Rebekah's Quilt (3 page)

Rebekah kept her hands clasped behind her back as she and Joseph, her oldest friend, walked across the meadow. She had walked alongside him too many times to count over the years, first as children, then during
rumspringa,
and now as young adults. This morning though, the air between them was different. Thicker perhaps, more pronounced.

Joseph kicked a clod of dirt. “Your mother’s cinnamon cake smelled delicious.”

Eyes downcast, Rebekah only nodded in agreement.
If I look at him now, I’ll blush and not know why.

“I figured you would have a cinnamon cake. Has she shared her recipe with you yet?” His eyes were upon her, staring. She willed the heat to cool in her cheeks.
If I let him look in my eyes, he will see what I’m feeling. I don’t even know what I’m feeling! It’s all too strange.

Not trusting her words, Rebekah shook her head and focused on the way Joseph’s black, square-tipped shoes complimented hers beneath their dark-hued clothing.
Strange and wonderful.

Joseph slid his hands up and down his black britches. “I made you something for your birthday.”

An icy knot clunked to the bottom of her stomach. “You did?” Her words came out in a squeak. “
Danke
.”

Having you to share today with is gift enough
. The words were so fierce on the tip of her tongue that Rebekah slipped it between her jaw teeth and clenched to keep from spitting them out on the Indiana soil.
I could never say those words to a man. An unmarried man, who just happens to be my friend. My best friend
.

“You’re awfully quiet today Rebekah,” Joseph observed. “Don’t you even want to know what your gift is?”

Rebekah let her eyes meander up the lean, black-clothed frame of her oldest companion. From his black shoes, up the extra-long black britches, over the dark green shirt his mother had sewn, to his face. The one that had grown so handsome over the years that it frequently appeared in her thoughts without warning. As an unmarried man, Joseph was still clean shaven. His constant smile readily revealed the deep dimples that made her insides turn to applesauce. “Rebekah?”

She stared into his eyes. Eyes as deep and blue as the lake on a summer day. Joseph gazed back in such a way that she was certain he could see all of her heart’s deepest secrets.

“
Ja
?” She admired the way his thick, black hair curled out from under his dark felt, special-occasion hat.

“Do you want to see your gift or shall I keep it for myself?” His thick brows arched skyward as he shifted from foot to foot.

The mellow sounds of the lake snapped her out of her trance. “
Ja
. I would.”
I hope my covering is long enough to hide this redness creeping up my neck.

Joseph meandered over to a nearby tulip tree. Plucking something from beneath the shady branches, he started back toward her, two sticks in tow.

He offered one of the sticks to her. “Happy birthday, Rebekah. I carved these for us out of a couple of branches that got knocked off that tree.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Our tree.”

Freshly carved, the pole’s scent reminded Rebekah of fresh honey.
Our tree?
Heart pounding, she ran her hand down the smooth wood. “
Danke
, Joseph.”

“Oh, be careful.” Joseph quickly reached to dislodge a dainty wooden hook she hadn’t noticed before. It had been placed in a special notch in the wood. In his haste, Joseph’s skin brushed hers.

Rebekah froze, a rash of fire and ice trailed Joseph’s hand on her skin, like a shooting star.
Surely our hands have touched over the years? It certainly never felt like that.

Ever mindful of his work, Joseph released the tiny hook from his fingertips. It was attached to the tip of the pole with a single strand of horsehair and swung down like a spider swinging on a strand of web.

“A fishing pole!” Rebekah laughed. “I thought it was just a good-smelling stick!”

“Your own fishing pole. Now all you have to do is find a worm and you can catch our lunch.” A full grin dimpled his cheeks.

Her shyness spent at the mention of worms, Rebekah eyed him warily. “I don’t know how to fish. Or catch a worm.”

Joseph’s face lit up. “Well then today’s your lucky day, because I am just the man to teach you.” He pointed to a patch of damp dirt in the shade of the tulip tree, not too far from the water. “We’ll dig here.”

