Rebecca's Promise

by Jerry S. Eicher

  When the hum of conversation started behind their seats, Mary asked, “So what’s your fellow like?”

  Rebecca, not quite used to this direct approach, blushed again. “John works at his uncle’s business on Wheat Ridge.”

  “So what does he look like?”

  Rebecca hesitated. This experience was unnerving, but she decided it would be rude not to answer the question. “Well, he’s taller than me,” she began. “A little lighter haired. Although not blond. His hair curls when it’s wet.” She then laughed at how easy it came out.

  “Oh! So how do you know that?”

  “Well, it rains, you know.” Rebecca blushed seriously now, not believing she was telling someone this. “We were getting ready to leave from church. The wind blew his hat off when he was hitching up the horse. I saw the hat roll across the yard.” She chuckled. “Thankfully, his horse stood still while he ran after the hat. When we got in the buggy, I could tell. The edges curled where they stuck out from under his hat.”

  “So you like him?” Mary asked.

  “Yes,” Rebecca replied, “a lot, I think.”

  “He’s Amish, of course.”

  “Most certainly!” Rebecca said. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t want me dating someone who wasn’t.”

  Mary raised her eyebrows. “Have you ever thought of doing that?”

  “No!” was her instinctual response.

  “Did you ever want to?”

  Why did Mary have to ask so many questions? “Well, I’ve never really considered it. Besides, I really do like John. More than any other man I’ve ever met.”

  “That’s a good enough reason,” Mary allowed. “So you’re going to marry him?”

  “Yes, I hope so.” She felt a blush threatening again.

  “That certainly makes things easier,” Mary said a little wistfully.

  “You ever think of marrying a Mennonite boy?” Rebecca asked, thinking she might need nudging in that direction.

  “I have. It’s too boring, somehow. Maybe I just haven’t met the right boy. Although it’s getting a little late for that.”

  “Well, marrying a native would sure be something,” Rebecca allowed. “I’m not sure ‘exciting’ is the right word. ‘Different,’ maybe.”

  “A challenge,” Mary said. “A real challenge. I would need all of the Lord’s help I could get. Plus, if it’s love, it would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?”

  “Like between me and John?” Rebecca asked, then blushed deeply at her own words. Feeling a need to explain it, she added, “I like him a lot, I guess.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mary assured her. “I just hope I feel like that someday. You know, all certain and fussy.”

  Rebecca smiled at the image, not sure it fit her, but unoffended.

  An hour or so later, Mary announced, “Looks like we’re here. There’s the sign for Milroy. Where shall I drop you off?”

  “On through Milroy,” Rebecca said, watching the familiar farmland from her youth roll by. “A few miles on the other side. You turn left onto 500.”

  The first buildings in Milroy came into Rebecca’s view with the memories associated with them: the gas station where she would go with her dad to buy kerosene for the farm, the post office where Mattie would take her when they had packages to mail, and the little grocery store on the other end of town where they would shop sometimes. Their major shopping had been done in Rushville, where things were cheaper. Here and there a few Christmas decorations were up on the buildings, their red, green, and blue lights turned off in the daytime.

  Rebecca was silent as she watched the passing landscape, the memories coming thick and heavy. A buggy passed them, but Rebecca couldn’t see who was in it. Probably wouldn’t know them anyway, she told herself.

  “You know this area?” Mary asked, watching Rebecca.

  “I grew up around here,” Rebecca said. “Went to school just ahead.” She pointed as the Flatrock Amish schoolhouse came into view. “We need to turn here.”

  Across the field, the schoolhouse’s white siding was shining in the sun, its yard, with the softball field out back, empty.

  Memories of days from long ago came rushing in…games she had played in this very place, and, of course, memories of Atlee. She could see him even now, swinging his bat and running to first base.

  “You went to school there?” Mary looked across the fields, as she turned left onto 500. “They have some of those schools at home. I never attended, though…and I always wondered what it would be like.”

