The Forbidden

by Beverly Lewis

  She laughed softly as he did so rather comically. “Oh, you silly,” she whispered, leaning against his arm.

  “No sillier than you.” He had taken great care to wrap her in the woolen lap robes. “My cousin’ll be glad we put these to good use.”

  “He’s got himself quite a nice buggy.” She eyed the dashboard.

  “Nice is right. Cousin Aaron purchased a dilapidated family buggy back when he first got married, so he’s needed a new one for a while. He wasn’t too keen on partin’ with this fine one, even for one night. I had to beg, which is why I took so long.”

  “Maybe he suspects what you wanted it for.”

  He smiled and picked up the reins. “Well, he had his share of forbidden loves, too.”

  “Ach, really?”

  Caleb explained that Aaron had never been of the Old Order Amish but rather one of the “team Mennonites,” who drove black buggies—close cousins to their way of life. “But Aaron dated some progressive Amish girls, I’m told, and sneaked around doin’ so.”

  Like us tonight.

  The carriage moved down the road with a gentle jostle, and Nellie wondered if Cousin Aaron might be one to betray Caleb, though she didn’t want to mention it.

  “How’ve you been, Nellie Mae?”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “No . . . really,” he urged. “Catch me up on what I’ve missed.”

  They’d never sat together so privately like this, sheltered from both the elements and observers. The carriage was a marked change from Caleb’s open courting buggy. The dimness of its interior felt strangely intimate, and Nellie felt self-conscious, although she would have welcomed Caleb’s presence in any circumstance.

  “Well, let’s see. I’ll start with Christmas. My brothers and their families all spent the day, and my nieces and nephews took turns stringing popcorn near the cookstove. Emma, Mamma’s favorite—no secret, I daresay—was awful cute, reciting a poem she’d learned from my brother Ephram’s oldest boy. I clapped when Emma finished, and Rhoda said I should quit teachin’ her to be vain.” As soon as Nellie uttered the words, she felt ashamed.

  “Rhoda’s got a lip on her, then?”

  She wanted to make quick amends, for she was not one to speak against her family. “Well, she was prob’ly right,” Nellie added.

  “Aw, honey . . . it’s okay to say what you feel.”

  His response made her wonder if there were things he, too, would like to share about a family member, namely his father. But she wouldn’t bring up that sore topic. “How was Christmas at your house?” she asked.

  He leaned back, nestling her in the bend of his arm before answering. “Worst ever . . . without you.” He leaned closer. “Next year, just think, we’ll be man and wife.”

  Nellie blushed, glad for the darkness, but she wondered how on earth he would ever get his father’s blessing. If he’s sure it will happen, I should simply relax and quit worrying.

  “I’ll convince Daed that we belong together, you’ll see.” He paused. “I say we tie the knot right away in November, all right?”

  Happily she nodded, surprised he was suddenly so open with her when things had seemed quite bleak before. Had something changed? “When the time is closer, I’ll talk it over with Mamma. She’ll want two weeks to get things ready, I’m thinkin’.”

  He agreed, lingering near. “I think often of you bein’ close like this, Nellie Mae. Think of it all the time.”

  She sighed, letting herself rest in his arms. Just knowing he had found a way for them to be married was mighty encouraging.

  He kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

  She kissed him back, a mite closer to his lips than she’d intended—a daring thing, but she wasn’t one bit sorry. “I love you, too.”

  He reached around her and drew her startlingly close, and the lap robe slipped off. “Oh, goodness, look what we’ve done.”

  “We? You did that!” She could hardly stop giggling.

  Leaning over, he pulled the thick blankets back onto her lap, letting her tuck the edges in once again, keeping both of his hands on the reins now.

  They rode for some minutes in total silence, although Nellie was stifling another laugh. She might have let it free if Caleb hadn’t spoken. “My father and I talked about my future this week—went over every detail of the land transfer.” He was quiet for a moment before adding, “Honestly, I believe Daed will relent where you’re concerned . . . in due time.”

