Rebecca's Promise

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “No, Mom. The Lord is with us, helping us.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “He showed you what was happening. You were right about Emma contacting a lawyer. I think the Lord wants us to be warned, so we can do something about it.”

  She let out her breath slowly, turning her face so that the lamplight flooded it again. Her long dark-brown hair, with its few streaks of gray, hung full across her shoulders, dropping down under the edge of the kitchen table. “Maybe that’s it. I don’t know. It’s just so hard. If it’s the Lord, He must want us to walk through the hard times.”

  “That’s right,” he assured her.

  She sighed. “That would just be like the Da Hah. If there has been sin, there must be atonement with suffering. Perhaps it’s our suffering that’s required.”

  He shuddered, sitting there beside the table, the night pressing in on the window. Only the small flickering flame of the lantern seemed to stand against it. Even that flame, he thought, so feeble and frail. Like us. We too must stand up for what is right. Whatever it takes.

  “We must do our part,” he said out loud.

  “That does seem to be what it’s coming to. This cannot be allowed to happen again.”

  He nodded. Feeling the need to spill his secret, he added, “I am taking Susie home tomorrow night.”

  “Susie Burkholder?” Her voice sounded resigned.

  “Yes.”

  “She has been looking at you for some time already.”

  “I know,” he chuckled.

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “Not really change it,” he corrected her. “I just decided it was time.”

  “The money?” she asked.

  “Yes, that. It just seemed like I could now.”

  “I suppose that’s how it is,” she ventured, looking at him now, her face still partly in the shadows. “What if we don’t get the money?”

  “But we must,” he half whispered.

  “Yes,” she allowed. “We must. There may yet be a lot of work. This has just started, I’m afraid.”

  “I know.”

  “You had better wait to get married until this is settled.”

  “Will it be that long? Emma may die soon.”

  “And yet she may live. We must do what we have to do.”

  “All right,” he said, but not for the reason she thought. He had already realized that with money, he might actually dare ask Ann Stuzman, the dark-haired eighteen-year-old from the other district, to let him take her home. Without money, he wouldn’t dare. That was just how it was.

  Yet, at eighteen and with her looks, he supposed she wouldn’t last long before being snatched up. With that in mind, haste was necessary in arranging this matter with Emma. Not just in secret, but it needed to be brought out into the open that she would leave the farms to the rightful heirs.

  “You’d better get to bed,” his mother said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “I suppose so,” he heard himself say, pushing his chair back from the table.

  Once upstairs, he cautiously lay down on the bed, and five minutes later, he dozed off, thoughts of money and Ann Stuzman still going through his head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Rebecca awoke from habit at five thirty even though she had set the alarm for six. Six was when Leona suggested she get up because that would be early enough to prepare breakfast for the family.

  “Nothing fancy,” Leona had told her. “On Sunday mornings we just cook oatmeal and make toast.”

  Rebecca rolled over, trying to sleep till six, but it was no use. The newness of the house and the day’s duties were simply too much. She climbed out of bed and immediately was impressed by the warmth of the room. Last night she hadn’t noticed it, but this morning it was pronounced. Tonight she would have to find the register and close it before retiring. A warm room was not meant for sleeping—at least not for a Keim.

  She clicked off the alarm clock before leaving the room and stepped into the dark kitchen. Not knowing where to find any of the gas lanterns, she returned to her room for the kerosene lamp. It would have to do for now. By its dim flickering light, she found the box of Quaker Oatmeal, a suitable pan, and began heating the water. The toast would have to be made in the oven, but she would wait until the last minute so it would stay warm.

  Hearing a door open down the hall in the direction of Leona’s bedroom, Rebecca wasn’t surprised when Leona appeared in the doorway.

  “You need more light in here,” Leona said.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Stephen will be up in a minute. He’ll get one for you. Did you find everything?”

  “I think so. Am I too early with breakfast? I’m just making oatmeal as you suggested.”

  “A little early.” Leona attempted a smile, her face and hands swollen. “Stephen goes out to get the horse ready about now. We get the children up at six thirty and eat at about a quarter till seven.”

  “I’ll turn off the burner, then,” Rebecca said as she reached for the knob. Already little bubbles were appearing on the bottom of the pan, which settled down quickly with the heat removed.

  Leona slid with a groan into a chair by the kitchen table. “Babies are sweet, but they do come the hard way. Too bad I never remember this agony for very long after it’s over with.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Yes, dear, it’s that bad. At least now. But like I say, I’ll forget as soon as the baby comes. It’s funny though. We women long for babies. Then when we get like this, we think never again.”

  “So why do you do it again?” Rebecca ventured, thinking of Leona’s already large family.

  Leona sighed. “I ask myself that sometimes. Then I know. When this child, whether it be boy or girl, comes out and I hold him or her on my poor abused stomach, there is simply nothing like it. The joy of being the mother makes us forget the pain. Having the power to create such a wonder as a baby is beyond words, Rebecca. To see the years—even eternity—stretch out in front of you and to know that this child has life because you birthed him…well! That changes everything.”

  Rebecca was silent, thinking about another pain. Would I have wanted to meet John if I had known the trouble ahead? Was there an ending coming that would make it all worthwhile? She surely hoped so.

