She caught sight of the group of women heading toward her and her pace quickened. She’d recognized someone.
He frowned. Another one of those temperance supporters, come to town to meet up with Annie and the others?
That’s all I need. Now they’re swarming in from out of town.
Resigned to the coming confrontation, he headed across the street.
Every step Rebecca took on the hard-packed dirt street sent pain shooting from her toes to halfway up her legs. The stylish boots had looked so adorably irresistible in the dressmaker’s shop, with their high tabbed fronts and buckles. They were nothing an Amish woman would ever wear, which was part of their appeal. That’s what rumspringa was all about, sampling things of the Englisch world. The heels had caused her to stagger a bit at first, but the dressmaker assured her that she would soon grow accustomed to them, and that the narrow toes would stretch to conform to her feet. In a hundred years, perhaps. They had been bearable while seated for the train ride from Hays City to Lawrence, but the moment she’d stood, her toes had cramped in the tight confines of the stiff leather, and the pain grew worse with every step. Rebecca wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand the agony.
How did Englisch women walk around in these things? And pay good money for them? Was this what God meant when He said, “Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall”? Because if she had to endure another hour of this torture, she would fall flat on her foolish face.
Perhaps her feet were malformed and not appropriate for today’s fashions. She’d never noticed other women hobbling. The Englisch woman had assured her that the shoes, along with the dress that fit Rebecca perfectly, previously belonged to a lady of fashion who met an unfortunate end during childbirth last spring. That’s why she’d been able to offer them for such a good price. Rebecca had flinched at the “good price” the dressmaker named. The outfit was a wild extravagance, costing enough money for Maummi to make at least a dozen Amish dresses and have enough left over to purchase four pairs of shoes that fit.
Rebecca ran a hand down the soft fabric of her yellow skirt. The garment was truly the finest she’d ever owned or was likely to own again. A sideways glance showed her a dim reflection in the window of the general store. Ruffles trailed from the bustle like a waterfall. The snug waist emphasized a slender frame and accentuated the womanly curves that were effectively hidden behind the black bulk of her Amish dresses. And the hat! Oh, what a lavish purchase that had been. She lifted a hand to brush the feathers that formed a smart display at the top of her head. In this hat and dress, she looked exactly like a stylish Englisch woman. Heat rushed into her cheeks at the pleasure her reflection gave her.
Jesse would love it. Bishop Miller would certainly disapprove. Papa would fall down dead.
Another step, and pain shot again from her cramped toes to her heel and up her calf. Movement in the street ahead drew her attention. A group had gathered on the wooden walkway in front of a building. All women. When Rebecca had allowed the conductor to assist her down from the train, she’d been attacked by a sudden fit of nervousness. The dress might look stylish, but she now felt out of place in it. What if the people of Lawrence mistook her for a fashionable woman and expected her to know the mysterious ways of the Englisch? The women before her now were all dressed in sensible fabrics, and there was not a hat to be seen.
Rebecca determined to find a sympathetic-looking woman in the group to help her locate an inexpensive boardinghouse. Once she was settled, she could begin her search for Jesse and supper for her empty stomach—and of even more importance at the moment, a glass of water. Such a fierce thirst had taken hold of her that she felt she could spit cotton.
Rebecca searched for a caring female face in the crowd.
The four men who had disembarked the train with her headed down the street, and she fell in behind them. When they reached the gathering crowd, they came to a halt so suddenly that she almost ran into them from behind before she limped to a painful halt in the street.
“Pardon us, ladies,” one of the men said, “but if you’ll step aside, we’ll just squeeze past you.”
A female voice, rich and masterful, rang out. “Pardon? There is only one who pardons wicked behavior, and if you intend to bestow your patronage on this sinful establishment, then I venture to say you know Him not!”
