Rebecca's Choice (35 page)

“Reuben,” she called. Then louder, “Reuben.”

A man simply didn’t die so quickly. She was certain of it. Yet Reuben was not one to tease her either, especially in matters such as this. Gently she moved his head and noticed, for the first time, the board she had set on the ground. Its upraised edge cut across Reuben’s neck. She knew then, without being told, that Reuben was dead.

Her instincts screamed that Reuben must be moved, taken out of this horrible place, but she overpowered them. In the midst of reaching for his arms with the intention to pull him with all her might toward the door, she stopped.

Will I not be blamed for this?
There were
Englisha
people who would come. They would ask questions. They would investigate and be suspicious of her. Reuben would have to stay where he was, so they could see what had happened, that she had not caused this.

She left him surrounded by goats. Shuddering at the sight but driven by necessity, she ran across the road to the neighbor’s house. She and Reuben never went there to call—Reuben didn’t want to be a bother—but in his death, there was no choice.

Her knock was answered, her breathless pronouncement noted. “I’ll call right away,” Mrs. Henderson said, and Rachel ran back to the barn.

She kept the goats away, drove them back with a vengeance, and that was how they found her. She stood near his body, her face dry of tears, her soul in shock. They asked questions as she knew they would, and she answered them in detail, and then said it all over again to someone else.

They seemed satisfied. The ambulance soon left with the stretcher, the white sheet over his body. She told them what funeral home the Amish used in Rushville. Then Luke arrived, his horse foamed at the mouth from the hard drive, followed by Ezra and his wife. Word quickly reached the corners of the Amish community. Men and women left what they were doing to be with those who suffered.

It was Luke who asked the remaining police officer about the cause of his father’s death.

“I’m not medical, son,” the officer told him. “I suppose the doctor will give you his final report. The first responders thought his neck was broken up in the C4 range. Spinal shock. Your father fell on the edge of a board.”

Luke stood there, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Sorry, son,” the officer said. “You’d better stay with your mother. Make sure she doesn’t go into shock. She was there when it happened.”

Luke nodded numbly and walked toward the house. Buggies pulled into the yard all around him. Rachel sat inside on the couch, as the tasks of her house were taken over by others. Already women washed the supper dishes, their voices hushed. She made a place on the couch for Luke when he came in.

Luke sat beside her and took her hand. The tears came down his cheeks, as if they never would stop. Rachel pulled him toward her, her son, her firstborn, and held him tight. She saw before her eyes the days that would come—the funeral, the burial, and the loneliness she would experience without Reuben. She knew she should feel sorrow, yet she watched in horror as joy rose in her heart. Reuben no longer stood between her and the money.

She bit her lip fiercely and leaned her head against Luke. She told herself she was evil, that Reuben shouldn’t have died, but the pleasure wouldn’t go away. Inside of her the child was still.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SEVEN

I
n Miller’s Furniture store the phone rang, its shrill sound filling the empty building. The phone rang a dozen times, and then was silent. In the living room across the fields, John waited, a calm hush in the house. Bishop Martin and Aden had come over for the evening with their wives. The two women were in the kitchen, preparations for a simple supper under way. Since this was an illness of a minister, more visitors might be expected. Those already there would eat when supper was ready and feed any others as they arrived.

John noticed Lester and his brother-in-law Stephen driving their buggy into the driveway. John thought at first Rebecca might have decided to come. He jumped up from his chair but saw by the time he stepped out into the yard that she had not. He then told Lester the news.

Isaac had come out of surgery a little after twelve. The surgeon hoped for the best because the blood clot had been removed. Aden had called the hospital in Cincinnati at six again, but nothing had been definite. He had also updated John’s sister again by leaving a message at the neighbor’s house she used for emergencies. Miriam had said she saw a lot of color in Isaac’s face and that he seemed to have recognized her for the brief moment she was allowed in his room.

Lester thanked John, and the two left again.

Inside the house Aden’s wife announced that supper was ready. The bishop and Aden motioned for John to go first. Because no other visitors had come yet, they were to sit around the table apparently. John took his place and was surprised he could be so hungry. Under the circumstances he expected otherwise, but the warm vegetable soup, its rich aroma rising to his face, drew him in.

Bishop Martin led the group in prayer, giving thanks for the goodness of God, for being with them that day, and for helping the doctors during Isaac’s surgery. When he was done, another buggy came up the driveway, and another one arrived after that. They both pulled up to the hitching post and tied up.

John, already on his feet and prepared to go outside, was told by Aden to sit down.

“I’ll take care of them,” his uncle said. “You need to eat.”

“I suppose so,” John said, his smile weak.

“Your mother taking this well?” the bishop asked, when Aden had left.

“Seems to. She’s often worried about something like this happening,” John told him.

“Ya, we all do,” the bishop said nodding. “Old age comes.
Da Hah
has seen fit for us to drink that cup.”

John thought about blurting out his regrets regarding his disagreement with his father, but he would have to include the reason why. He must wait, he had decided earlier, until Rebecca could be present. It would be better that way. Rebecca could hear and decide for herself when the moment came. If he spoke to her beforehand, she might be persuaded against her better judgment.

