The Forgiven

by Marta Perry

  He stopped himself from saying something unforgiveable about the source of Sadie’s resentment. “As far as I can see, Rebecca doesn’t have time for anyone but her family and her kinder.” He kept his tone mild with an effort. “Right now all I’m interested in is getting my business off the ground and helping Onkel Silas and Aunt Lovina. It seems to me somebody ought to make an effort to get Isaiah to write to his mamm, if nothing else.”

  Sadie was silent for a moment, and he had an idea she was struggling with herself. Finally she picked up a dish towel and dried her hands, still not looking at him.

  “I don’t know where he is,” she said at last. “I was so angry when he said he was thinking of leaving. . . .” She pressed her lips together, as if wishing something unsaid. “Anyway, he didn’t tell me. He might have talked to Simon Lapp. You could try him.”

  Matt nodded, judging it as well not to say anything more with Sadie’s mood as precarious as it was.

  But Simon Lapp—why, of all people, did it have to be Simon? Given the way he’d acted the one time he’d talked to Matt, it seemed very unlikely that Simon would want to confide in him.

  • • •

  “I think we’re almost finished with the sorting. We have the lists for Grossmammi of everything that’s up here. All that remains is moving it out before the sale of the farm is finalized.”

  Rebecca said the words with a sense of relief as she glanced around her grandmother’s attic. With everything she’d had to do getting ready for her first guests this weekend, she couldn’t really afford many more afternoons spent in this attic.

  She ran a dust cloth over the rungs of a rocking chair. All that remained was the final cleaning up.

  “Lots of the relatives are stopping in over the weekend to pick out what Grossmammi wants them to have. She told me you’re going to store some things for her in your attic.” Judith gave Rebecca a questioning look. “Are you sure you have room?”

  Rebecca nodded. “The attic was empty when we bought the farm, and we haven’t really added much to it. It’s fine. I don’t want Grossmammi to feel that it all has to be given away. You know how she likes to tell the family stories about the things.”

  Judith moved a dresser a few inches and closed the top drawer. “That’s certain-sure. Well, we know how busy you are with your first guests coming in so soon. Barbie and I can finish without your help. Ain’t so, Barbie?”

  Barbie, thus prompted, nodded. “I guess.”

  Rebecca closed her lips on the comment that Barbie had been late today yet again. “Denke, but I’m about ready. I just have some last-minute things to do tomorrow.”

  And the next day her guests would arrive. She couldn’t give in to the panic she felt at the thought.

  Judith nodded. “Well, don’t forget we offered if you get busy. I’m sure your mamm and daad will be wonderful glad to see this place cleared out and finally get Grossmammi moved in with them.”

  “Mamm’s been ready for weeks, I think.” Rebecca straightened, setting the rocker moving with a touch of her finger. “Grossmammi reminded me that she wants each of us to have something special to keep.”

  “She told me that, too.” Barbie’s lively face grew serious. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but really—” Her gesture took in the contents of the attic. “There’s nothing here I want.”

  “You will hurt her if you say so.” Rebecca frowned at her young cousin. At least she was thinking instead of blurting it out, but didn’t she have any feeling for her family history?

  “She’ll want to choose something for you,” Judith suggested, her tone that of a peacemaker. “She likes to match the gift to the person, I think.”

  “What if—” Barbie began, and then seemed to think better of whatever she’d been going to say. “What does she want you to take?”

  “The study table, but I told her that if anyone else wanted it, I’d have something else.” Judith, as usual, seemed ready to give up her choice if challenged.

  “You should have it,” Rebecca said quickly, darting a warning glance toward Barbara but then realizing it wasn’t necessary. Barbie didn’t care.

  Judith ran her hand along the sturdy oak table, built with drawers along one side. “The boys can do their schoolwork at this nice piece. And that will move them off the kitchen table right when I’m busy fixing a meal or cleaning up. But are you sure this isn’t what you had your eye on, Rebecca?”

  She shook her head. “My heart already belongs to the dower chest with Anna’s things in it, and I know Grossmammi wants me to have it. I’ve been reading Anna’s journal when I have time, and she’s starting to feel like a friend.”

  “Does Grossmammi remember anything about the things Anna wrote about?” Judith set to work dusting a small bookcase.

  “I asked, but she said not much. She was just a little girl during World War Two, and she said you take things for granted when you’re a child.”

  Judith seemed to consider the words. “I guess that’s true. Children aren’t troubled as long as life goes along steadily from day to day. And I sometimes think they can accept changes more easily than adults can.”

  True. Rebecca couldn’t help but consider how her own two had coped with the changes that had been forced upon them. Katie had actually seemed more like her old self since the night they’d talked, and Rebecca could only thank the good Lord that difficulty had turned out for the best.

  “I’ll be doing my baking tomorrow,” Judith said, concentrating on the bookcase. “I’ll bring over a couple of loaves of bread and a coffee cake. With your guests coming in, you can use some extras.”

  “You don’t need—” Rebecca began, but Judith didn’t let her finish before she was shaking her head.

  “I want to,” she said. “You’ll make me happy by accepting.”

