Bishop Martin glanced at Isaac, then continued.
I am writing to inform you of things you perhaps don’t know. There is much background that goes with this news. Rebecca apparently has a history in this community with someone by the name of Atlee Troyer, a Mennonite boy. There are even reports that he gave her a ring, which she might still have.
While I don’t know many details, of course, it is possible that Emma made her decision in an attempt to keep Rebecca, who was her former student, from disgracing herself by marrying outside the faith. Because this matter has already been spoken abroad by The Budget article, I decided it best not to keep the rest of this information private. It might be better for all concerned if you knew first.
“Signed, Rachel Byler.” The bishop folded the letter. The crinkle of paper sounded loud in the silence of the bedroom.
“Does she mean Lester’s Rebecca?” the deacon asked, his voice full of surprise. “Reuben’s a deacon in Milroy.”
“Did you know of this?” Bishop Martin asked Isaac.
“Of The Budget article, yes. The rest, no.”
“You think John knows?”
“I don’t know,” Isaac answered, his mind riddled with hurried thoughts. “We talked at length, after we read the article. John even went over to speak with Lester and Miriam that night. He has never mentioned anything like this.”
“He might not know,” the deacon offered.
“I suppose not,” Bishop Martin ventured.
“This is serious,” the deacon continued. “We have to do something—at least find out if it’s true.”
“What if it’s true?” Isaac asked.
The deacon wasn’t at a loss for words. “If she has the ring still in her possession, then the rest must be true. We can’t let that stand.” His eyes were wide.
“That’s what I thought,” the bishop said nodding. “It’s not easy, though. You are dealing with matters of the heart. It’s Isaac’s son too. You know how this might make him look.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Isaac said. “This might not be true at all. They have been through a lot, with John’s accident and all. They seem to be quite close. I’ve never seen any signs that Rebecca would marry for money. That would surprise me greatly.”
“The ring, though,” the deacon said, “that’s the problem beyond the money and how this all looks. What’s going to happen when the news gets out? If it’s in The Budget, it’s just a matter of time.”
“I know that,” the bishop told him, then turned back to Isaac. “Do you trust your son? Do you think he would have picked up on the ring if Rebecca has one?”
Isaac pondered the question. “I don’t know. He likes her a lot.”
“There you go,” the deacon said. “How can you expect the boy to know. It could slip by any of us. In my days, I would never have thought it either. Never once did such a thing cross my mind. Who was this boy anyway—the one who gave Rebecca this ring?”
“The letter doesn’t say,” the bishop told him, “other than he’s Mennonite.”
“He probably went to school with her,” Isaac ventured. The information came from somewhere in the recesses of his mind. His head felt like it was underwater.
“So do you know that?” the bishop asked.
Isaac shook his head. “Well…yes, I heard that somewhere, but I think they straightened the matter out. Miriam mentioned it after John’s accident. John told her a little bit, but I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Did he mention the ring?” the deacon asked.
“No,” Isaac said shaking his head, “she only talked about her school days and that same boy. John seemed satisfied with the situation.”
“Maybe he knows about the money—what she is to receive,” the deacon said.
“I don’t think so,” Isaac told him.
“We must be careful here,” Bishop Martin said. “We can’t just go throwing things around. Someone must look further into it, though. That is for sure. It’s simply too serious to ignore.”
The deacon opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.
“Not you,” Bishop Martin told him. “Isaac had better handle this.”
“But the ring,” the deacon got out.
“Yes,” Bishop Martin said looking at Isaac, “make sure you ask about it. Find out if she still has it.”
“If she does?” The deacon apparently couldn’t let the subject go.
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Bishop Martin said firmly. “First, let Isaac talk with them both. Isaac, don’t try to get information only through John.”
Isaac nodded.
“Communion’s coming up,” the deacon said.
“I know that,” Bishop Martin said, glancing around the room.
“We can’t go to communion if she has a ring in her possession. That’s worse than the Mennonites moving in,” the deacon gasped.
“Not quite that bad,” Bishop Martin replied and chuckled, apparently in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood in the room. “We really need to get back downstairs.”
The deacon fumbled in his pants pocket and produced his pocket watch. “Yes, we’d better,” he said. “It’s a quarter after ten already.”
“You read the Scriptures, as usual,” Bishop Martin said in the deacon’s direction. “Henry will have the opening, and I’ll preach the main sermon.”
Isaac was deeply grateful for the reprieve. He knew that in accordance with their unspoken schedule, it would have been his turn to preach the sermon the bishop had just taken. Isaac nodded his thanks, as the others took notice of the bishop’s action.
They rose and followed Bishop Martin downstairs. Their Sunday shoes sounded loud on the hardwood stairs, made even worse since the singing had halted. Isaac felt the burden on his shoulders, the weight almost more than he could bear. His earlier gratitude had already worn off. The knowledge of what lay ahead stared him in the face.
