Martha’s eyes were red from crying. “This is the worst thing that has ever happened,” Martha said to Leah. “Rebekah was so sweet. So young.”
Leah agreed. She felt no animosity toward Martha. There was no rivalry between them now. In the shared experience of grief, they were only two teenagers, mourning the loss of a friend. “I’ll miss her,” Leah said.
“She talked about you all the time. She thought you were glamorous.” Martha managed a smile. “Like a movie star.”
“You’re kidding. I didn’t know she even knew what a movie star was.”
“She peeked in our magazines. The ones we stuff under our mattresses.”
“My friends and I used to do the same thing,” Leah said. “Hide the things we didn’t want our parents to know about.”
“It isn’t easy growing up Amish. The things of the English are very tempting.”
“Your Amish ways are tempting too,” Leah said. “I guess neither way is easy.”
Leah left Martha and slipped into the house. The furniture had been removed from the dining room and parlor. Wooden benches had been set in long rows. An usher, a young man Leah recognized from Jonah’s group of friends, showed her to a place on one of the benches. Rebekah’s coffin had been placed at the front of the room, and the Longacre family sat in front of the coffin with their backs to the rows of mourners.
As the mantel clock struck nine, a man stood, removed his hat, turned toward the others, and began to quote Scripture from the Old Testament. Eventually he mentioned Rebekah and the loss of her young life. But the man mostly talked to his audience about living godly lives and preparing themselves for eternal life. He quoted: “ ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’ ” Leah thought it a strange eulogy.
At her grandmother’s funeral, the minister had talked about Grandma Hall and her rich, full life. He’d mentioned how much she’d be missed and shared personal things about her life. Leah could only see the back of Ethan’s head, but she wondered if he would have liked the minister to say more in praise of Rebekah. Leah certainly wished that the man had. But it wasn’t her place to criticize, either.
Once the first man sat down, another stood and spoke. He also had little to say about Rebekah, but instead reminded all the Amish youth, “No person knows the hour of his death, so all must live good lives. Stay away from sinning.” Leah shifted uncomfortably. Nothing either man said seemed to address the loss of Rebekah. She wondered if anyone was receiving comfort from these speeches.
Eventually the second man asked the group to kneel. He read a long prayer in German. Songs were not sung, but spoken in German. And just when Leah thought she couldn’t sit for one more minute on the hard, uncomfortable bench, the congregation was asked to vacate the room. The room would be rearranged and the mourners would file past the coffin for one final farewell to Rebekah.
Leah almost panicked. She couldn’t look at Rebekah. She couldn’t! And yet, when the time came, she found herself in line in front of a young woman who was holding baby Nathan. The child grabbed at Leah’s braid, and Leah turned and smiled at him. The baby gave her a slobbery grin. The woman holding him spoke to him sternly, and Nathan’s lower lip quivered.
Leah turned back toward the coffin, and with her heart hammering hard against her ribs, she stepped beside the plain pine box and looked down. The lid was formed in two halves. The top half was raised, and inside lay Rebekah. The child was dressed in white, the color for Amish mourning. Her head was covered with a white prayer cap, the ties fastened neatly beneath her chin. Leah wanted to untie them and let them hang loose, as Rebekah always had in life.
Leah’s hands began to shake and her knees went weak. Rebekah looked waxen, like a store mannequin. From behind her, Leah heard Nathan squeal, “Bekah!” She turned to see him open his arms for his dead sister’s hug.
The baby’s lack of understanding unglued Leah completely. She bolted from the line and darted out the door. She pushed past people standing in the yard and, sobbing, started to run. Leah knew they were staring at her, but she didn’t care. Blinded by her tears, she ran. She hit the boundary of the woods. Her heart was pounding, her lungs felt on fire. But she didn’t stop running until she came to the great rock in the clearing where Ethan had brought her that moonlit night at the beginning of the summer.
Leah slumped against the great boulder, then slid to the ground. Fighting for breath, she buried her face in her hands. She knew she was missing the procession to the grave site. She knew she wasn’t going to see them lower Rebekah’s coffin into the ground and cover it with dirt. She didn’t care. She couldn’t watch anyway.
Slowly her sobs lessened. Her ragged breath calmed, and quiet settled all around her. Above her, she heard a faint breeze whispering through the pine needles. The faint scent of evergreens filled the air. And then she faintly heard someone say her name.
“Leah.”
