“Atlee,” she said with what breath she could muster.
“Yes, Atlee,” he said, his head slightly deferring to her, his eyes lowering momentarily.
“But—” she managed, “you—I thought you didn’t come.”
“You went to the bridge, then?” he asked, his smile gone now.
“Yes, and you weren’t there. So why are you here now?” she asked.
“To do what I hope is the right thing, Rebecca.”
“So why weren’t you at the bridge?”
“Did you want me to be there?”
The question caught her off guard, her thoughts racing. Should she tell him the truth? Would she hurt him if he knew she had not wanted him to show up after all?
“See I forgot,” Atlee said, letting his eyes fall to the ground again, saving her from answering. “Yet, somehow, even if I had remembered, it wouldn’t have seemed right. That place was for us to fulfill a promise. But what we promised can never happen. I think you know that.”
Rebecca found nothing to say.
“Rebecca, the truth is we’ve both changed. And I know you’re getting married to someone else. John.”
“How could you know that?” Rebecca asked.
“Mary told me.”
“Mary? How do you know Mary?”
“She’s Mennonite…and so am I. She and I have known each other for a few years. When she mentioned your name and described you,” Atlee said, smiling sheepishly, “in detail, I was sure it was you. She told me about John. And it was then that I remembered you might be at the bridge. Rebecca, to be honest, I had forgotten. It was so long ago.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, “a long time ago.”
“But Rebecca, I’ve not forgotten you,” Atlee continued. “I felt something very strong toward you when we were young. And you felt the same. I treasure that memory.”
“I kept the ring all these years,” Rebecca said.
“Did you? I remember that ring. I remember giving it to you that day.”
“Yes, it was…” Then Rebecca faltered. “I threw the ring away at the bridge.”
Atlee shrugged his shoulders. “That’s okay. I couldn’t let you leave thinking you were forgotten. You weren’t. It’s just that we’ve both changed…and, Rebecca, I’m getting married too. The wedding’s in the spring. A missionary girl from Peru where my uncle works.”
“Oh.” She felt her interest peak. “You’re a missionary too?”
“Served for two years with my uncle. I’m back in the States now to stay.” Another car approached them from behind, slowed down before passing, but caused Atlee to steady himself against the side of the buggy.
“I’ll be going then, Rebecca. I’m glad we had this chance. May God bless you and John.”
“Thank you. And you too.”
Atlee took her hand and gave it a slight squeeze, to which Rebecca didn’t draw back. And then he turned and walked back to the car. She sat there while he pulled out in front of her.
“My…” she said, startling herself with speaking out loud. Surprised at her emotions, but because it felt so good, she did it again. “Well, who would have thought?”
She felt a great gladness rise in her heart. She was free now in more ways than one. She was free to trust again, without feeling in the back of her mind that Atlee had forgotten everything. Atlee had not forgotten her, and not only had he not forgotten, he had cared enough to explain. This was really for the best. The past was the past. Atlee was right. They should not try to bring their feelings back.
Rebecca snapped the reins and guided the buggy onto the road again. Thinking about this chance encounter on the rest of the drive home, she decided to tell no one about it. Everything—the ring, the promise, their love—had been Atlee’s and her secret from the start and could remain so till the end.
She turned right at the schoolhouse and then south toward Leona’s place, thankfulness still in her heart.
CHAPTER FORTY
Standing at the front window, Emma had watched Rebecca leave. She then sat for a few minutes in her rocker, deep in thought. Finally she walked over to her desk, pulled out her legal notebook, and composed a letter.
She signed the finished document and placed it in an envelope. As she sealed the envelope, she made plans to take the letter to the mailbox later.
When Luke arrived that morning, he went straight to work. He figured that Emma would come out and find him if he needed any special instructions. He couldn’t get it out of his mind that Rebecca, whatever her last name was, had visited yesterday. What did she want anyway? She was pretty, he’d give her that. Prettier than Susie, that was for sure. That girl Rebecca represented all the things that Susie wasn’t. Beauty, class, and most of all, unobtainability.
Last Sunday night with Susie had turned out so lovely. He had savored the thoughts of his time with her all the way home, throughout the past few days, and up until Rebecca came by yesterday. She had reminded him again of what he was missing out on—and about the money.
Confounded money. A lot of good it did anyone, as troublesome as it was proving to be. Yet his mother had started in all over again about it last night. Luke’s father had still been out in the barn when Luke arrived home, which was when he had taken the chance to tell his mom that Rebecca had stopped by Emma’s. He knew his mother well enough not to discuss news about Emma, however innocent, around his father.
Not that he understood what Rebecca had to do with the money, but it was the mention of her that set his mother off. Maybe Rebecca was a reminder of her desire to move to Wheat Ridge or of wealthy relatives when they had so little.
Whatever the cause, Rachel wanted to know every detail about Rebecca’s visit. He told her that he had been out back working with the cattle during her visit and could remember very little.
“Why didn’t you go up and help her unhitch or something?” his mother demanded. “Maybe she would have told you why she was there.”