Rebecca edged sideways to peer around the backs of the four railway passengers. The speaker was a tall woman, perhaps thirty years old, with smooth skin and hair arranged in a stylish knot on top of her head. The color of her dress was dark enough to satisfy even Maummi’s requirements, but the snug waist and buttons at the cuff would never be tolerated in the Amish community, nor would the elaborate lace-and-ribbon collar that hugged high up her neck. Rebecca fingered the lace at her own collar, which was not nearly high enough to brush her chin. The lady stood surrounded by women, her spine erect as she glowered down the length of her nose at the men through light blue eyes that shone with purpose.
“What’s this?” The man turned to his companions. “Did she just call us wicked and sinful?”
“I believe she did,” one of his companions answered.
“I know what this is.” A third man fixed the woman with a narrow-eyed stare. “It’s one of those temperance meetings, where the women are against liquor. I heard Kansas was full of ’em.”
The lady, obviously the leader, pointed a finger at each of the men in turn.
“We stand in support of the law, both of man and of God. Liquor is the devil’s drink, and those who partake stand in danger of being devoured by his fiery flames.”
The man in front of Rebecca took a step back. His foot trod upon her stylish boot, and for a moment Rebecca thought those fiery flames had found her. Agony exploded in her toes. Her vision blurred with tears as she staggered sideways to get out of his way.
“Oh! I beg your pardon, miss.” The man jerked away and reached to steady her. “I didn’t see you back there.”
She couldn’t find the breath to immediately answer, but she attempted a forgiving smile. When the pain receded somewhat, she found herself returning to the speaker’s piercing gaze that now pinpointed her. She swallowed against a parched throat.
“Are you planning to enter this establishment along with these men?” The tone put Rebecca in mind of the time Maummi scolded her for fidgeting on the bench during the preaching at church.
She shook her head. “I’m only looking for a drink.”
Shock widened the woman’s eyes, and several of the other ladies drew indignant gasps. The women stared at her as if they had caught sight of a particularly loathsome spider. Two stepped away.
Confused, Rebecca met their accusing stares. “I’m thirsty—”
Men’s laughter erupted, and she became aware of lively music drifting through the swinging doors. She’d heard that kind of music before, in Hays City, from inside a…
She drew in a quick breath. A saloon! The women were standing in front of a saloon, and they thought she intended to go inside along with the men from the train.
“Water,” she said quickly. “I need a drink of water for my parched throat.” She stepped away to disassociate herself from the men.
Suspicion overtook the leader’s features. “You don’t imbibe strong spirits?”
Rebecca straightened and looked her in the eye. “Never once in all my life.”
“She’s with us, then, Annie.” The woman standing next to the leader strode forward, looped arms with Rebecca, and tugged her back into the midst of the group. Rebecca was pulled along, wincing at the pain the steps inflicted on her feet.
“Look,” said an elderly female voice from behind her. “Here comes Sheriff Maddox.”
A man approached from across the street, his step firm and his stride long. He wore an Englisch hat with an oblong brim that turned up at the sides. His dark hair had been cut short but still showed a hint of curl behind his ears. On his leather vest he wore a metal star
, and at his side hung a holstered pistol. A young man, Rebecca realized, with striking dark eyes that swept from the men to the women.
“What seems to be the problem here, folks?” His words were spoken in a pleasant tone and his lips wore the hint of a smile, though caution lay heavy in his gaze.
One of the men spoke up. “Why, no trouble, Sheriff. We just got off the train and were heading into the saloon to wet our whistle.” His head dipped toward the group. “Seems these ladies don’t want us going inside.”
The sheriff’s gaze rested on the ringleader, who stood beside Rebecca.
“Annie, didn’t I ask you to stay away from the saloon?”
Annie stretched to her full height, which made her nearly a head taller than Rebecca.
“Someone must stand against the devil’s schemes to destroy the lives of the men of Lawrence.”
Rebecca found her arms caught up, locked at the elbow on one side with Annie and another lady on the other. Women shifted around her and looped arms to form a human chain, three deep, with Rebecca front and center.