Expectantly she raised her head. Her breath caught in her throat. Less than fifty feet away, at the edge of the clearing, Leah saw Gabriella, dressed Amish. And beside Gabriella, Leah saw Rebekah. She wore the white dress Leah had seen in the coffin, and the prayer cap too. Except that the ties were loose and fluttering. In her hand, she held a lace-edged hanky. Rebekah’s face looked radiant, as bright as sunshine. She raised her hand and gave an excited wave, and then, looking up at Gabriella, turned with her, walked away and disappeared behind the trees.
Stunned, stupefied, Leah took several seconds to react. She scrambled to her feet and raced into the woods, calling, “Rebekah! Gabriella! Where are you? Please, come back.”
Leah spun in every direction, straining to see shapes in the thick foliage. Long shafts of sunlight hung in the air like yellow ribbons. A lone butterfly circled lazily over a cluster of wild-flowers. Otherwise, Leah was alone. Gabriella was gone. Rebekah was gone. All that remained was the faint, sweet scent of pine.
Leah remained in the woods until she was certain the burial was over and the Amish neighbors had gone home. She kept trying to replay in her mind what she’d seen. Gabriella. Rebekah. Holding hands. They had had form and substance. They had not been ghosts, nor figments of her imagination. She’d seen them with her eyes wide open.
She left the woods and walked back to the house. Leah stepped up onto the porch and rapped gently on the door. Ethan came, and when he saw her, he opened the screen door wide. “I have been worried about you,” he said. “I saw you run away. Where did you go? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Ethan. I’m all right now. I’m sorry I ran off. I’ve been in the woods. Can I talk to your parents?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “We are having Bible reading and prayer time. Maybe tomorrow would be better.”
“It can’t wait,” Leah said, her heart pounding. “Please.”
He took her into the parlor. The room was back in order, with no sign that a crowd of mourners had filled it only hours before. The family sat in a small circle. Baby Nathan played on the floor. Mr. Longacre closed the Bible on his lap and stood. His expression was one of deep sadness mixed with wariness and surprise. “We are in mourning, Leah.”
Leah squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry to barge in on you, but something happened today that I must tell you about.” Quietly, her voice trembling, she told them what she’d seen in the woods. When she finished, she peered anxiously from face to face. The circle of eyes stared back at her. “Don’t you believe me? Please tell me you believe me.”
Mr. Longacre cleared his throat. “We have all had a great shock, Leah. Sometimes our minds play tricks on us.”
“I tell you, I saw them both.”
“Perhaps you fell asleep and dreamed this,” Mrs. Longacre suggested with a quavery voice.
Leah shook her head vehemently. “I was wide awake. I saw Rebekah and Gabriella today. I know Rebekah told you about Gabriella and how Gabriella visited us in the hospital last December.”
Mr. Longacre looked sterner than ever. “This is
a hard thing to accept, Leah. The dead do not appear to the living. We will not see Rebekah again until we meet her in heaven.”
Tears of frustration welled in Leah’s eyes. How could she make them believe her? “I tell you, I saw her.” Her voice sounded frantic to her own ears.
“Leah, stop!” Mr. Longacre commanded.
Ethan was by Leah’s side instantly. “Papa, do not be angry. I know Leah. She would not make this up.”
“Rebekah waved a hanky at me,” Leah said, still desperate to make them believe her.
“You should go,” Mr. Longacre said.
“Jacob, wait,” Oma said, and everyone looked her way. She stood shakily, her face ashen. “I believe Leah. Early this morning, I had asked to spend a few minutes alone with Rebekah’s coffin.”
“Ja. I remember.”
Oma’s eyes were bright with tears. “I placed a hanky in her hand. I tucked it in carefully so that no one would see. It was a favorite of hers, and I wanted her to have it with her. No one could have known about the hanky except me. I acted as a foolish old woman, but she was such a precious child to me.”
Leah felt suddenly giddy and as light as a feather. She wasn’t going crazy. She had not imagined anything. “I—I saw her,” Leah repeated softly. “I truly did.”
The room was absolutely silent. Finally Jacob Longacre gave a slow nod. “So be it.”
Tillie reached for Leah’s hand. “Oh, Leah, God has given you a wonderful gift.”
“Just as he did last Christmas,” Charity added.
“You all believe me?” Leah asked again, relief draining her, making her very bones feel rubbery.
“What you have told us brings us peace,” Mrs. Longacre said.
Tears started down Leah’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she said simply. She felt Ethan squeeze her hand. She turned, and, with head held high, left the room.