  “Such good news, Caleb.” She found his demeanor surprising. Something had radically changed between David Yoder and his son—something Caleb wasn’t telling her.

  “We might not see each other much, or at all, in the meantime. Do you understand?”

  Having experienced how delightful it was to be with him again tonight after being apart just over a month, Nellie would gladly wait for him. She would make the days pass by keeping busy with chores and all the baking required of her. The busy life of running a bakery shop would certainly be a comfort.

  Yet even as she looked ahead to a life with Caleb, Nellie worried that, despite her beloved’s reassurances, his father would be the one to have the last word. She hoped with all her heart that Caleb was not sadly mistaken.

  Betsy had a sinking feeling as she lay in bed, wide awake. She couldn’t shake the notion that something was amiss. Her eldest daughter had not returned home from work yet— if, indeed, Rhoda had been there at all. It was close to ten o’clock already, as she could tell by the position of the nearly three-quarters moon that shone beneath the window shade.

  She’d noticed a fifth necklace today on Rhoda’s side of the dresser she shared with Nan. The growing collection doubtless marked a growing interest in the world, as well.

  Nellie Mae, on the other hand, was as Plain as Betsy was and always would be—or so it appeared. Since one was not privy to another’s heart, how was it possible to fully know, even about her own daughters?

  She’d heard from Esther and Fannie—who, like her, both attended the New Order church—that Jonathan and Linda Fisher had joined the Beachys, just as her own son James and daughter-in-law Martha had. Would the fancier, more progressive group divide yet again? Everyone’s splitting away, it seems.

  And what might Bishop Joseph think of all this? His doing away with any shunning for a full three months might have backfired in some ways, causing this air of leniency.

  Betsy slipped out of bed, aware of Reuben’s deep breathing, his arm flung over his head. The dear man worked the bulk of each day outdoors, from before dawn to as late as after supper, feeding, grooming, and exercising his horses, training them over time to become accustomed to reins and bridles and harnesses.

  She did not begrudge Reuben these moments of needed rest. Going to the window, Betsy moved the shade slightly to peer out at the moon-whitened snow and trees.

  Dear Lord, please look after Rhoda this night. I fear she is far from you. And please put your arms of love around my hurting Nan. Send her a kind and loving man to wed. As for Nellie Mae, I trust you’ll watch over her wherever she may be. Cover each of my children and grandchildren with your grace, goodness, and your love. I ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

  Rhoda guessed her clothes surely reeked of cigarette smoke. She had been sitting at a booth in the Honey Brook Restaurant since well past the supper hour, having gotten a ride to town with Mr. Kraybill, who’d run an errand. She’d felt she might simply burst if she didn’t get away and do something completely different—even daring—for a change. Impulsive as this outing seemed, Rhoda wanted a quiet place to browse the latest car ads in the newspaper, somewhere far from the prying eyes of her family.

  Suddenly, though, she had no idea how she would be getting herself back home.

  Silly of me not to plan ahead, she decided now that the place looked to be emptying.

  She’d met the nicest folk here tonight, some more talkative than others. Yet her mind had remained fixed on her task, and she had pored over the ad section of the
newspaper Mrs. Kraybill had kindly allowed her to take from the house. Presently Rhoda circled the ads that piqued her interest, though was disappointed to see most were well over two thousand dollars—at least the most recent models were. She couldn’t imagine spending even that.

  Rhoda regretted having saved only four hundred fifty dollars in the past three months. Too many frivolous purchases. Still, she thought she could handle payments, assuming she had enough to put down on a car loan.

  A brown “fully loaded” 1963 Rambler caught her eye, as did a red 1965 Rambler convertible, impractical as it was, and a blue 1960 Falcon. The thought of a black 1964 Imperial sedan inexplicably brought to mind her brother Benjamin’s courting buggy, long since traded in for a family carriage.

  Rhoda sighed. Truth was, she hadn’t the slightest idea how to go about purchasing a car, unless she got some credit. But who would lend her the money?

  Will the Kraybills continue to hire me to keep house? A big consideration. Dat had always said never to count your chickens before they’re hatched. She wondered how far into the future she could hope to be employed within walking distance of her father’s house.

