Rebecca's Promise (20 page)

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.

L
uke 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 wisdom 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.”

“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.”