Rebecca's Promise (36 page)

“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.

S
tanding 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.

A
s 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.”