At a noise behind her, she turned her head. A large man wearing a stained apron over his shirt had stepped through the saloon’s swinging doors. He glowered at the women as he strode around them. Across the street, a couple strolling down the sidewalk stopped to watch and were soon joined by others.
“What’s going on out here?” The big man’s booming voice matched his menacing stature, and Rebecca found herself avoiding his angry glare.
“I have things under control, Ed.” The sheriff tipped his head toward the saloon. “You go on back inside and take care of your customers.”
“Yes,” Annie said, her voice every bit as weighty as Ed’s. “Return to your illegal trade where you may ruin more men’s lives.”
Rebecca would have shrank back from the fury that erupted in Ed’s face, except that she was snared by her elbows and unable to extricate herself. Beside her, Annie’s shoulders straightened. How could she stand before such anger without trembling?
“All we want is a drink,” one of the railroad passengers said. He glanced at his companions. “We don’t want no trouble.”
The man beside him offered a nod. “We’ll go elsewhere. I’m certain there are other establishments in town.”
The men started to back away.
“Hey!” Ed turned toward the sheriff. “Did you hear that? These women are fixin’ to lose me more business. Aren’t you going to do something about it?”
The sheriff drew in a calm breath, and Rebecca marveled at his composure. Even an Amish man would be tempted to frown.
“Yes, Ed. I expect I am.” He called to the retreating men. “Gentlemen, you don’t have to take your business elsewhere. The ladies were just leaving. Weren’t you, ladies?”
His glance swept the group and came to a rest on Rebecca. She widened her eyes in what she hoped was an innocent expression. Judging by the way his dark brows knitted into a demand rather than a suggestion, she doubted he’d caught her meaning.
Annie’s body became rigid, and she said tightly, “We’re…not… going…anywhere.”
A silent gasp filled Rebecca. How dare she speak to a lawman in such a manner! Anticipation filled her as she focused on the combatants.
“Ladies,” he began, still unruffled, “how many times do I have to tell you that you can’t strong-arm a man—or woman—from entering the Lucky Dollar or any other local establishment?” The sheriff caught sight of someone behind Rebecca. “Miz Evans, what if someone tried to stop customers from coming in your store? Or your husband’s barber shop, Miz Kramer? You would expect me to uphold the law for you, wouldn’t you?”
A voice behind Rebecca replied uncertainly, “Well, yes. I suppose we would, but this is different.”
“No, ma’am. It’s not. Now, all of you go on home and we’ll end this real peaceable-like.”
Annie’s head jerked around to deliver a piercing glance. “Not a one of us is operating an illegal business. Nor do we destroy lives in the process of practicing our trades.”
Illegal? That was the second time she’d mentioned the saloon being illegal. Rebecca stole a glance at the man named Ed, who apparently owned the saloon. Was he a lawbreaker?
The railroad passengers took another few backward steps, apparently eager to escape the conflict that continued to grow. If only she could join them. Confrontations like this never happened in Apple Grove. People there spoke in soft voices to their neighbors, not angry shouts that made her insides twist.
“No, wait.” Ed took a step toward the crowd with an outstretched hand. “Don’t go. For your trouble, the first drink is on the house.”
They stopped their retreat, expressions suddenly eager.
Ed looked at Colin. “Are you gonna do something, Sheriff, or do I have to get the mayor?”
The sheriff closed his eyes, his lips a tight line. When he opened them a moment later, he pushed the hat back on his head, revealing a wide forehead and more thick, dark hair.
He glanced at Annie. “You’re making this hard on me.” His tone could almost be noted as pleading now. “You don’t want to go to jail for disturbing the peace again, do you?”
Jail? The word slapped at Rebecca like a whip. It was time for her to make a polite exit. She tried loosening her arms in an effort to slip out of the chain, but Annie pulled her closer with a firm movement.
A fierce gleam shone in the woman’s eyes. “The apostle Paul was jailed for his convictions, and we are no less determined than he.”