Bishop Martin must have had this in mind when his turn came to preach. The bishop said God gives grace for the task at hand. That no matter how dark things seem, there is always light ahead in the tunnel. Isaac listened and was grateful, even though the words failed to remove the feeling of dread.
It was not that Isaac doubted. When the time came for testimonies, he pronounced the bishop’s sermon to be in accordance with God’s Word. Thinking about John and Rebecca and their obvious love for each other, Isaac desperately wondered what this could mean for their future.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
John brought the buggy around to the front walk, remembering his father’s request, spoken to him after church. What could Isaac want to speak about this afternoon? He made it clear that he needed to speak with both Rebecca and him. Surely, he thought, the matter could wait and didn’t need to interrupt his time with Rebecca. Isaac had been insistent, though.
Delight filled him when he saw Rebecca coming down the walk, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her bonnet firmly on. Next spring seemed like an awful long time to wait to marry this girl, to call her his wife.
“Hi,” he said, as Rebecca deftly stepped in. She settled herself on the seat and let her shawl drop behind her. The bonnet came off too as he drove out the lane.
He drank in the emotion he felt as she turned her eyes to his face.
“We have to go to our place,” he said. “Dad wants to talk with us.”
“Serious?” she asked still facing him.
“I don’t know.”
“Did we do something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he said and didn’t really want to know at the moment. It was enough that he was with her, wherever that was.
“I have to tell Mom,” she said. “She’ll be wondering.”
He nodded. “We can stop in as we go by.”
“They’re not home yet,” she said. This was information John hadn’t known. His attention had been elsewhere.
“Maybe we should leave a note.”
“Is it that important?�
� Her face was puzzled.
John shrugged and replied, “Dad seemed to think so.”
“Then we’d better. I was going to show you paint chips and my choices. They’re at my place. Remember? I took them home.”
“You can bring them along,” he said. He made no attempt to hide his eagerness.
“At your place,” she said, and made a face, “maybe your parents don’t want us talking about paint on a Sunday or fixing up the house.”
“It’s not really work,” he assured her. “They won’t mind.”
“Okay,” she said, settling back into the seat.
He slapped the reins and urged his horse onward. At the Harshville junction, he turned west toward the covered bridge. His horse didn’t object, even though it was away from home. These were familiar roads.
At the Keim house, John waited in the buggy while Rebecca rushed inside. She soon came back out, her hands full, and her face flushed.
“I left the note,” she said, “but couldn’t find a bag for these. Are you sure your parents don’t mind? They’ll see these because I’ll be carrying them in.”
“They like you,” he assured her. “We can look at the chips in my room.”
He was certain she blushed, but he kept his eyes on the lane. At the blacktop he turned back the way they had come. At the river they rattled across the bridge again and drove up Wheat Ridge Road toward Unity.
Isaac and Miriam were already seated in the living room when they walked in. John figured the conversation with his father could wait, so he led Rebecca toward the stairs door.
“We have some things to look at,” he said as explanation. He knew a silly grin played on his face, and he made no attempt to hide it.
“You can put your things in there,” Miriam said to Rebecca. John was surprised at the sober look on her face.
“We’d better talk first,” Isaac said. He rose from his chair, then must have thought better of it and sat down again.
“Really. This can wait,” Rebecca told John and went toward the sewing room. She came back out with her hands empty. John waited until Rebecca was seated before joining her on the couch.
“Bishop Martin received a letter yesterday from a Rachel Byler. Do you know her, Rebecca?” Isaac asked, his voice gentle but firm.
“Well…yes,” Rebecca said. John thought her voice sounded hesitant, uncertain.
“How much does she know about your life? Your past life?”
“Dad,” John interrupted.
Isaac held up his hand. “Son, this is a serious matter. Hard as this may seem, the whole world apparently will soon hear this. We might as well be ahead of the news.”
“But…Rachel,” Rebecca began, then must have changed her mind. “I don’t know. What would she say about me?”
“She’s one of the family. Emma’s will,” Isaac said.
“I have nothing to do with the will,” Rebecca told him.
“So you said,” Isaac paused, apparently in thought. John knew the conversation wasn’t over.
“What I said was true,” Rebecca told him.
“We don’t doubt you,” Miriam assured her.
“It’s what you might not have said,” Isaac continued.
“This is really painful,” Miriam interrupted. “We all wish this wouldn’t be happening.”
“What is happening?” Rebecca sat up straight on the couch, her back pulled away from the back cushion.
“You told John about Atlee, correct?” Isaac asked.
“Yes,” Rebecca said nodding.
“Dad,” John said again.
“Have you told him everything?” Isaac continued.
“As far as I know.”
“There’s something about a ring—the one Atlee gave you?” Isaac asked, leaning forward in his rocking chair.
“Oh…” was all Rebecca said.