  “Depends on the teacher, as much as anything, I think.” Rebecca turned her head for one last look as they drove past. She could almost see Emma in the doorway, vigorously swinging the bell after the noon hour.

  Then breaking her reverie, a shiver went through her as she remembered what she must do while she was here. Why had my promise never bothered me while we were living here? It was surely John’s proposal that brought it all back.

  “You had a good teacher?” Mary asked.

  “Yes. I did for the last seven years at least. Her name was Emma,” Rebecca said almost reverently. “I plan to look her up, if I have time. I haven’t seen her since we moved. Not much before that either, except at church. It’s funny how you miss people more once they aren’t around.”

  Mary nodded. “How true. That’s why we should remember to value those closest to us. They are the ones we will miss the most once they’re gone.”

  “Turn left here. The house on the left. That little white one.”

  “Stephen & Leona Troyer,” Mary read aloud the name on the mailbox as she pulled in.

  “My uncle and aunt,” Rebecca said.

  “Is this where Rebecca gets off?” Elmer hollered from the back.

  Rebecca answered by opening her door and stepping down. There didn’t seem to be anyone around.

  Mary opened the back of the van and gave Rebecca her suitcase.

  “Thanks for the ride. I guess I need to pay you for my share.”

  “Sure.” Mary knew the routine. Taxi service came by the mile, divided by the number of passengers. Pulling out a notepad, she walked up to the van door, checked the odometer, and made calculations. After telling Rebecca the amount, Rebecca paid Mary from the money her mother had given her. The payment made a small dent in the sum, which would have to last throughout her time spent in Milroy.

  “Thanks,” Rebecca repeated.

  “It was good to talk with you. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.”

  “I hope so,” Rebecca said, meaning it. “If you’re here for church tomorrow, maybe I’ll see you then.”

  After Mary left, Rebecca took a long look at the house before walking toward the front door. The single-story ranch home was English built. Leona and Stephen had purchased it ten years ago. Apparently it had been a good deal, or Stephen would not have bought it. English property was purchased with the full realization that it would take money and effort to convert it to Amish usability.

  Stephen had since turned off the electric power at the transformer at the end of the driveway and taken down the main electric lines. On the inside of the house, he left all the switches and plugs alone. The result was a slightly English looking home, both inside and out, but still within the ordnung.

  Rebecca knocked on the front door, waited a minute, and knocked again. The sound of footsteps came faintly from inside, followed by the door opening and her uncle standing there.

  “Oh! It’s you,” Stephen said. “Good to see you.” He smiled a welcome, stepping aside so she could enter.

  Stephen was tall and thin like her father. Leona, on the other hand, was unlike her sister, much more on the plump side.

  “Leona’s in bed,” Stephen said. “She’s not been well the past few days. Fannie took the children last night, just to give us some relief and quiet around here. She’ll bring them back late tonight.”

  “Did Leona get the letter from Mom saying that I was coming?”

  “On Wednesday,”
he said. “That was one of the reasons we took the offer from Fannie. She will take the children again during the baby’s delivery. Go on now and see your aunt. She’s been waiting.”

  As Rebecca reached the door of the bedroom, Leona’s weak voice greeted her. “I’m so glad you could come, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca went right up to the bed and began fussing over Leona’s pale look and bulging stomach under the covers. “You don’t look well at all. Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Leona smiled and replied weakly. “The midwife was here before lunch. She thinks it’s just exhaustion, mostly. I’ve been trying to keep the house going, but now you’re here…and I’m so glad you came before the baby arrives.”

  “I suppose Mother knew,” Rebecca mused, glad now for her mother’s instincts. “I guess sisters know,” she added.

  “Yes.” Leona nodded weakly. “With you here, a great load is off my shoulders. Stephen hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks. The poor man.”