  Rebecca nodded, her throat tightening. “Denke, Judith. I have to admit I’m nervous about the whole thing. I’ll be glad to have some extra food, just in case.”

  Judith sat back on her heels, studying Rebecca’s face. “You know, maybe that’s why you’re so drawn to Anna. She was facing a scary future, too.”

  “Maybe.” Rebecca wasn’t sure she wanted to think about it that way.

  “You know all your family wants to help,” Judith said, her expression intent.

  “I know.”

  Judith meant well. They all did. The problem was that no matter how much anyone wanted to help, in the end it all came down to her. And she just wasn’t sure she could do it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lancaster County, March 1942

  Anna couldn’t deny the truth, even to herself. She was afraid. Even as she measured oats into the feed pails for the buggy horses, safe in their own barn, doing her familiar chores, the fear and uncertainty crept in.

  The past few months had been full of news about the war. It was going badly, it seemed. On a rare trip to town for Daadi, she’d seen posters everywhere urging people to participate in the war effort, saying, “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.”

  All the Englisch could talk about was the need for more men, more food, more guns and tanks for the war. And if they happened to see her listening, they turned away.

  And now the threat of conscription hung over their young men. If they were called up—Jacob, Seth, all the Amish boys she’d known since they were toddlers—what would they do?

  Anna reached across the stall bars to pat Bell, and the mare turned away from her oats for a moment to nuzzle Anna’s hand.

  “That mare loves you more than she loves her grain, ain’t so?” Daadi, coming down the loft ladder after tossing hay down to the stalls, actually smiled at her. Smiles had been in short supply lately, it seemed to her.

  “She’ll turn back to her supper fast enough.” Anna pulled her black wool sweater closed over her apron. The sun was setting, the air still co
ld in late March once it was down. “Daadi . . .” She hesitated, not sure she wanted to put her fear into words.

  “What is it, child?” He leaned against the stall bar next to her, his lean face carrying new lines above his beard. “You’re fretting. Did something happen when you went to the mill this afternoon? Your mamm was scolding me for letting you go alone.”

  “It was all right.” Mammi would keep all of them under her eyes constantly if she could, these days. “Folks were talking about the war. When they saw me, they stopped talking. They looked at me funny, like I was a stranger instead of somebody they’ve known for years.”

  “People are afraid, not knowing what’s going to happen. That fear makes them seek someone to blame.” He shook his head. “Your mamm was right. I shouldn’t have sent you there alone.”

  “I was fine,” she insisted quickly. “I guess I should be getting used to it by now.” But she wasn’t, and she suspected she never would. “I heard Mr. Andrews say that this war is a just war. That we have to fight for freedom for those people who are enslaved.” Somehow, when the elderly Englischer had said it, it seemed to make sense to her.

  “‘Thou shalt not kill. If someone strikes thee on the right cheek, turn to him the left one also.’” Daad’s voice rolled the scriptural words out solemnly. “Those are the words we live by. What others do is up to them, but we must obey Christ’s teachings, even when we don’t understand.”

  Her fingers tightened on the rough wood of the stall door. She didn’t really want to talk about whether war was justified or not. Her concerns were more personal. “What will happen if our boys get conscription letters? Seth . . . Jacob . . . What will happen to them?”

  “You’re worrying that it will be as bad as it was in the last war because of what your onkel said, ain’t so?”

  She nodded. “It sounded so terrible.”

  “It was, but at least we’re not alone this time. All of the peace churches are joining to face this trial with us. And the bishop says there are friends of the churches among the Englisch, even in the government, who are working to make sure our boys will not be forced to kill.”

  “But if they are sent away . . .”

  Daad took her hands in his work-roughened ones. “Anna, we must have faith. We must continue to be humble and forgiving and to live at peace. No matter what happens to us, it must be God’s will.”

  He said the words firmly, but she could see the pain in his face. Did it wonder him, too, how he could hold on to his faith and courage in the days ahead?

  “I know, Daadi. I’ll try my best to be faithful.” But when even her father and the bishop walked around with grave faces, it was hardly any wonder that she fretted and struggled.

  Daadi held her hands for a moment longer. “You’re a gut child, Anna. I wish . . .” He stopped and shook his head. Then he turned and walked toward the house, his head and shoulders bowed as if he carried a heavy burden.

  Bell, finished with her oats, poked her head over the stall bars and blew gently on Anna’s neck. Anna tilted her head against the mare’s face.

  “What is happening to us?” she murmured. She stood for a moment, feeling the warmth of the animal’s body, until the scrape of a shoe on the barn ramp told her someone else was coming.

  “Anna?” Jacob stood in the doorway, his gaze seeking her in the dim barn.

  “Here.” She stepped into the yellow glow of the lantern. “I didn’t expect to see you this early in the evening.”

  Jacob came toward her quickly, his face lighting with a smile as it always did when he saw her. “I can’t stay long, but I hoped I could catch you to talk for a moment before you went inside.”

  “I’m glad.” She held out her hand, seeking his, and he grasped it, threading his fingers with hers.

  “You were talking with your daad. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “You could have.” She drew him closer. “He was trying to help me make sense of things. I was just worried about . . . everything.”