  The door down the hall opened again. Stephen came out, disappeared briefly, and then returned, accompanied by the hiss of a gas lantern.

  “You want it in the kitchen or the living room?” he asked, holding the lantern low so it wouldn’t blind their eyes.

  “Here,” Leona said. “We can move it if we have to.”

  Stephen lifted the lantern to its hook on the ceiling. As he let it go, it swung a few times before coming to rest.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked Leona.

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “Are you going to church?”

  “I don’t think I should,” she said, squinting at him. “Not the way I look. Plus, sitting for three hours could be a problem.”

  “That’s what I would think,” he said. “You’re holding up well so far. There’s no use taking chances. What if it comes while we’re all at church, though?”

  “I can stay with her,” Rebecca volunteered from where she was standing by the stove.

  Stephen nodded. “It makes no difference who, just that someone should stay with her.”

  “I’m not helpless,” Leona protested, glancing down at her rounded stomach. “I’ve had seven others, you know.”

  “Someone should stay with you,” Stephen told her firmly.

  “But it’s Rebecca’s first Sunday here. She should be able to go to church.”

  “I’ll be glad to stay,” Rebecca repeated. “Really.”

  “No,” Leona decided, glancing up at Stephen from her chair. “We’ll let one of the younger ones. Thomas can stay home. He can run over to tell Mrs. Spencer if anything starts. She can come and get you.”

  “
Thomas will be fine,” Stephen agreed.

  “Good. Then that’s decided.”

  “I’ll be a little late for breakfast,” Stephen said, glancing at the kitchen clock, having been delayed by the talk.

  “What? Five minutes?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Okay,” Leona said as Stephen left.

  Rebecca pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and took a seat. She might as well sit down until it was time to get the children up.

  Leona glanced around conspiratorially at the dark house before asking, “Now that we’re alone, are you still dating that John fellow your mom mentioned?”

  “Yes.” Rebecca was glad the gas lantern was not showing her full face. Her relationship with John was not something she wanted to talk about at the moment.

  “Serious?” Leona asked.

  “Yes,” Rebecca said, keeping her answer short.

  “I remember when you lived here in Milroy, you and Atlee used to be so sweet on each other.” Leona’s face looked as if she was seeing a faraway dream. “It was during your school years. I told myself, if there was ever a case where a couple would be matched up for life, it was you two.”

  Rebecca said nothing, feeling a chill going all the way through her. Had Atlee and I been so right for each other? Was I supposed to be with him instead of John? Does Leona know what she is saying? Perfect couple? Determined not to show her feelings, she held perfectly still.

  “I often felt it was such a shame his parents went Mennonite. Several years before you moved, wasn’t it?”

  “Sometime around then,” Rebecca replied, struggling to keep her voice calm.

  “Your mother didn’t seem to have any problem—you being with him on Saturdays sometimes. I was just at the point of mentioning something to her.” Leona waved her hand sympathetically. “I know you were both young…weren’t doing anything inappropriate. But you were getting older. But then his parents left, and that was the end of it. Did you get to tell him goodbye?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said, sure that her voice was trembling now, “on one of the last days he was in school.”

  “Well,” Leona commented, her voice full of sympathy, “we all have our first loves. Too bad this one didn’t work out.” Then catching a glimpse of Rebecca’s face in the light of the gas lantern, she relented. “Oh! I’m sorry, Rebecca. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Really, I wouldn’t want to imply anything about you and John. I haven’t even met him. He’s probably even better for you. Please don’t think anything of it.”

  “Atlee and I did spend time together,” Rebecca said. “I understand why you see it that way.”

  “We’d better get breakfast on the way,” Leona said, suddenly distracted and, much to Rebecca’s great relief, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands to rise. “I’ll wake up the children.”

  Rebecca went to the stove and turned the burner back on. The flame came on in a soft blurb of noise. While the water was heating, she set the bread on the oven racks. From what she figured, a dozen pieces would be a good start. Just before the water boiled, she turned the oven on, then poured the dry oatmeal into the pan of hot water. Wanting it to boil for three minutes, she kept track of the time by the minute hand on the kitchen clock.

  As if on cue, the seven sleepy-eyed children showed up and took their places around the table. Rebecca set out plates and bowls for them, keeping an eye on the toast in the oven.

  “You know how to make toast?” the oldest girl, Lois, asked, her blue eyes still not awake. “Mom burns it sometimes.”

  “I think so.” Rebecca smiled. It had been awhile since she had been around her cousins, and she had been looking forward to it. “But sometimes I burn it too. It’s a tricky thing to do.”

  “I suppose so,” Lois allowed, as Rebecca opened the oven door to flip over the toast. The upper side was already golden brown.

  “See,” she told Lois. “I waited a little too long to turn it. Now we have to take it out before the bottom is quite done.”

  “That’s better than burned,” Elmo, the oldest, offered.

  “Well, we can always scrape it off if it burns,” Rebecca said, “but I will try to not burn it.”

  “I think you’re going to make a good breakfast,” Lois said. “Are you staying all of next week?”