“I’m not going to do something like that,” he told her. “It’s too embarrassing.”
“You could have, at least, gone inside the house while she was there and asked Emma something made up.”
He shook his head, feeling like the dirt from Emma’s barnyard. No, more than that, like a lowly worm digging beneath that dirt.
“You really need to do a better job watching Emma,” she said. “You let that one letter get away, all while mailing it yourself. You likely had the answer right there with you. You let it get away. You’re going to have to do better, Luke. How do you expect Susie to ever be happy with you if you’re as poor as a barn mouse?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Her family doesn’t have much either.”
“That’s all the more reason for you to do better. Luke, you really need to wake up. You could get a better girl if we were better off.”
That was what tormented him, both then and now. The vision of Ann Stuzman rose before him, blond hair creeping out from under her head covering, her slim neck turning with the ease and grace of a summer’s flower bent over with the morning dew. If not her, then her sister, a year younger and even better looking. Somewhere, somehow, he—Luke Byler—was supposed to have more than what he did.
He brought the New Holland around in the field, catching the sight of Emma walking to her mailbox, hands full of letters. He could see that none of them was brown and thick, at least from what he could see from there. He had just gotten started with his duties when the urgency hit him. Something would have to be done. If he went home again and told his mother that Emma had been to the mailbox and that he didn’t know what it was about, things would not go well.
How, though, was he supposed to get to the mailbox before the mailman came and without Emma seeing him? The solution came to him as he watched Emma reach the box, open the lid, deposit her handful of letters, shut the lid, pull up the flag, and start the walk back toward the house.
He would pretend to smooth out the driveway with his New Holland. It needed
it anyway. He would smooth it out even while Emma was walking back. That would look completely innocent and in order.
Revving up the engine, he pulled up to the gate leading to the front red barn. Hopping out, he opened it, drove through, then hopped out to close the gate again. Barely able to latch it in his haste, he lost several precious seconds. Letting cattle out is no way of endearing myself to Emma, who, he told himself, still pays me well.
Driving behind the barn, he exchanged the forks on the New Holland for the flat bucket. With that done, he was on his way out the driveway. Emma was almost to the walks when he passed her.
Slowing down the engine enough to tell her, “I’m smoothing out the driveway,” he went on by.
She nodded her approval and continued to walk. When he arrived at the end of the driveway, he parked, leaving the engine running at full speed. Perhaps it would sound natural enough, certainly not the attention it might attract if he slowed the motor. There might even be some explanation in Emma’s mind for why he was climbing out, if she should turn around to look.
Sticking his head out, he saw that Emma was still walking toward the house, her back turned. He took a leap toward the mailbox, opened the lid, pulled the letters out, and flipped through them with trembling hands.
The third one, as white and normal looking as the others, was addressed to Bridgeway & Broadmount, Attorneys at Law, in Anderson, Indiana, the same address and the same handwriting as the big brown envelope he had mailed in Milroy.
Slipping the white envelope out, he slid it into his pants pocket. The rest went back into the mailbox. He quickly jumped back across the ditch to his New Holland. A glance up the driveway revealed that Emma was almost at the door, her back still turned. With a smile, he set the bucket down and dragged it up the driveway.
Back at his buggy, he dared to take the envelope out and gently opened it. If the letter needed to be mailed later, he told himself his mother would be able to fix the tears. Letting the page drop open in his hand, his eyes skimmed over the words until he found what he was looking for.
Due to my continued serious illness, I wish to deal with the money appropriations to my family, and the three farms given out according to my wishes.
Nervously, Luke stopped reading there and glanced around quickly. He had read enough, he figured. Emma was giving the farms back to their rightful owners. His mother would be very happy with him tonight.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
As Rebecca opened the barn door, James and Leroy stuck their heads down from the opening in the small haymow. Leroy, making as if to climb down the ladder, changed his mind when he saw it was Rebecca.
“You boys misbehaving? she asked them. Likely not, she thought, but they are boys after all.
“Nope,” they said in unison, their faces cherubim-like.
“What are you doing then?”
“Watching Missy eat a mouse,” James said. “She’s chasing it around in circles.”
“I wonder why she does that,” Leroy pondered aloud.
“She’s just a cat,” Rebecca told them. “That’s just the way cats are. She’ll eat it soon.”
“She just did,” James said loudly. “It crunched. Missy looks scared.”
“Probably feels guilty,” Rebecca remarked, with a little vengeance in her voice. She led the horse to its stall, gave it a scoop of oats, and then opened the stall door to the outside barnyard.
Leroy and James had disappeared from the haymow opening, apparently to watch the last of the mouse disappear. Rebecca smiled and walked toward the house. Nothing like life as an education.
“You see anything of Leroy and James?” Leona asked when Rebecca walked into the living room. Hampers of freshly collected wash sat in front of Leona, as she sat folding them.
“They’re watching Missy eat a mouse.”
Leona laughed. “Real boys. You’re back from Emma’s early.”