  Returning her attention to the paper, she spread out the several pages. She reveled in trying to decode the ad for each car.

  Eventually she felt someone’s gaze and glanced up to see a nice-looking man, his deep blue eyes seeming to inquire of her.

  “Excuse me, miss. I happened to notice you sitting here alone.”

  She nodded, feeling terribly awkward. What a sight she must be—the only young woman in the whole place wearing a cape dress and a head covering. He must be wondering what she was doing circling car ads so eagerly.

  “I’m lookin’ for a nice, well, a used car,” she explained. The perfect car . . .

  He was not a waiter, she realized when he asked hesitantly if he might help. “May I join you?”

  She looked around. “Are ya askin’ to sit with me?”

  “Only if I can be of help, miss.”

  “Rhoda,” she was quick to say. “And do sit, if you’d like.”

  He introduced himself as Glenn Miller, named after some band that had made a debut in New York City the year he was born. He was surprisingly friendly and chatty—polite, too. Possibly he was curious about her Plain attire just as others had seemed to be, yet everyone she’d visited with this evening had been exceedingly gracious.

  Rhoda realized it was her turn to say more about herself, so she mentioned that her father bred and raised horses. “We’ve got a bakery shop on the premises, too. Seems an ad’s even been runnin’ in the Lancaster paper ’bout it.”

  Glenn repeatedly blinked his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Miss Rhoda . . . I guess I don’t follow.”

  She felt ever so silly. “No, maybe it’s me that should be sorry. I’m surely speakin’ out of turn, jah?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He winked at her and she blushed immediately. “You go ahead and speak however you wish.”

  He flashed another smile. “Now, which cars have your interest?”

  She didn’t think she ought to say—suddenly she felt all ferhoodled, sitting in an English restaurant with such a fine-looking man. Was it a good or bad sign that he kept smiling at her? In truth she had no idea who this Glenn fellow was.

  “Well, I oughta be gettin’ home,” she said softly, wondering why she had announced that. By implication, she’d pretended to know how she was getting home, when she certainly had no idea.

  “You got your horse and buggy out back?” Glenn glanced out the window. Rhoda could see by the streetlights that it was beginning to snow again.

  “Not this time,” she admitted, lowering her head.

  “You need a lift, don’t you, little lady?”

  Little? This was the first she’d heard that since she was maybe ten or so. From then on she’d grown to become pleasingly plump, although perhaps chubbier than most fellows cared for. Most, except for Glenn here, who was now reaching across the table for her hand with the most endearing look. “I’d be honored to take you wherever you want to go, Miss Rhoda.”

  She hesitated. Should she let this strange man touch her hand?

  Rhoda had never been told she was or wasn’t a good judge of character, so when Mr. Glenn Miller, with his appealing smile and crisply ironed white shirt and handsome knit sweater vest, asked her yet again if she wanted a ride, Rhoda actually considered saying yes. She felt sure that if she looked hard enough into his clear eyes—the windows to his soul, as Mamma said—she would know whether it was prudent to accept his kind offer.

  CHAPTER 12

  Rhoda was not so much alarmed as she was tired when Glenn pulled his car over onto the shoulder and slowed to a stop. She’d done the selfsame thing with the horse and buggy when she’d lost her way. She and her newfound friend—an Englischer, of all things—were apparently lost somewhere in Chester County, well beyond Beaver Dam Road. She wished for a map to guide them back to Route 340, but she didn’t dare mention it. Glenn had talked nearly nonstop since they’d left the restaurant, describing a number of bossy women in his life, as he put it. Several at work . . . two younger sisters and suchlike . . . but not a word about a girlfriend.

  She was determined to show him by sitting demurely in the front seat that she was not the bossy type. No, Rhoda was satisfied to wait for him to decide what to do about their having gone astray. At least they hadn’t run out of gasoline, like she’d heard happened occasionally to others. On such a clear and brilliant moonlit night, surely they would find Dat’s house in due time.