Shedding his black jacket, he placed it face down on the grass near the mud patch. “So you don’t get your dress dirty,” he mumbled.

Careful to avoid his eyes, Rebekah knelt on Joseph’s jacket and pushed up her wrist-length sleeves. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“First thing to remember when you’re hunting for worms,” Joseph instructed, “is to”

Without waiting for him to finish, Rebekah plunged her hands into the inviting dampness of the earth. The cool mud squished between her fingers, and the heavy aroma of the natural world made her heart light.

“That’s a good way to start,” Joseph praised. “Now, just feel around for worms. They’ll try to get away from you, so you got to be quick.”

Rebekah moved her hands around in the soggy dirt. “What does a worm feel like?”

“Slimy.”

After a few moments, something wriggled against her hand. “Oh, Joseph! Oh! I think I have one!” Rebekah grasped wildly in the spongy ground. As she removed her hands from the muck, the sucking, slurping sound made her crinkle her nose.

“That’s a fat one!” Joseph held out her sweet-scented pole. “You want to bait, or me?”

“If you’ll hold the hook still, I’ll try first,” she volunteered.

Their hands brushed as Rebekah tried again and again to spear the unlucky worm on the carefully crafted hook. The frequent brushings of their skin sent welcome charges from Rebekah’s hands, up her arms, and straight into her soul.

The worm, though, wasn’t cooperating. The harder Rebekah tried to make bait out of him, the harder he tried to escape. Finally, she held him still. With the hook clutched in her fingers, she noticed an intricate little
R
engraved on one side. “Joseph, what a beautiful
R
,” Rebekah whispered, admiring the tiny print. “That makes this gift even more special.” Losing her focus on the slippery creature, the worm dropped to the safety of the dirt and disappeared.

Joseph’s hand, warm and caked with dirt, covered hers. Bits of grass poked off his fingertips as he gently turned her fingers. There, on the other side of the smudged hook, was a perfect little
J
.

Joseph and Rebekah
.

“Do you ever think about
rumspringa
?” Rebekah felt his blue eyes burning into her, like hot sapphires. He still hadn’t taken his hand off hers, and her knees were as watery as the lake they had yet to draw a fish from.

Tilting her chin, she nodded. “Thank you for waiting so that we could
rumspringa
together.”

“It was easy to wait those two years.” His let his hand fall. An unwelcome empty coolness replaced what had been warm and soft. “I couldn’t let you go off into the English world alone. Or with Elijah.”

Rebekah sucked in her cheeks. Elijah had taken no qualms about hiding his feelings for her, and had made it well known that he had intended on marrying her when their time came to
rumspringa
. “I still can’t believe he stayed with the English.”

Mention of the English made splinters of fear shoot through her body.

Joseph’s normally tender voice turned flat with talk of Elijah. “I can.”

Rebekah glanced at Joseph. His body had gone from lanky to rigid. Desperate, her mind wandered to something, anything, to regain the lost moment of gentle comfort they’d been sharing. “Do you still think of
rumspringa
?”

His mouth softened from a hard line into a supple smile. “I think of it often. Fondly.”

Thoughts of their time spent with the English during the Amish tradition of
rumspringa
flooded her mind. Meant to let the Amish teens get a taste of the English life before deciding whether or not to become full-fledged Amish citizens by renouncing with their whole heart the ways of the English in favor of the simpler lifestyle of the Amish,
rumspringa
had been more a terrifying experience for Rebekah. Well, terrifying except for the fact that she’d shared her
rumspringa
experience with Joseph and they’d grown so much closer on a more grown-up level.

Stepping back, Joseph squatted at the water’s edge. Plunging his hands into the lake, he continued. “Do you have any regrets?”

Rebekah replaced her hook on the pole and propped it against the fan of tulip tree branches. “Regrets?”

“About coming back and getting baptized in the Church. Instead of staying with the English.”