  “We all are.” His fingers moved on her hand, caressing her skin. “That’s really what I wanted to see you about.”

  Her heart clenched. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I just wanted to tell you that I spoke with the bishop today. It seemed to me we need more information. He agreed. He is already planning to have a gathering after worship on Sunday to talk with the young men and their parents about what to do if . . . when they get conscription notices.”

  “Maybe it won’t happen.” She tried to cling to what she feared was a forlorn hope. “So many men are volunteering, I heard. So maybe they won’t need any more.”

  Jacob shook his head. “They will always need more, I think. The war is all over the world—in Europe, in Asia—no place seems to be spared. We’ll be called to serve, just like all the Englisch boys.” His face was solemn in the dim light, all strong bones and shadows.

  “But you can’t fight. You can’t kill someone,” she protested, knowing they’d been through it all before but unable to stop.

  “The bishop says we will have to apply to be conscientious objectors.” He said the words carefully, as if they were as strange as they sounded. “That means we are saying that we can’t kill, no matter what.”

  She squeezed his hand. “That didn’t help the last time. You know it didn’t. Amish men were forced into uniform, and if they wouldn’t fight, they were put in prison.”

  “Don’t, Anna. Don’t think that way.” Jacob slipped his arm around her and drew her close.

  She could feel the warmth and strength of him, and he was inexpressibly dear to her. What if they took him away?

  “It could happen.” Her voice caught on a sob.

  “Our friends are working for us in Washington. That’s what the bishop says. All of us . . . Mennonites, Quakers, Amish . . . we’re all in this situation together.”

  “If the worst happened, and they made you go into the army, could you do it?” She looked up into his face. “Could you raise a gun against another person to kill?”

  He hesitated. Then he put his palms on either side of her face, cradling it in his hands. “No. I couldn’t. I have searched my heart again and again. I could not take a life, no matter what the cost.”

  It was what she expected him to say. What she wanted him to say. And yet, some small part of her cried out that he might have to do so to protect himself.

  “Keep on hoping, my Anna.” He put his forehead against hers and whispered the words. “Have faith.”

  Something in his voice alerted her. There was more to this than he was saying.

  She drew back a little, looking into his face, her eyes widening. “Jacob, why did you go to the bishop today? Did you . . .” She couldn’t finish.

  He nodded, his face bleak. “I received my call-up notice from the draft board today.”

  She should speak. She should say something encouraging, something hopeful. But she couldn’t. She could only step into his arms and hold him close while it seemed her heart broke into pieces.

  • • •

  When Rebecca saw the shiny blue convertible pulling into the lane on Friday afternoon, her heart plummeted. Mr. and Mrs. Strickland had arrived.

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t prepared. The house had been cleaned as thoroughly as if she were hosting worship, baked goods lined one kitchen counter, and the refrigerator was stocked with everything she might possibly need for the meals she’d be preparing.

  But all of that external preparation didn’t seem to help in the least when her insides didn’t match her outside. She, the house, and the kinder might all look prepared for guests, but her heart was thudding, her breath coming too fast, and her hands as cold as a windowpane on a winter morning.

  Rebecca took one last glance out the window, sucked in a deep breath, and headed for the porch to greet her guests.

&nb
sp; Roy and Melissa Strickland had been among the first to visit two summers ago. In their late fifties, they both seemed to look and act younger. They’d been filled with enthusiasm about helping Paul with every farm chore imaginable, and she prayed they’d be willing to transfer that allegiance to Simon. The only hope she had of getting through the weekend was to have them out of the house as much as possible.

  When they began taking bags out of their car, she hurried to meet them, arranging a smile on her face. “It’s so nice to see you, Mrs. Strickland. Mr. Strickland.”

  “Melissa and Roy, remember?” Mrs. Strickland surrendered her suitcase to Rebecca with a smile and pulled off the silk scarf that must have been intended to protect her hair from the wind in the topless car. It must have worked, because every auburn curl was in place. “You don’t know how much we’ve been looking forward to a nice, relaxing weekend in the country.”

  “Not so much of the relaxing for me, thanks.” Roy, brisk and ruddy, shook hands and smiled a greeting to Katie and Joshua.

  Katie stood up very straight. “Wilkom. We are wonderful glad to see you.” She’d memorized the greeting, and she brought it out quickly in English.

  Joshua, still uncomfortable when he was expected to speak English, gave a quick nod and then sidled behind Rebecca, his hand clutching her skirt.

  “Komm.” She detached Joshua and turned toward the door. “I’ve put you in the same room you had the last time you were here. I hope that suits you.”

  “Fine, fine.” Roy reached out as if to tousle Joshua’s hair, but he stopped when Josh pulled back. Obviously the talk she’d had with him about how to behave around guests hadn’t been enough to help him overcome his shyness.

  She couldn’t scold him, since she felt much the same herself. Rebecca led the Stricklands inside. Talk, she commanded herself, but she couldn’t seem to think of anything to say.

  Melissa glanced around the downstairs as they paused inside the door. “Where’s Paul?” she said, her voice loud in the quiet house. “We thought he’d be here to meet us.”