Rebecca's Return (4 page)

L
uke Byler was sitting in the New Holland front-end loader, his plans of finishing early with the chores running through his mind. The melting snow from the storm a few weeks ago had turned the barnyards muddy. He could see the front barns where the cattle gathered to feed, their split hooves keeping the dirt mashed to a gooey mush from the constant tramping.

Emma didn’t like to see her cattle with mud caked on their undersides, becoming unsightly and unsanitary specimens of fattening beef. The solution was to move the round feeding bins to another spot, allowing this section of the barnyard to dry out. From what he could tell of the weather, winter was just beginning.

In Luke’s pocket was the letter Emma had put out to mail, and which he had retrieved. The letter burned in his pocket, begging to be taken home as quickly as possible. Yet danger lurked around the envelope, like stinging, flying wasps protecting their nest in the summertime. It had no doubt been wrong for him to have taken the letter from Emma’s mailbox. It was, after all, Emma who gave him work, paid him well, and even gave him a little extra at times.

Fear of the consequences and yet delight at the cunningness of his actions had been playing themselves out in Luke’s mind all day.
What if I get caught? Yet how could I get caught? Mail gets lost all the time, and Emma would simply conclude that was the case, if she concluded anything.

Perhaps the letter would never be missed, and was it not his right to have the letter anyway?

Had that not been his right, his family’s right all along, to inherit what was theirs?

With the letter in his pocket, the future could well be secured for them all. Emma was surely giving the farms back to their rightful owners. Now his mother would no longer be able to blame him for holding back, for being a part of the fault that the three family farms were slipping through their fingers. No longer could she blame him for letting his enjoyment of Susie Burkholder blind his eyes to higher and nobler places.

Luke sighed, thinking about the money that would come his way. Then he thought again of Susie.
Funny how she seems to require so little. She just wants attention and affection from me. So why am I so concerned about money if Susie isn’t?
His father, Reuben, didn’t seem to care much for money. In fact, most of the men he knew didn’t care about it either. Or did they?

Maybe there was something he wasn’t aware of, some secret passion missing from his constitution. His mother, Rachel, seemed to think so. Luke could see her disappointment in the way she looked at him when they had conversations about money and farms. The accusation was there, the blame that he didn’t care enough about what really mattered in life—security.

But
did
it really matter? He so easily could just have let it go. Yet here was the letter in his pocket, surely promising otherwise.

Thoughts of last Sunday with Susie, her eyes glowing with the pleasure of having him in her parents’ house, crossed his mind. How she brought out the cookies and brownies on a plate, just a plain white one, nothing fancy. He could tell that she was delighted from the way the cookies lay against each other, the brownies touching just so, the crumbs brushed off the plate and out of sight. Susie cared deeply about him.

It all felt like the old buggy blanket he used. Worn?
Yes.
Poor?
Yes.
But comfortable, at ease, and having a place in his life. Why disturb it, uproot it like a weed in the garden? That’s what this letter now felt like—a danger with its claws out for him, drawing him away to who knows where. Why not just put the letter back and forget it?

Then he remembered his mother, what she would say and how she would look if he told her that he had a letter, gotten it out of Emma’s mailbox, and then put it back.
Luke,
she would say,
I can’t believe what you’ve done.

Her eyes would say,
You are as worthless as your father. A hopeless wreck of a man, who will settle for anything as long as your bed is warm and food is on the table. Never mind that the food is meager and stringy and the bed is covered with hand-me-down quilts your mother made for her wedding night.

Lift your head higher,
she would say, without saying a word, her eyes flashing at him.
Remember Rebecca,
she would say, as he was even thinking now, the image of her going through his mind.

Luke touched the letter in his pocket. He would take it home as soon as he could, let the chips fall where they may. Susie would still be Susie, there for him if he needed her, but there was no reason to let that stop him from walking through a door if one should open. If it was open, he would walk through it.

Letting his breath out, Luke turned the key on the New Holland, waiting while the timer ran down, indicating it was warming up. He then started the engine. It roared to life, black smoke pouring out for a few seconds. Slowly he drove out of the barn, refraining from going too fast until the engine was thoroughly warmed up.

Once through the gate, he got to work on moving the feeding bins with a vengeance, urgency now pushing him on, the news in his pocket needing to be told at home.

The cattle followed him around, seeming to enjoy the spectacle of the semi-airborne feeding bins bouncing across the ground. A few times he had to slow down lest he hit a cow with a steel bin. The delays were frustrating, but broken legs or ribs on the cattle would not be easily explained and would keep him here till late in the day.

With all three bins finally moved from the slippery mud and restocked with new hay, Luke went into the house. He told Emma that he was done for the day and was leaving. For a moment he thought his eyes would betray him with their guilt. Then he got his emotions under control, remembering what was at stake.