  A thin cloud passed over the moon, and Rhoda gazed at the vastness of the dark sky, filled with jewel-like stars. They reminded her of the several necklaces she’d purchased so spontaneously. My weakness, she thought, realizing she’d have to curb that impulse if she was to have enough to make car payments.

  She turned her attention to the man behind the steering wheel. Glenn seemed to be in no hurry to discover where they’d gone off the beaten path. More eager to get home now, she asked, “Are you thinking we should retrace our steps?”

  “Not just yet.”

  She felt tense suddenly . . . and irritated.

  “We’ll turn back soon enough,” he said.

  Trying not to sigh too loudly, Rhoda guessed Glenn merely needed to sit there and talk awhile longer.

  Nellie felt fully contented while riding over the back roads in Caleb’s borrowed carriage. She relaxed as he rambled, talking now of his Yoder relatives who’d left the Old Ways decades ago. “I scarcely know them, but they’re close with my cousin Aaron and his family.”

  “Oh?”

  “Their grandparents made the mistake Preacher Manny and so many are makin’ even now.”

  He means my parents, too.

  “Turning away from the Ordnung?” she asked.

  “Well, more than that. Not only did they leave the church, but they skipped over a few of the more conservative churches, makin’ a beeline for the Mennonites.”

  “Who do ya mean?”

  He paused.

  Had her question caused him distress, asking about this branch of his family tree, no longer in the fold? “It’s all right, Caleb. I don’t have to know, really.”

  “Well, I daresay you oughta . . .” He reached for her hand. “I ’spect their leavin’ the People influenced your Suzy away from the church . . . which led to her death.”

  “What?” Startled, she looked at him.

  “I recently heard that several of my own cousins were with Suzy the day she drowned. Dreadful news.”

  Nellie wouldn’t admit already knowing as much from Suzy herself. “She was with a whole group of young people that day,” she pointed out.

  “Oh, there were plenty there, all right. But my own kin would never have been present had their grandparents remained in the old church. Don’t ya see, Nellie, everything has its consequence? You choose where you’ll go, what you’ll do. Everything affects everything else.”

 
His words seemed important, even insightful. “This troubles you, ain’t so?” she said.

  “I can see the future. Ours.” His words were barely audible. “If we don’t exercise our will—”

  “Over your father’s?” she interrupted. “Oh, Caleb . . . this seems very hard.”

  “I’ll find a way for Daed to accept you.” He kissed her hand. “I must.”

  He leaned his head against hers as though they were molded in thought. Deeply upset, he was, and no wonder. Their future, their love, was entwined with strife.

  She choked back tears. “Sometimes I see a boat in my mind . . . like the rowboat Suzy fell out of,” she began. “Dat, Mamma, my family—all of them—are in it, leavin’ me behind for a distant shore. I feel that if I don’t catch that boat somehow, I’ll be stuck on the other side forever. It worries me somethin’ awful, to tell you the truth.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Your heart’s tender toward your family, is all.”

  Hearing his care, the gentleness in his voice, Nellie began to sob. “Don’t you see? If I keep refusin’ to go to church with Mamma and Dat, I’ll miss out on knowing more ’bout Suzy’s faith. Yet if I join the new church and you remain in the old, we’ll never have a chance to wed.” She wept into her hands.

  “Oh, Nellie. Don’t cry . . . don’t.”

  Caleb fell silent. More than anything, Nellie hated the thought of being divided from either him or her family. Yet she could not help but notice the excitement her parents and Nan now had for Sunday Preaching and evening Scripture reading.

  Caleb’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Nellie, we mustn’t lose each other. Not for anyone or anything.”

  She wished she could clearly see his dear countenance . . . his hazel eyes. “I must sound all mixed-up to you, and believe me, I am sometimes.”

  “Well, you don’t need to be confused. Just remain in the Old Ways, where you belong.”

  She breathed in the icy air. “I hope you understand why I worry so.” She stopped for a moment, hesitating. “God’s Word—that’s what Dat calls the Bible—changed everything for the better for Suzy. And now for Dat and Mamma, too. So many of my family.” She wiped her tears.