Rebecca's Promise
P R O M I S E
J E R R Y S. E I C H E R
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover by Dugan Design Group, Bloomington, Minnesota
Author photo by Brian Ritchie
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
REBECCA’S PROMISE
Copyright © 2009 by Jerry S. Eicher
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Eicher, Jerry S.
Rebecca’s promise / Jerry Eicher.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7369-2635-5 (pbk.)
1. Amish—Indiana—Fiction. 2. Fiancees—Fiction. 3. First loves—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3605.I34R425 2009
813'.6—dc22
2008041577
All rights reserved
. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 / RDM-NI / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ONTENTS
Other fine fiction from Harvest House Publishers
HAPTER
O
NE
T
he buggy slowed as it approached the Duffy side road, then turned right toward the old covered bridge. The horse, a sleek black gelding John Miller purchased last fall at a farm auction, was tired from the fast downhill drive. Its nostrils flared, specks of foam lathered its chest strap as it obeyed John’s gentle tug at the reins.
Rebecca, seated beside John, had tossed the top of her shawl on the shelf above the backseat of the buggy. The lower part of the shawl hung over her shoulder on John’s side. She left it there, not certain how to remove it in the tight buggy without touching John. Not that she would have minded, but she knew he stood strong when church rules were concerned, and never had he voluntarily touched her yet.
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Rebecca tuck a strand of her dark hair under her
kapp
and look off to her left—east to the community of Harshville. To the west, just around the sharp bends of the road and across a smaller creek, was her home. Lester and Mattie would surely be expecting Rebecca soon, but John was in no hurry to take her there. Instead an idea, long in the back of his mind, now took sudden, solid form. He knew this was the time and the place. At the realization of what he wanted to do, his hands tensed on the reins.
To calm himself, he breathed in deeply the late November air, winter on its edge. Wispy clouds, driven by the eternal Ohio wind, scurried across the sky. He tried to hide his nervousness by glancing at the sky and opening the front of his black suit coat, loosening the hooks and eyes with one hand to let in the warmth of the sun.
“Weather’s nice. Especially for this time of the year,” John offered,
stealing a glance in Rebecca’s direction. Not that he was shy around her. They had been dating now for two years, but today he was taken anew by her freshness and form.
Rebecca had captured his attention when he first saw her after her family had moved to Wheat Ridge from Milroy, Indiana.
A right smart move for the family, the general consensus had been, because it validated their own choices to settle in the pleasant community. And so the Keim family had been accepted readily, as had anyone else who left where they were to move to the smaller Amish community here along Wheat Ridge.
Lest someone else beat him to it, John had wasted no time in making known his interest in the Keim daughter. Rebecca wasn’t the oldest, although it had appeared so when the new family arrived because the two oldest children were already married with families of their own.
“Yes, it
is
nice,” she allowed, turning to look at him, “although a few weeks ago, it was better. The trees had their full color.”
He had turned toward her when she started to speak. That was when he knew he could look into her face without any embarrassment. Not that she seemed to object at other times, but he always tried to keep from showing too much emotion, lest she think him forward.
He glanced away quickly when she was finished speaking, keeping the reins taut on the gelding. Yet the softness of her face stayed with him. It was as if she was thinking extra gentle thoughts today. He felt a desire to reach out to her, to brush her face with his fingers, but he held himself in check. It would not be right, he reminded himself sternly, or in line with his faith. Such actions led to downward paths and away from the
Da Hah’s
will.
“Let’s stop at the bridge,” John said. Yes, today was surely the day he could do something about his feelings for Rebecca. As he slowed the horse, he hoped his nerves would not betray him too much.
Bouncing slightly alongside the ditch, John drove the buggy half on and half off the road, stopping the gelding near a fence post. “This
should work,” he commented to fill the awkward space around his own heart.
Rebecca’s silence made John want to look her way all the more. But he dared not risk it again. His face might reveal his thoughts, and that must not happen.
Then from the other side of the bridge, a red sports car came slowly down the hill. The bright color of the car caught John’s attention as he descended from the buggy. With his hand poised to reach for the tie rope, he studied the car as it approached. The occupants were a young boy and girl. The girl had her head on the boy’s shoulder.
The English,
John thought.
They sure mess things up good with their way. In love and out of love each new day of the year. No fear of God in their eyes.
Then John remembered his own feelings for Rebecca.
May God help us,
he silently prayed as he glanced toward the sky. Opening the small snaps on the back buggy door, his fingers found the tie strap.
Forcibly relaxing his face, he walked to the other side of the buggy where Rebecca was already coming down, nimbly balancing on the round buggy step with her one foot while using the momentum of the leaning buggy to descend to the ground.
“The weather has turned really nice.” He turned again to the weather to cover his nervousness. Why she affected him this way, he wished he knew.
Was it what the English called “being in love”? Is this what the two in the red car felt too?
He doubted it, finding the comparison between the two worlds too improbable.
Rebecca lifted her eyes to his. “It’s nice,” she said again, holding his gaze. “This morning Dad thought it might turn warm, but you never know this time of the year.”
“Well, it’s beautiful now,” John said, letting his eyes fall away from her and then back up toward the bridge. “Have you been here before?”
“I come here sometimes,” she said quietly.
“Really?” he asked, immediately interested. “By yourself?”
“Mostly,” she allowed. “Sometimes Katie comes with me. Mostly
though, I come by myself. My sister Margaret used to like coming here too when she was home.”
“What do you do here?” he asked.