  “Yes, very likely. And if the baby doesn’t come on time, maybe longer.”

  “I hope he comes early,” Elmo ventured. “That way he might be born on my birthday.”

  “Oh,” Rebecca said. “When’s your birthday? Let’s see. I should know. But I don’t think I do.”

  “Guess,” he said.

  “Friday?”

  “Nope. Almost. It’s Thursday,” he said. “And I know when yours is.”

  “Someone must have told you.”

  “Well, ya,” he admitted. “I heard Mom mention it the other day to Fannie. They were talking about how many of the cousins were twenty-one. You will be the sixth one.”

  “Yes, I’ll be twenty-one,” Rebecca said, “but I didn’t know I was the sixth.”

  “You are though,” Elmo assured her. “It’s a real important date. Lots of things happen when you turn twenty-one.”

  “I suppose so,” Rebecca allowed, a cold chill running up her spine. The promise. Would he actually come back? And perhaps most importantly, Do I want him to?

  Remembering suddenly, she bent down and yanked open the oven door. Already the toast was past done, little shimmers of smoke spilling from the oven. She grabbed each piece in turn and placed them on a plate on top of the oven.

  “You burned them,” Lois said, disappointment in her voice.

  “I don’t think so,” Rebecca said quickly, picking the last piece of toast out of the oven.

  “Not bad enough to have to scrape,” Elmo concluded, after lifting himself up on his chair for a closer look at the plate of toast.

  “Are you children complaining?” Leona asked, just coming in from the bedroom and pulling a chair out for herself.

  “No. I just about burned the toast,” Rebecca said, glad there was an excuse for her face, which she was sure was fiery red.

  Stephen opened the door and joined them.

  With no preliminary gestures, they bowed their heads for prayer, then passed the pan of oatmeal around. The older children helped themselves, while Rebecca made sure the younger ones didn’t take too much.

  As Rebecca served up little Leroy’s portion, he wrinkled his face and said he wanted more. Leona told him he could have more when he had finished his serving. Not totally satisfied or convinced that his mom knew what she was doing, he waited with his spoon in the air while Rebecca mixed in the milk and sugar. The moment she was done, he was dipping the porridge hungrily into his mouth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  When breakfast was finished, Rebecca simply stacked the dishes before going to her room to change into Sunday clothes. By the time she returned, the children were seated in the living room waiting. Stephen was already outside, and Leona was in bed resting.

  “Ready to go?” she asked the children. They answered by rising as one and silently following her out the door.

  She took a backseat with two of the girls, two others got in front with Stephen, and Elmo stood behind her, between the backseat and the end of the buggy, with another of his brothers.

  With Stephen slapping the reins to get the horse going, they silently drove out of the driveway and turned right onto the state road. Looking out of her side window, Rebecca caught another glimpse of the school across the fields. It looked lonely on a Sunday morning, as if its bustle of children was seriously missed. The roof was worn, she noticed, surprised that it had not been repaired yet.

  “Are they going to fix the roof on the school anytime soon?” she asked Elmo, who was watching with his chin on the backseat.

  “There was talk of doing it last fall,” he said. “They decided to get through another winter.”

  “It looks worn,”
she said, taking one last look.

  Elmo shrugged, offering as explanation, “It doesn’t leak.” He then added, “Church is at Raymond Yoder’s place.”

  Rebecca nodded. She knew where that was—only a little way up 400. Close enough, she thought, where Stephen could be reached easily if Leona went into labor.

  Hopefully that would not happen. Leona seemed fine in the kitchen this morning, so surely labor wouldn’t set in suddenly. Then again, babies had their own minds concerning these things. She leaned back on the seat, listening to the sound of the horses hooves on the pavement and relaxed.

  After pulling into the driveway at the Yoder’s, Stephen stopped to unload the female passengers at the sidewalk. When Rebecca climbed out with the two girls, Elmo hopped over the backseat and sat down for the short ride out to the barn.

  The house was as Rebecca had remembered it, a simple two-story house, built in a style long since gone by the wayside. Its slate roof spoke of age and expense no Amish person would go to with present-day prices. The whole place had a feel of long ago and a slower pace of life.

  The barn had received a new coat of red paint last summer, from the looks of it. Its upright barn siding looked refreshed, as if it appreciated another chance at this age. Hay hung out of the corners of the second-story double doors, making the mow appear full and overflowing.

  Leading the way, Rebecca went into the washroom. There they left their shawls and bonnets. Surrounded by other women who had just arrived, the group slowly moved into the main part of the house, where the greeting began.

  Finding a place against the wall, Rebecca stood among a group of young women she knew from her years growing up. This morning she was receiving a considerable amount of attention from her friends who had missed her.

  Looking out the window, a van pulling into the driveway caught Rebecca’s eye. She recognized it as the one Mary drove yesterday. A feeling of delight filled her at the thought of seeing Mary again.

  Five minutes later, Mary worked her way slowly into the kitchen with Elsie and Esther in front of her. Rebecca was reluctant to show Mary too much enthusiasm right there in front of everyone. Being obvious friends with Mennonites, unless they were your immediate relatives, was not a good idea. So she took care to give Mary the same smile she gave the two Amish women.