With the horse harnessed, Luke was on his way, taking care to drive at the proper speed out of Emma’s driveway. On the way home, his courage faltered again, the seriousness of what he was doing pressing in. Should he return the letter to Emma’s mailbox?

No, having left the farm, Emma would surely see him returning. And there would be his mother’s wrath to contend with if he faltered now. She would surely find out. In her presence, he would give himself away. His guilt before her would betray him even more than his guilt over taking Emma’s letter.

Arriving home, Luke saw his father come out of the barn and pause to watch him drive in.

I’ll have to wait to see Mother. He wants me to do something with the chores.

Pulling up, Luke jumped out to unhitch. His father came over to the other side of the buggy to help with the traces, saving Luke from having to walk around.

“I’m glad to see you home early, Luke,” he said. “I have to go into town. The water main broke during that last storm we had. I only found it today. Wasn’t sure how I was going to feed the cows yet. But this really helps out.”

“How many bales have to go out yet?”

“Only one to the back pasture. I was getting ready when I noticed the wet ground on the west side. The cattle in the upper pasture are already done. You ought to get right to it before dark.”

“I have to tell Mom something first,” Luke stated hastily. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“Just get right to it then.”

“How are you going in? You could use my horse.”

“I’m already harnessed up.” Reuben motioned toward the barn. “I need a fresh horse anyway. Have to get to the supply place before they close at five.”

“Want me to help you hitch up?”

“Sure, I’m in a hurry.”

Assuming that his father was using his double-seated surrey to bring materials home, Luke went over to pull the buggy out. His parents’ surrey was parked inside the barn during winter because they typically used their single buggy for most trips—it was small and light and had just enough room to fit the two of them.

After pushing the barn door open, he brought the buggy out by the time his father returned with the horse. From there it was a simple few minutes to get the horse under the shafts and his father on the road. As the buggy turned south on the paved road, Luke walked toward the house.

His mother was in the kitchen, preparing a salad. Peppers, tomatoes, and cauliflower lay on the counter, waiting to be added.

“I’ve got something you’ll be interested in,” he announced, sure no one else was in the house, but glancing around just to be sure.

“There’s no one here,” she told him, wiping her hands on her white apron. “What is it?”

He sat down at the kitchen table, producing the letter from his pocket, “A letter to Emma’s lawyer. She just took it out to her mailbox this morning.”

“Really?” Rachel took a seat and reached for the letter. Once in her grasp, she turned it over carefully.

She walked over to where steam was rising from the teakettle and ran the edge of the envelope over the rising vapors, carefully removing the torn pieces of paper. Opening the envelope, she removed the letter and returned to her seat. Unfolding the paper, she read out loud.

Dear Mr. Bridgeway, Esquire,

Please, first of all accept my gratitude again for your consenting to visit with me here some two weeks ago. In a continuation of our conversation, I have arrived at a final decision on the disposal of my assets. Due to my continued serious illness, I wish to deal with the money appropriations to my family first and the three farms given out according to my wishes.

You can determine the amount given to my relatives by tripling the percentage basis used by my brother, Millet, in his will. From the list I gave you, please have this amount given to each relative.

At this, Rachel paused. “I still have a copy of my father’s will. We can easily figure out how much that amounts to.”

“Okay, so go on. I want to hear about the farms.”

Rachel, finally proud of Luke, continued reading.

Then please name Rebecca Keim, of Union, Ohio, the daughter of Lester and Mattie Keim, as the primary beneficiary of all my property.

Rachel gasped. Luke stood up straight.

This is all contingent upon the same clause that Millet had placed when he first had your father draw his will when I was still in my early twenties. The clause being that Rebecca Keim must not under any circumstances marry a non-Amish person. Amish is to be defined as a church which does not allow for the driving of motor vehicles. She may, as I have, remain in an unmarried state, if she so wishes.

I am aware that there are considerable assets involved and that my brother did not have as many when he made the
gesture toward me out of his deep concern for my well-being. Yet he remained true to his promise, even when his possessions increased, believing that he was under the Lord’s blessing.

I will proceed under the same belief and would appreciate it if you would notify Rebecca Keim of this decision by certified letter as soon as convenient. I will not need to be notified of this correspondence between the two of you but will wait for you to contact me to sign any necessary papers.

Sincerely,

Emma Miller
Milroy, Indiana

Rachel’s face was white. “She’s doing it, and this time it’s not even in the family.”

Luke’s mind was whirling. He barely heard his mother. He simply said, “I have to go do the chores.” His body felt strange, out of focus. But before he got to the door, he turned and said, “Get that letter sealed again. I’ll drop it off in the mail tomorrow. Emma will never miss it.”