  “I’d be glad to fix his meals,” Rebecca assured her. “That’s what I’m here for. You just tell me what to do. The things I don’t see, of course. What about yourself? You want anything?”

  “Some chicken soup,” Leona muttered resignedly, relief in her voice. “I know that sounds silly, but that’s what I’m hungry for.”

  “What about Stephen?”

  “Something with meat in it. And potatoes maybe. We don’t want to overburden you the first evening you’re here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rebecca assured her again. “You just stay in bed. I’ll start on the supper right away.”

  “Just you being here has made me feel better already. I’m getting up for awhile,” Leona announced firmly.

  But Rebecca was still skeptical. “Are you sure?”

  Leona slowly swung her feet out of bed and onto the floor, testing, finding her footing, and standing with both hands on her stomach. “I do declare it must be twins.”

  “You think so?” Rebecca asked, her eyes wide.

  “No,” Leona chuckled. “I was just saying so. The midwife says it’s just one. A big one though.”

  Rebecca followed as Leona made her way to the living room where she chose the couch with a view into the kitchen. That was where she stayed for several hours, sipping the chicken soup Rebecca brought her. She watched as Rebecca prepared a meat casserole for Stephen’s supper, asking family questions as fast as she could think of them.

  Stephen was served his supper at five thirty, just as darkness was starting to fall. He expressed his deep gratitude, retiring afterward to the living room with Leona while Rebecca did the dishes.

  She watched the darkness deepen outside the kitchen window, praying silently that God would help her through the next week and the hard work ahead. And yes, that He would help her with that other problem. Surely He would, seeing that He had brought her back to Milroy at this perfect time, just after John’s proposal.

  Fannie came a little after eight with the children, who after being inspected and questioned by their mother, went straight to bed.

  Later, as Rebecca lay with her eyes closed in her bed, she couldn’t help but think of memories of the ring, the Flatrock schoolhouse, and of a young boy named Atlee. Now, John seemed distant, as if he didn’t fit in this world, her world, as it used to be. That feeling brought the fear anew. What would happen to her while she was here? Could she forever be free from the promise she had made? She wished with all her heart she knew.

  Getting up, she walked to the window again and looked out into the darkness. There was nothing to be seen, just the faint distant outlines of trees against the dark sky. It crossed her mind to forget the whole thing. Why not just stay here and do her duty, helping Leona. Let the bridge keep its memories. Let these woods hold their secrets. She would simply not have to be a part of it. Yet, she was a part of it all because her heart was betraying her. Longing for something it had once known, unwilling to let go, hanging on to the promise she had made.

  Standing by the window, the darkness of the night deepening both inside and outside the house, she told herself, “No, you will need to go and see. Then maybe you will let go.”

  She said the words, feeling faintly hopeful and comforted by the thought. Turning back from the window, she slipped under the covers, pulling them tightly up against her chin, and soon fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Luke spent an unsuccessful week watching in vain for any sign of the lawyer’s return to Emma’s. Of course, he told himself, this highbrow lawyer could come anytime, day or night, whether he was there or not.

  But then an idea occurred to Luke.

  It was on Tuesday night, just after the big snow on Monday. No strange car had appeared all day, so when his chores were done and as he was getting ready to leave, he implemented his plan. At the place where he hitched up his buggy—a place where it was not out of the ordinary for him to be—he spread snow across the driveway.

  He carefully spread the soft snow in a thick carpet across the driveway. He tapered the edges off to make them look completely normal. Then after he was hitched up to his buggy, he drove across it himself to test his plan.

  Glancing out the buggy door and using his rearview mirror, he could see that the test was a success. The pile of snow across the driveway recorded perfectly his horse’s hooves and the thin buggy tires. It would do the same for an automobile because anyone coming in would have to drive across the snow to reach the walk to Emma’s front door.

  Telling his mother later, her smile had been reward enough. “I’m glad to see you take this serious, Luke,” she had said.