“I thought I took too long,” Rebecca said apologetically, glancing at the clock on the living room wall. “I guess it’s not as late as I thought.”
“I told you to take all the time you needed.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I’m just so glad I got to go. Emma is so wise.”
“I suppose so,” Leona said dryly.
Rebecca caught the tone in her voice. “Oh, nothing against you. It’s just different, I guess. I always liked Emma when I was in school.”
“Teachers often have a special place,” Leona agreed. “Aunts too. But don’t worry. I wasn’t serious—just tired I guess.”
Rebecca gave Leona a long, hard look. “Should I be going home already? Mom will let me stay longer, if you need me. I’m sure of that.”
“No,” Leona said firmly, “you should catch a ride while you can. It’s much more pleasant than taking the Greyhound.”
“But that makes no difference. Really—it doesn’t,” Rebecca protested.
“It’s been long enough.” Leona was firm in her decision. “I can’t remember the other seven recoveries being quite this long—the tiredness. But then, I’m getting old and forgetful already. People will start talking soon enough, if I keep my maut forever.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Rebecca said.
“You might not be, but I am,” Leona assured her. “And what about your John? I never saw you write to him. Did you? Or call? You should at least have done that. The furniture store has a phone. I’m sure he’s worried.”
Rebecca wondered how much she should confide in her aunt. “Well, to tell you the truth, I was working through some things about John and me while I’ve been here. And now everything’s fine. I’ll see him very soon.” Wanting that conversation to end, Rebecca turned to her duties. “What should I do now to help you? Wash diapers? I see Jonathon has been busy as usual.”
Deep down she was a little surprised at how very glad she was to be going home tomorrow. Not that she would admit this in front of Leona, but she was really looking forward to seeing John again.
“Yeah, diapers…” Leona was saying, “I’m beginning to see them in my sleep.”
“Hopefully washed and hanging on the line.” Rebecca made a face.
“The other option is not a vision one wishes to dwell on,” groaned Leona. “Start the wash though, and I’ll help.”
“You sure you can?” Rebecca asked.
“I helped on Tuesday, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but—”
“You’re being too soft on me—really.” Leona gave Rebecca a firm look. “Start the first load.”
“And we need to make bread today, don’t we?” Rebecca remembered seeing the low supply yesterday.
“We still have enough for today,” Leona said. “I’ll bake some tomorrow. Your last day here shouldn’t be completely full. You’ll have nothing but unpleasant memories.”
“No I won’t.” Now Rebecca was being firm. “I’ll bake bread today. I couldn’t leave with that on my conscience. No good maut would do that.”
“You’re a good maut,” Leona assured her. “I wouldn’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Then I’d better get busy,” Rebecca said, gathering up a full load from the closest hamper of diapers.
“Did Emma say anything about her health?”
“No, she looked okay. Why? Is she having problems?”
Leona nodded. “She saw a doctor about her heart. They put in stents, but the doctors don’t know exactly what’s wrong.”
“Surely not?” Rebecca’s face registered her sadness at this news.
“Our time comes when the Lord wills it,” Leona told her, noticing. “We just have to be ready.”
As Rebecca headed to the garage, Leona said, “Let me know when the wash is ready to hang on the line. I need some fresh air.”
“Okay,” Rebecca called back, as she made her way to the garage.
As she pulled the starter rope, the motor sputtered for a moment and then finally caught. Against the background of its noise, she let her thoughts go to Emma
and her sickness. Surely Emma was not passing soon? Yet that was possible. Finding comfort in the fact that she had been able to pay a visit, Rebecca was grateful for the opportunity.
When she went back inside, Leona was already working on the bread.
“I’ve decided on two batches,” Leona said, “so it will last us awhile.”
“Let’s make three batches then—because it’s my last day,” Rebecca volunteered.
“I thought of that.” Leona looked sheepish again. “Mean of me, I know. Trying to get all the help out of the maut I can—I know. Sorry.”
“Quit complaining,” Rebecca said. Then, thinking that some fresh air might be just what her aunt needed, she said, “The wash is ready for the line. It’s a nice day. Might be good for you.”
“I do need something,” Leona agreed with a sigh, her eyes on the bowls spread on the kitchen table. “Okay, I’ve started the yeast. The liquid mixture is ready as soon as it cools down. You can then start adding the flour. The bread pans are in the second drawer over there.” Leona motioned, then added, “Here I am prattling on with instructions as if your mother never trained you at all.”
“Bread making is still a little scary,” Rebecca said, “even after all the many times I’ve made it. Does it get any easier as you get older?” she asked.
“Yes, it does.” Leona’s eyes glanced around the kitchen as she prepared to leave and hang the wash on the line. “Took time for me too. But everything done often enough eventually becomes familiar—I guess. Getting married helped too,” she added. “That adds plenty of responsibilities.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Rebecca said quickly because—still somewhat to her own surprise—she was.
“I’m going to have to go over to see Emma myself sometime,” Leona said with a smile. “She was good for you. She told you the right thing.”
“How do you know what she told me?” Rebecca asked a little skeptically.
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