I couldn’t. So, Manny, your holiness was your undoing, if you want to look at it like that.

For this I have you to thank. I hope God will reward you for your effort. There are other girls in your world much better suited for you than I am. Surely you know that.

Emma Miller

Rebecca let her breath out. The sound came slowly, as if she hadn’t breathed for a long time. So Emma had loved a man. Her hand paused, then reached for the next letter. The single page came out easily.

Manny,

I will not say “dearest” or “I love you” even at the end because this is the end, Manny. I received your second letter, then your third. I write now to keep my heart from breaking. That is the only reason. I will never mail this letter. It cannot be.

The pain is almost more than I can bear. I know now that you feel the same. I also see that you have come to the same conclusion I did. What we feel cannot go further. I did see you at the door when you came. It took all the control I had to keep from opening that door and running into your arms.

I know the gulf into which I would have fallen would have been my damnation. I told myself so again and again all the time you stood there. It seemed like hours, though it couldn’t have been. I watched you go, saw your broad shoulders and your firm step even in your rejection.

I cannot believe God made a man more wonderful than you, Manny. I just can’t understand why He would have to make him a Mennonite, but then perhaps that is our fallen state. I place my mind on spiritual things, as the preacher said the other Sunday. It is the only way I save myself from insanity—that and putting these thoughts on paper.

I never would have imagined my heart to be capable of what it feels. The preacher said that too. How wicked our hearts can be. How they betray us. How their depths are past finding out. Only God can find them out and judge them properly. I hope He is judging mine.

So it is goodbye. I suppose I knew that when I didn’t go to the door, but your letter made it official. My writing the words down makes it even more so. I hope God is watching as we part ways. I hope He finds pleasure in the cost. His altar is hard, His requirements seem too much at times, yet we must forsake everything. I just never knew what everything was.

Goodbye, Manny. I have no tears left to cry. I hope you find our love again in the eyes of another girl, in her arms. I say that, but I’m screaming a silent “no” so loud it must be heard throughout the house. This is silly, I know, but it seems real.

It feels as if I’m dead inside, as if the sun will never come up again, yet of course it will, just as life will go on. I kiss this page because I know it will not lead me astray as your lips would have.

Emma Miller

Rebecca folded the page carefully, her emotions in shock at what she had read, in unbelief that Emma could have written them. Yet there it was, all clearly in Emma’s handwriting. Otherwise, she knew, she would not have believed this possible.

Outside in the hall, she heard Matthew’s footsteps on the stairs, heard him pass her room, and then the door shut with a soft click.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SEVEN