Hunkering down next to Joseph, she rinsed her hands clean in the lake. “Not one regret. I couldn’t wait to get home.” She patted them dry on the grass. “Everyone was so shocked we showed up early.” She grinned, basking in the warmth of that golden memory. How wonderful it had been to sleep in her own bed, in her own house, with her own people the night after she and Joseph had hitched a ride back to Gasthof Village with a west-bound family in a Conestoga wagon. “Do you have any regrets?

Joseph dried his hands on the seat of his britches. “Only one, but it isn’t important.” He picked up both poles and balanced them on his shoulder before turning back to face her. “I think I hear cinnamon cake calling. Shall we try to fish another time?”

Stepping after him, thoughts swirled in her mind like a thunderstorm.
Even with regrets, he still consented to baptism?

She tried out each theory on the walk across the meadow.
What could he regret … coming back early?
Before they reached the house, the smells of baked goods permeated the air.

“Looks like everyone is already here,” Joseph mused as they approached the packed Stoll homestead.

He stopped short, allowing Rebekah to catch up.

“Happy birthday, Rebekah. Your birth is definitely worth celebrating.”

Something in his voice caused her heartbeat to quicken.
Everything feels so different with Joseph today. Different in a good, grown up sort of way.
She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the skirt of her dress.

“Here, your covering is a bit ” Placing the poles gently on the ground, he raised his still-slightly-grubby hands and leaned in close. Tugging lightly on the white strings, he didn’t move her covering. Instead his hands hovered there alongside her neck, close and warm. His lips cocked into a half-smile, only inches from hers. “A bit crooked.” He seemed to be in no hurry to move.

His breath was sweet, like honey, as it caressed her cheek. Tingles rushed her spine as she struggled to make a word, but her breath hung in her throat, forcing her to whisper. “Thank you.”

Joseph didn’t speak; he just simply stood and stared. The closeness of his fingertips to her neck made her heart pound all the more.

He inhaled slowly and opened his mouth, but closed it again. Dropping the strings, Joseph plucked up the pair of fishing poles and started off in the direction of the Stoll homestead without looking back.

“
Hallo
, Rebekah!
Hallo
Joseph!” Simon Wagler’s chipper voice bounced off the trees that surrounded her home.

Rebekah saw Joseph offer a slight wave to Simon and Sarah, Elijah’s parents, as they exited their buggy. She stepped quickly to catch up.
It looks like everyone from Gasthof Village is here
, she thought, passing several buggies.

The Yoder’s fluffy puppy was running through the grass. With each bound, the tiny fur ball would disappear between the blades, only to bounce right back up again. The Odon’s and Raber’s were sitting on the porch visiting, while the Knepp’s were just pulling in. Joseph stopped to help the Knepp twins, Katie and Annie, out of the buggy.

“I wonder if Katie has gotten over her crush on Joseph,” Rebekah mused as she quickened her step “It certainly doesn’t look like it.” Katie, in a floor-length gray dress, stood closer to Joseph than Rebekah thought proper in the short walk up to the house. A heat, starting in Rebekah’s belly and rippling outward, left her insides on a slow burn. She could feel the color creep back into her cheeks, but was powerless to stop it.

“Happy birthday Rebekah,” Annie Knepp said, holding out a quart jar. “Apple butter. I hope you enjoy it!”

The emotions that had been surging moments before ebbed at her friend Annie’s sweet display. “
Danke
, Annie! You remembered my favorite!” Linking arms, they walked up the steps together only to be inundated with mouth-watering smells. Rebekah tried to discern each smell as she greeted her guests amid the buzz of gentle visiting and laughter.

“Good evening, Mrs. Yoder,” she said.
Mmm, chicken pot pie, fresh from the oven
.

“Mr. Raber, Mrs. Raber, thank you for coming,” rolled off her tongue while her mind wandered to the scent of the rhubarb pie, the crust stuffed with the extra filling, no doubt.