Rebecca's Return (8 page)

Well after John had left for the barn, Isaac asked, “What’d you think about that?”

“I knew something had been bothering him. Wasn’t sure what.”

“You think Rebecca’s good for him?”

“You heard what I said. You were right here.”

“I know. He was here too.”

“I think she’s a nice girl.”

“You ever hear anything about—before they moved here?”

“No. They came from Milroy.”

He said nothing, staring off into the distance.

“You heard anything?” She was alarmed again.

“No, but that’s strange too. There’s usually something.”

“You should know. You’re a minister.”

“Sometimes ministers don’t know everything.”

“So what
do
you know?” she asked undeterred.

“Not a thing,” he said puzzled. “Family came with a perfect church letter—never made trouble either.”

“So what’s wrong with that? You should be happy.”

“Nothing to do with happiness.”

“You worried then?”

“Don’t know—just strange, that’s all.”

“You think
Da Hah
will have trouble for us then?”

“That’s in His will—only He knows.”

“But you feel it?”

Isaac shook his head. “It’s all in His will. He will give us the strength to bear whatever comes.”

“You’re just getting old…feeling our last one leaving.”

“Ya. It might be that.”

“And we will grow old—just the two of us. That’s not too bad, is it?”

He allowed a smile to spread across his face. “Not with your cooking.”

“You’re a
shlecht
one,” she said, pretending to glare at him, but bending to kiss him on the forehead.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

R
achel Byler was cleaning the kitchen, having first made certain that Reuben was comfortably settled in the living room. Reuben had looked strangely at her, puzzled by the attention, then let it go and relaxed in his recliner. He had now found the Milroy, Indiana, section of the paper and was engrossed in the news. The scribe for the area was usually Margaret, Emery Yoder’s wife. Not that it really mattered because there wasn’t much room for personal expression in the writing, just a recounting of who had visited and other general happenings. Occasionally diversions were made, slight ones, only detectable if you knew what was going on under the surface. He, of course, did and always went to his home community’s article first.

Tonight Reuben scanned the article, finding a listing of visitors at the Sunday service two weeks ago. It usually took that length of time to get the letter from the scribe to Ohio, then printed in the paper, and mailed back to the subscribers. Still it was an efficient way of communication between the Amish communities. Reasonably priced too—which was important.

Margaret said that Bishop Jesse Raber, his wife, and brother-in-law from Daviess County had been visiting. There followed some more names, but he just scanned those.

On Monday night Jacob Weaver had a scare, Margaret continued, when a young calf took a fright, while the youngest boy of the family was tending to it. The boy was doing his chores in the calf pen, laying down a fresh bed of straw. The family dog had entered the calf pen and was following the boy around. This frightened the calf and made it jump against the wall, causing the gasoline lantern that was set on the floor to tip over. When the lantern tipped over, the glass globe apparently absent or broken, the flame ignited the straw.

The carelessness of youth,
Reuben thought,
unless maybe the Weavers made a practice of not placing globes on their lanterns, making it easier to light the lantern. Whether or not the Weavers were using lanterns in that condition doesn’t matter because this was just a case of carelessness and not a church offense. Carelessness.
Da Hah
can handle that on His own—without my help.
With that decision made, Reuben continued to read.

He wondered whether Margaret would put things in the paper that were a church offense. He doubted it, but one never knew. It might slip out inadvertently, he supposed. Not that he wanted such a thing to happen, as many readers far and wide would read the account. The offense would then also have to be dealt with quickly, hopefully with word of the ministry’s quick action trickling back around.

Anyway, the young boy yelled for help and had most of the fire stomped out by the time his father arrived. Reuben thought about fires and how they could easily—when burning out of control—take down a barn and destroy livestock in no time at all. He was sure Weaver had a long talk with his son.

Farther down, right after a mention of the snowstorm, Margaret said Nancy Yoder, wife of Amman Yoder, had been to the doctor. That was on Wednesday, more than two weeks ago. The reason for the visit was a checkup because Nancy was having some doubts about the state of her health. Nancy’s worst fears were realized when the doctor found a few lumps. That Friday she received the results of the tests the doctor conducted—malignant breast cancer. Treatments at IU Simon Cancer Center in Indianapolis had already begun, according to Margaret. It also noted that Nancy might also seek more treatment in Mexico.
This,
Reuben thought,
isn’t wise, but this too is not a church matter.
He supposed if one had cancer, things might look a little different. Mexico was a land of great suspicions to him, but one never knew until it happened what really might need to be done.

Out in the kitchen, it sounded as if Rachel was on the last of the dishes.
What has gotten into the woman tonight? Why is she being so nice? There must be something going on, but what? Is it money maybe?
Not that Rachel acted this way when she wanted some. Normally she just told him and made things miserable until he relented. The checking account was empty anyway, so it really didn’t matter. He sighed. Life would be a lot easier, at least with her, if there were more of the green stuff around. Not that he knew how to get more, but it
would
be easier.

He couldn’t imagine what else she would want. But then the thought of Margaret mentioning Mexico came back to him.
Is that what it is? Rachel has always wanted to go to Mexico, dropping hints about it every time someone went down there for treatments. Has she read the article already and wants to visit on pleasure?

It could be well within the realm of possibilities. If it is that, she will soon be in and drop the hint.
He stiffened in preparation. There was simply no way he was going. Not even if he was sick, would he go.