  By Wednesday evening there had been no mark left in the snow, but now with no fresh snow, he would have to carry more snow from a distance. Emma would surely notice and wonder what he was up to. So, instead, he simply smoothed out the dirt on the driveway in that spot. When it occurred to him that the freezing temperatures would turn the dirt solid, he walked back to the barn, returning with several handfuls of cow feed in his pockets. He glanced at the house windows, saw no one, and then spread the feed across the smooth dirt. It would have to do.

  There also had been no more envelopes either placed in the mailbox or given to him to take to the post office. He would have known, he was sure, even though Emma took the mail to the mailbox herself. He made a point of being near the front barn about the time Emma walked to the end of the driveway. There had been no brown envelopes in her hand on the trek to the mailbox all week.

  This morning though, Emma had gone to the mailbox early, while Luke was still in the back lot carrying out a round bale of hay for the cattle. Frantically, he watched her walk down the driveway, her arms swinging vigorously as was her custom. It was as though she was glad to see each new morning, heading out to embrace it, face wide open.

  He felt like shoving both sticks of his New Holland forward and tearing down the driveway after her. That, he told himself was exactly the wrong thing to do.

  Of course, it occurred to Luke that Emma could easily have been mailing smaller letters to the lawyer. It would not always have to be a large brown one, would it?

  When he went home, he didn’t tell his mother about these new concerns. That night, lying in bed, he had a headache just thinking about it all. Money, money, money. Why was something so important so difficult to obtain? It seemed to him that it should all be a little easier. This was their inheritance, as his mother had once again reminded him earlier in the evening.

  That things were turning out this way was cruelty itself. He could see it in his mother’s eyes and could now feel it in himself as well. It was just so wrong, and no one seemed to care. God certainly didn’t.

  He shuddered at the thought and at his presumption of thinking it. “Sorry,” he said into the darkness, “I didn’t mean it. Of course You care, even though we can’t see it. You are giving Mother and me the strength to do all this.”

  No doubt, he told himself, that is what it was. It was God who had given his mother the wisd
om to suspect what was happening again. If she hadn’t, who would have known until it was too late again? And who might Emma be giving the money away to, anyway? If Rachel or he just knew that, maybe then something more could be done.

  The responsibility rested heavy on his shoulders. He never knew money could be this troublesome. The weight pressed upon him until he could barely breathe.

  Finally, unable to sleep, he got up, pulled on his jeans and a flannel shirt, and quietly made his way down the hall, tiptoeing past his parents’ bedroom door so as not to awaken them.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. It was too cold to go outside, as much as he wanted to take a walk somewhere and think. He thought maybe the couch would hold more peace than his bed. As he opened the stair door, he was startled to see a dim light glowing from the kitchen.

  Softly he tiptoed forward. The kerosene lamp was sitting on the kitchen table, its flame casting a dancing light into the room.

  Stepping fully into the kitchen, he saw his mother. She had a chair drawn up against the far wall within arm’s reach of the table. Her hands were in her lap, her hair hanging loose, her face half lit by the lamp.

  “Mom,” Luke said softly.

  She turned her face toward him so that he saw the weariness in every line.

  “What are you doing up?” he asked.

  “Thinking,” she said. “You can’t sleep either?”

  “I was worried. Couldn’t breathe. Thought the couch might be more comfortable.” He pulled a chair out from the table and seated himself.

  “About the money?” she asked.

  “Yes. What else? It shouldn’t be this hard.”

  “I know,” she said, letting her face fade into partial darkness again. “Da Hah muss drinn havva fa uns.”

  “No, Mom. The Lord must be on our side,” he said, but a worried look crossed his face.

  “We must have sinned.”

  “We didn’t do anything,” he protested.

  “Maybe someone in the family did,” she said, sounding as if she believed it could be.

  “You mean…Dad?”

  “No. Someone else in my family. It would have to be. It was my father who didn’t leave us the money. Yes, surely the Lord is against us.”