“You didn’t tell John that?” Isaac asked.
She shook her head.
“Maybe you had better tell us now.”
“We had nothing to do with this,” Miriam interrupted. “It was in the letter—the one Bishop Martin received.”
“How would Rachel know about that?” Rebecca seemed to ask the question to no one in particular, her face drawn in pain.
“It doesn’t matter how she knew,” Isaac said. “It matters only if it’s true.”
“It’s true,” Rebecca said, her gaze looked blank, fixed on the living room wall. “Atlee gave me one when we were in school.”
“But Rebecca,” John said, finally finding his voice, “you didn’t mention that in the hospital.”
“I know,” she said. Her eyes focused on his face. They looked frightened, John thought, and his heart reached out to her. “I didn’t think it was important. I did tell you everything else.”
“She did. I still remember even though my brain was fogged up,” John said but didn’t feel like he ought to add anything else. Their conversation had been private, almost sacred to him, not to be spoken of in the presence of his parents.
“Do you still have the ring?” Isaac asked.
Rebecca shook her head.
“When did you have it last?”
“Before Christmas.”
“Last year?”
Rebecca nodded.
“You were a church member then, not just a schoolgirl. You know that.”
Rebecca nodded again.
“I’ll have to pass this on,” Isaac said. “I hope Bishop Martin will understand.”
“You know he won’t,” John spoke up.
“I still have to tell him,” Isaac said. “Someone will let you know what is decided then.”
John glanced at Rebecca’s face, now that his father was done. It was all the time he needed to decide. “Get your things,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
Back in the buggy, he saw her eyes fill with tears. He drove slowly. Where they went, here or there, made no difference at the moment, and he assumed Rebecca felt the same. Above them the sky was still clear, the weather even warmer than earlier. Yet he knew they had just experienced the first cloudburst of a hurricane. He needed no words from Rebecca to know she also knew.
“You should have told him,” he said, as they drove through Unity, “about needing the ring to meet Atlee.”
“That was not for their ears,” Rebecca told him.
“It just made the situation worse.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t,” she said, her lips tightly pressed together.
“I’ll try to talk to Dad when I get back.”
“Don’t do that either. The problem’s not him.”
“Then who is it?” he said almost shouting. “Who is pushing this stuff? Who’s behind these rumors, the letters to me and to the bishop? What about the money coming to you if you marry Amish—if you don’t marry English?”
“Or Mennonite,” she added. “You’re not leaving me, are you?”
“No. Why would I?”
“For lots of reasons,” she said. Her voice trembled, the tears close again.
John held her hand, which didn’t seem to help much.
“It’s the whole world,” she said. “I feel as if it’s out to get me, to get us, to destroy what we have. First the accident and now this—is God against us, John? Do you think He is?”
“No,” he said shaking his head, “He’s for us. I’ve known this since the accident.”
“Then why is He allowing this? Do you know what this could mean? Communion is coming up next month. This ring thing could make the other seem believable. You know people will object.”
“About the money?”
She nodded.
“It’ll be okay.”
“No, it won’t, John. You know it won’t. Things like this don’t blow over. They have to be solved. The deacon will get involved—you know he will. With the deacon nothing is easy. I had a ring in my possession, and they know that now. They’ll have
me do a knee confession, and that would be let off easy.”
“No, they won’t,” John said, horror in his voice.
“How are you going to stop them? It’s not enough to be a minister’s son.”
“I guess you have a point,” John acknowledged, a frown creasing his forehead. “There must be something I can do.”
“Will you still love me?” she asked, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“You know I will.”
“Even if I can’t go along to communion?”
John nodded. “I won’t go either.”
Rebecca shook her head. “That won’t help anything. Go anyway. Will you?”
“First we have to know what they will do. We shouldn’t borrow trouble.”
Rebecca looked at him. “You know Deacon as well as I do.”
“Maybe Bishop Martin will overrule him.”
“With the will hanging over my head?”
John made a face. “Maybe you have to do the confession.”
“It won’t do any good, John.” She bit her lip. “Can’t you see that? The ring proves my motives—at least to them it does. I am guilty not just of the ring, but for wanting to marry you for money. They can’t allow that.”
“They will have to,” John insisted.
She gripped his arm, “You won’t leave me, will you, John? They won’t marry us. Can’t you see that? I’d give the money away—give it to anyone—but I can’t now, not without marrying first. That’s the only way to access the money, to prove my innocence. And they won’t allow us—not now—not with the ring to prove I’m guilty.”
“There has to be some way,” he said, more distraught over her state of mind than with what she had told him.
“A miracle,” she told him, “that’s what it would take. Do you believe in miracles?”
“I believe in you,” he said.
John expected Rebecca’s face to light up, but it didn’t. Instead she sighed and replied, “I’m afraid it’s going to take more than that. A whole lot of other people will have to believe in me too.”
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