The bishop ate his soup slowly, the spoon rose and fell the full length of his beard. John wondered what the bishop’s reaction to the disagreement would be. Would he be shocked, astonished that Isaac’s son thought about joining the Mennonites? No doubt he would, and John had doubts again about the wisdom of his plan. Perhaps it might be better to wait, let the matter blow over. He pushed the emotions aside and resolved to do what he felt was right.

“I need to speak with you sometime,” he said, his voice low. Outside he could see Aden talking with the two couples who had just arrived. They then made their way slowly toward the house.

“Oh?” Bishop Martin said raising his eyebrows.

“About Rebecca and me.”

“Yes. That might be good. We have time tonight, maybe when the others leave.”

“I would like… for Rebecca to be here.”

“You are wise,” the bishop said nodding his head. “It’s a serious matter before us.”

“I know,” John replied. Aden came in the front door, pausing to hold it as the others walked through. They came over to shake hands with John and Bishop, and then went to get plates for themselves.

The evening wore on. The conversation ebbed and flowed around stories of others who had suffered strokes and the hope of Isaac’s recovery. Aden went to call the hospital from the furniture store, just before everyone left, and came back with a good report. Miriam said the doctor had been in to see Isaac and was satisfied.

John didn’t think the look on Aden’s face matched the news he brought and so was not surprised when Aden continued, “A call came through from Milroy just as I was ready to leave. Reuben Byler died this evening.”

The mood in the room changed instantly. “How?” Bishop asked. “He was not an old man.”

“In a fall in the goat barn. Off a stepladder. Rachel was with him, holding the stepladder, they thought. I guess the goats acted up, and Rachel couldn’t hold the ladder. The funeral’s on Monday.”

“We will have to go,” Bishop said. He glanced at his wife beside him on the couch. She nodded her agreement.

“Two things in one day,” Aden said. He sat down on a chair brought in from the kitchen. “At least the news about Isaac is good.”

“
Da Hah
takes, and
Da Hah
gives,” Bishop said, his voice soft. “He has perhaps seen good to spare us a good man. Your father is that, John.”

“I know,” John said in agreement.

“We should be going,” Aden spoke up. “Perhaps we should go to the funeral too. They are relatives.”

“It’ll be a large one,” Bishop said and got to his feet. To John’s surprise he motioned for him to follow. Outside the bishop’s wife, as if by some secret signal, walked on past them and climbed into the buggy.

The bishop cleared his throat, the light from the gas lantern playing on his face. “I thought perhaps we should talk now—about you and Rebecca.”

John wasn’t sure what to say.

“I know you wanted Rebecca to be here, but we will be gone over Sunday. This matter has dragged on long enough. It would be a great relief to my mind… to find an answer to the problem.”

“I would like that.” John cleared his throat, his jaw tense.

“Has your father’s stroke anything to do with you and Rebecca?”

“We spoke last night,” John said but decided to offer no more. He still didn’t think it wise to get too far into this conversation, lest he have to reveal his final intentions. But one didn’t rebuff a bishop’s interest.

“Isaac told me how much he was burdened down with this. You are his only son, John, and have always been in the church standard. I must say this has troubled both of us plenty.”

“Rebecca has only spoken the truth,” John said. “She will return the money after the marriage. There is no other way to do this.”

“I know,” Bishop Martin sighed. “I must say this has gone on long enough. There is just nothing good coming out of all this. If we keep going on, with how people feel about this, soon we’ll have to do things we don’t want to. We’ll have to take steps—steps for which there is no real reason. What did you speak about to your father last night?”

“Of my talk with Lester and Mattie,” John said because he had to answer the question.

“Oh…” the bishop said showing interest.

“Lester asked me over. We talked with Rebecca and Mattie.”

“Did you come to any conclusion?”

John thought he shouldn’t but then blurted it out. “That we marry this fall—before communion time. That way Rebecca will have time to give back the money.”

“And Lester agreed with this?”

“Yes.”

“And your father? Did he think it would work?”

“No,” John said. “That was when I said some things. But I wanted Rebecca to be here for that.”

“He’s a good man.” The bishop smiled in the darkness, the living room light casting shadows on his beard. “So he thought it wouldn’t work?”

“Yes,” John said, surprised where the conversation was going.

“Then perhaps I should surprise him,” the bishop chuckled. “Relieve his mind. Especially now that
Da Hah
has spared him from a stroke.”

“But the deacon?” John caught his breath.

The bishop smiled again and lay his hand on John’s shoulder. “You leave the deacon to me, son. He’s the deacon. I’m the bishop. You two just go ahead and plan that wedding. Get it over with in time for communion. You won’t let me down, will you?”

“No,” John choked.

“You can tell your father. It might help him get better faster. I must attend the funeral. We’ll drive out tomorrow, I suppose. Keep us off the roads on Sunday.”

“Thank you,” John said.

“Don’t worry about it.” The bishop turned to leave. “Just take care of that girl.” Then he was gone, his walk slow. John thought he saw a limp in his step on the way to the buggy.