All around her, women’s heads bobbed.
“Jailed for our cause!” someone behind her cried. Rather than sounding upset, the woman’s tone rang with righteous satisfaction.
The sheriff extended a hand. “Now, Annie, be reasonable. Go on home and have a nice supper with your family. Enjoy the pleasant weather.”
Annie replied in a fierce tone, not to the sheriff, but to her fellow protesters. “Stand firm, ladies. We are engaged in a battle. But never fear! We have righteousness on our side. We shall win the war!” She burst into song, not in German, as Rebecca was accustomed to hearing, but in English. “Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war…”
Female voices all around Rebecca joined in. “With the cross of Jesus going on before.”
War? Rebecca’s mouth went even drier than before. The Amish were peaceful people. She tried again to disentangle her arm, but she was still held fast while the song swelled around her. The crowd across the street grew and moved closer as folks gathered close, their expressions ranging from interested to amused.
A young woman joined the onlookers on the right, her shiny red lips glistening. Her dress was yellow, like Rebecca’s, but brighter in hue with an abundance of ruffles and a neckline that dropped down lower than that of any other woman present. Curls of blond hair were piled in an elaborate arrangement on her head and adorned with colorful flowers. With a shock, Rebecca realized she had just come out of the saloon, as had several of the others who stood gawking at the singing women.
She’s a fallen woman!
Ed stepped forward and addressed the crowd. “Don’t worry, folks. Sheriff Maddox has this under control. Go on back inside. Sassy here will sing you a song, and I’ll be right in to pour another round. This one’s on the house!”
A cheer went up from the crowd. The blonde caught Rebecca’s eye and her smile deepened. The heat in Rebecca’s cheeks intensified.
“C’mon, fellas,” the girl said. “I have a real special song to sing for you, much better than that old war tune.”
She turned and flounced away. Rebecca was horrified to see that much of the crowd followed her. The singing around her increased in volume. If her hands had been free, she would have covered her ears.
Ed turned to face the sheriff, his arms folded across his chest.
“This has gone on long enough, Maddox. End it.”
The sheriff lifted his hat with one hand and ran a hand across his hair. Then he set his hat b
ack on, straight and firm, and with a sideways glance at Ed, stepped forward.
“All right, ladies.” He pitched his voice above the sound of their singing. “You’re under arrest for disturbing the peace, all of you. Follow me to the jail.”
He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Annie’s upper arm. Rebecca ducked away.
“I am not fighting in a war,” she told him. “I’m merely passing through town.”
“Don’t lose heart, little sister.” Annie’s voice held a note of triumph, and she didn’t try to pull out of the sheriff’s grasp. “Our suffering will be rewarded in the end.”
“No, I—” Rebecca tried to shrink back, but she was surrounded by women with faces set in determination.
The sheriff frowned at her. “I said all of you. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
The others fell in beside them as he led Annie across the street.
“How exciting!” said an enthusiastic elderly voice behind her. “We’re going to jail.”
“I hope we won’t be there long,” answered another, this one with a hint of worry in her tone. “George gets irritable if he’s left tending the children too long.”
Sheriff Maddox’s long stride didn’t slow, but he turned his head and called over his shoulder. “Do me a favor, would you, Ed? Send a message over to Alvin Diggs and tell him I have his wife down at the jail. Tell him to come get her, and to spread the word to the other husbands.”
Panic twisted Rebecca’s insides into knots as she was dragged across the street in her painful boots. Her first day on rumspringa, and she was going to jail.
Papa would have kittens.
SIX
The three jail cells had two bunks each, positioned on opposite sides of the enclosed spaces. Other than the cells and a wooden desk, the room was dull. Because she was with four women whose combined girth occupied most of the available bunk space, Rebecca stood with her back against the rough brick wall. Bars filled the small window above her head, and the faint sound of distant music drifted through on a light breeze.
A Plain and Simple Heart (The Amish of Apple Grove) Page 5