Visions of donkeys balking in the streets, stopping to bray and kick at passing visitors from the States, went through his mind. No doubt white people would stir up the worst in them. Then there were the thieves and the awful food. Returning Amish visitors from medical trips told of thieves snatching purses off the arms of women, of men not even feeling their wallets being lifted from their front pants pockets. Amish men had no back pockets, so these guys must be the real experts. He shuddered in his recliner. Rachel would not be going, and neither would he. And those awful flat pieces of flour they ate!

Even if Rachel got sick, she was not going. If she did go, it would be without him. The going would be simply beyond him—not to mention the cost. The thought occurred to him,
Perhaps she is sick. Maybe that explains her behavior.
But he soon put the thought aside. Sickness was highly unlikely.

Luke had gone upstairs to his room after supper, and Reuben supposed he would soon find out what this was all about. The dishes rattled gently again in the kitchen. It sounded, from his long experience with her habits, that Rachel was down to the last few.

True enough, Reuben had just turned to the next page of the paper, finding Leroy, Michigan, when Rachel came in and took a seat on the couch. He wasn’t that interested in the Amish community in Leroy, Michigan, anyway, so he braced himself.

Rachel cleared her throat. “When’s next communion?”

Reuben knew good and well Rachel knew when next communion was coming. It came in the spring around Easter, but he answered anyway, “Around Easter.” There was no sense in stirring things up, in case he was wrong.

As she nodded, he noticed the bandage on her finger again. Earlier he had seen it but failed to mention anything. “You cut your finger?” he asked, trying to be friendly.

“Yes,” she said.

Normally she would have commented on his lack of notice till now…but tonight it was just, “Yes.” This only increased his nervousness. She really was after something, but there was no use imagining the worst now. He simply waited.

“I thought,” she said, pausing to clear her throat, “that perhaps there were some things—church things—that maybe I needed to get done.”

His blood running cold at the sound of her words, he contemplated saying nothing, but that carried its own dangers. “Yes,” he managed, his lips tense.

“Some things—little things, I guess. Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about them.” She almost looked apologetic. “I just want to be prepared.”

He nodded.
Prepared for what?
This road looked a little less dangerous than it had a few minutes ago.
Maybe the woman is dying? Preparing for her own passing?
He felt the stirrings of sympathy, concern, and then he remembered Mexico, and the feelings left. His fingers tightened on the newspaper, the printed columns completely going out of focus. “You’re not sick?” he asked as calmly as he could, turning toward her.

She smiled, her face showing a trace of amusement. “No. I’m okay. At least on the outside. It’s the church that I’m concerned about.”

He tilted his head, still looking at her.

She seemed to take a slow breath. “There’s so much going on in the world today. You know—sin coming—pushing in when we least expect it. I’ve been thinking about that.”

He still waited, saying nothing partly because he couldn’t get any words past his astonishment. She had never been the least concerned about any of this.

“You have been working—on church matters,” she continued. “I know you care about it. I’ve been thinking. I don’t do as much as I should.”

“Yes,” he said cautiously. It was true, but that thought might be dangerous territory too. She didn’t interfere in his deacon work, but neither was she one to be there to lend a hand either.

“I might have some dresses—you know—that are a little too… well, pushing things.” She paused, as if waiting for his reaction.

Whether she had or hadn’t, he couldn’t remember no matter how much he now tried. “I don’t know,” he managed, hoping it covered the bases.

From the look on her face, this was apparently not the answer she was looking for. “The light blue one, for instance,” she said. “It’s a little formfitting, don’t you think? A little short too, for the church standard?” She was still looking intently at him.

His mind was spinning wildly, but it was simply producing no memory of a light blue dress. “I hadn’t noticed,” he said.

She wrinkled her brow. “I’ve been thinking about it. Communion is coming up. We really should be—at least I think so—be getting our house in order.”

He shrugged, managing to say, “Of course—the church is always important.”
Where is she going with this?

“That’s just it,” she said. Her face brightening for the first time. “I want to do my part. For much too long—way too long—I haven’t done enough. Before communion, I will change that dress. Luke has some socks too. Those blue ones…”

“But that’s allowed,” he said, in spite of himself.

“I don’t know,” she told him. “Maybe blue, but these are pretty light. It would be better not to push the line, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” he said.
What else is there to say when a large part of my life’s work is to make sure these things do matter?

“That needs to be changed.” She nodded. “Some other things too.”

“Are you okay?” he finally asked her, relaxing a little. This could have been much worse.
Sure,
he told himself,
that was a new leaf for her but familiar ground for me.

“I need your help,” she said, ignoring his question.

He felt himself stiffen again. “You need
me
?”

“Yes—for myself, of course. If you see something—out of order—I need to be told.”

“I see,” he said, settling back into his chair, not seeing at all. This was a strange evening indeed.

“We have to be
pure,
” she said, getting up to go back to the kitchen. “We need all the help we can get.”

He watched her go, completely puzzled, then thinking this new turn might be a benefit to him. A wife, vigorous in her defense of church rules, might even enhance his standing in church.

Relaxing, Reuben turned back to his paper and found Kalona, Iowa’s column on the third page, near the top. It was only later that he noticed the uneasy feeling settling into the pit of his stomach.