TWENTY-ONE
“I think that’s about it.” Neil slammed the back door of the rented moving trailer.
“I can’t believe we got all your stuff into only two cars at the start of the summer,” Leah’s mother added. “Are you sure you don’t mind driving back alone?”
Leah shook her head. “I don’t mind.”
Neil and her mother had driven up that morning, rented the trailer, and loaded Leah’s things for the return trip home. It had been decided that Leah would follow in her car. By now it was late afternoon.
“I could ride with you,” her mother said. “We haven’t had a chance to catch up, and there’s so much to tell you.”
Leah glanced down the road leading from the parking lot of her apartment. Would Ethan come to say goodbye?
Neil caught Leah’s eye and, with an understanding nod, took Leah’s mother by the elbow. “There’ll be plenty of time for that, honey, once we get home. Let’s get going, and Leah can catch up. We’ll be driving a whole lot slower anyway.”
Leah tossed him a grateful glance. Neil must have realized that she was dragging her feet. “Sure, you two go on ahead and I’ll be along. There are a couple more things I need to do.”
Her mother frowned. “I can’t imagine.”
Leah had briefly mentioned Rebekah’s death and funeral, and both Neil and her mother had been very sorry. Sympathy was all they could offer.
Neil opened the car door and guided his wife into the passenger seat. “Drive carefully,” he called to Leah as he climbed into the car and started the engine.
“I won’t be long,” Leah promised. She watched them drive away, the trailer in tow. Alone in the parking lot, she felt foolish. She leaned against her car, unsure what to do.
The last time she’d seen Ethan, it had been at the bus station with his family. They were going to visit an uncle in another part of the state. Mr. Longacre had thought that a short vacation would make them all feel better. Sarah and her husband, along with Jonah, would take care of the farm while they were gone. “My mom’s coming next week to get me,” Leah had told Ethan.
“I will see you before you leave,” he’d promised her.
But the week had passed and he hadn’t come. Leah couldn’t put off leaving much longer. With only the stuffed bear Ethan had won for her at the fair and the lop-eared bunny glued to her dashboard, she had little else to remind her of him. She had no photos, no snapshots of their summer together. She had only memories.
She thought about driving to the farm for one last look but decided against it. She’d already said goodbye to the farm the day of Rebekah’s funeral. With a sigh, she reached for the door handle.
“Leah! Wait!”
Leah whipped around and saw Ethan jogging down the side of the road toward her. She took off running, met him at the end of the block and threw herself into his arms. He scooped her up and hugged her hard against himself. He began kissing her face—her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth.
Leah clung to him, the sweetness of his lips almost melting her bones. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.”
Breathing heavily, Ethan set her back on her feet. “I had problems getting here. I caught the bus yesterday, but it broke down. They sent another bus, but not right away. When I got to the station, I started walking and running.”
“I’m glad you made it. I didn’t want to go off without saying goodbye.”
“Me either.”
He took her hand, led her across the street to a small public park, and sat with her on a green bench. A few kids were roller-skating on the sidewalk, and the clickety-clack of their skates over the cracks broke the silence of the warm summer day.
“How’s your family doing?” Leah asked.
“We are getting over Rebekah’s death slowly,” he said solemnly. “Charity cries a lot, but Ma and Oma are there for her. Knowing what you saw in the woods brings us all much comfort.”
Leah nodded. “Me too. I’ll never get over her dying, but I’m glad Gabriella let me see her one last time.” Leah slipped her hand into his. “I really missed you while you were gone.”
“All I thought about was you. Papa wasn’t happy about my leaving early, but I do not care.”
“Will you write me?”
“I will come and visit you.”
“You will?” Her heart hammered. This was more than she had ever hoped for. “When?”
“When the harvest is in. I cannot leave Papa with so much work.”
“Do you promise?”
Smiling down at her, Ethan asked, “Why do you want me to promise?”
“Because I know you always keep your word.”
He kissed her warmly, deeply. “Do you not know, Leah? Do you not know that I love you?”
She started to cry. “I love you too. I have for months.” She rested her cheek on his chest and felt the rough fabric of the homespun cloth. It gave her a jolt and instantly brought back all the differences between them. He was still Amish. She was still English. “What are we going to do, Ethan?”
“We are going to be together,” he said.
“But—”
He silenced her with another kiss. “I do not know how, Leah. I do not know when. I only know we will.”
Looking into Ethan’s eyes, Leah believed him. His word was enough.
It was enough.
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