Rebecca's Promise (4 page)

“So,” Lester declared, changing the subject, “you’re staying for the chores. I have some old clothing you can wear.”

“Don’t be making the boy work,” Mattie protested. “He doesn’t have to. Rebecca can handle it by herself.”

“I thought he might be
wanting
to,” Lester said, a mischievous note in his voice. “After all, he is here to be with Rebecca. Choring is where Rebecca will be.”

“Well, he still doesn’t have to.” Mattie made sure John was looking at her when she said it.

“Oh, I do want to,” he assured her. “Just show me where I can change. I’ll be ready to go.”

“There’s time for that later,” Lester interrupted him. “The popcorn is coming. First the popcorn, then the chores.”

True to the prediction, the popcorn was ready. Appearing at the kitchen door, Rebecca carried in the big bowl heaped high with white kernels. Smaller bowls were passed around, and each took a turn filling their bowls to the brim. Rebecca then pulled another chair beside John, sat down, and gave him a quick glance.

I’m okay
he told her with his eyes and saw her body visibly relax into the chair.

Mattie then brought up the subject of the visitors in church that morning—the Bylers—and from the flow of the conversation, John gathered that the Byler family was well-known to the Keims because they lived close by each other in Milroy, Indiana. In no way did he detect in Rebecca any of the tension or fear from earlier at the bridge. He must have imagined it, he decided, because Rebecca seemed perfectly at ease now.

T
he hired van, its driver a retired trucker who drove for the Amish people in Rush County, Indiana, was well on the west side of Cincinnati on Interstate 74. Much of the buzz of conversation had died down, as the hours whiled away. Luke Byler, along with two younger children, sat in the backseat of the twelve-passenger van. His mother and father sat in front of them.

In front of them were unrelated members of the Milroy Amish church community who were returning from their weekend at Wheat Ridge. Reuben Byler, a stout man, a farmer, and a deacon at his home district, had made this trip with clear intentions of seeking to move to Wheat Ridge.

His wife, Rachel, was a former Miller, related by some cousin connection to the Millers who owned the businesses along Wheat Ridge. She was in full agreement with both the trip and the planned move. This came partly out of the Miller family connection and partly out of the hope that her husband might do better financially with a move.

Not that the family was going hungry in Milroy, but they were not prospering either. During her childhood, Rachel was used to a much higher standard of living. Her father, old Millett Miller or M-Jay as he had been called, now gone for fifteen years, had been known among the Millers in the Amish circles for his industrious business acumen. In Rachel’s childhood, money had always been available—so much so that her father had invested in two other cattle farms in addition to the one on which Rachel and her siblings had been raised.

It had been a shock that upon his death, Rachel’s father, by now a widower, had left his entire holdings to his youngest sister, Emma. This strange turn of events had left his children—particularly Rachel—feeling betrayed by their father.

It was true that old M-Jay had objected to Reuben dating Rachel, but this had not stopped her from eventually marrying Reuben. Reuben had come with good credentials, both from keeping the church standard and from being the local bishop’s favorite young man. Reuben, though a charming fellow in some ways, was never quite able to turn that charm into solid cash. That was to become Rachel’s first disappointment in life, and it caused her all the more to turn her hopes to an inheritance at her father’s passing.

Her father was an eccentric man, even by Amish standards. He confirmed that opinion in his will. All written out and overseen by a lawyer from town, he had left not a green dollar more than a token thousand to each of his six surviving children.

The will had said nothing as to why he had chosen as he had. Just the black letters on paper, read to all six of them in the lawyer’s big office in town. They had all felt so out of place, nervous, and distressed in their black hats and shawls that winter day. To this very day, Rachel still shudders to think of it.

M-Jay’s sister Emma, the last surviving member of the family of eleven and as eccentric as her brother, defied even Bishop Mose to do anything about the will. Instead, immediately after the funeral, she moved in to her brother’s home, nearly causing a scandal in the Amish community among those in the know who all felt M-Jay had done badly by his children.

Things settled down only when the majority of the children agreed to make no fuss, as it was apparent that Emma was in her full right. Even Bishop Mose eventually let the word go out that Emma was to be left alone. On her part Emma wrapped herself tighter in her shawl, made sure her dresses were well below the
ordnung
standard, and survived the storm.

The storm had never quite settled in Rachel’s heart though. It was softened only by the certain knowledge that Emma, now with a history of heart trouble and getting on in years herself, would surely do the right thing and leave the money to her nieces and nephews at her passing. So certain was Rachel of this that she was already making plans for the money.

Lately, however, she had been given to doubts. Could it be possible Emma might
not
do the right thing? What if the money went somewhere else? What if the tragedy was only to be repeated?

She had heard, only last week and through a trusted source, that Emma had seen the doctor and a fancy car had been spotted at Emma’s. The man who drove the vehicle was reported to be dressed in an English suit, right smart, Rachel had been told. What he was doing there, the rumors did not say, but eyebrows were raised and the unspoken word “lawyer” was on the minds of those most concerned.

If Emma was in poor health and talking to a lawyer, then nothing good could be coming out of it. Was the money slipping away again? It was enough to keep Rachel awake at night.

In the meantime, Reuben had gotten it into his head that the family needed to move to Wheat Ridge. Rachel had cousins there, and maybe Reuben would succeed in Wheat Ridge where he had failed in Milroy.

With the sound of the tires of the van humming on the interstate and the conversation with the others having died down, Rachel wanted to press Reuben about their prospects.

Turning to him, she wondered again why she ever thought of him as good looking. His face was rounded now, his cheeks filled out where formerly there had been firmness. The roundness extended down his body, starting to spill over his pants. What the man needed was some hard work. But he already worked on the farm, and that did not seem to keep him from putting on weight in places other than his checking account.

This move to Wheat Ridge might allow for something other than
manual labor—and it might surely pay more. Perhaps working as a salesman in the Miller’s retail stores would do the trick. On Saturday she had seen the layout of all the furniture, grandfather clocks, and merchandise catering to the wealthy from Cincinnati. The tourists came looking for a slice of the old Amish life so different from their own.

Leaning toward him in the van, she half whispered, “So you liked Wheat Ridge?”

Reuben nodded, not really wanting to engage in this conversation. He was tired and would rather have joined several of the others in the seats in front of him in a nap.

“What do you think then?” she persisted.

“Should be a nice place,” he answered.

“I mean about moving?”

He shrugged.

“Well.” She was not going to settle for this. “You were the one who wanted to move. It was your idea for this trip. These drivers aren’t cheap. Surely we didn’t just waste our time?”

“I liked it.” He was fast becoming annoyed.

“Are we moving then?” She wanted to know.

“How do I know that?” he mumbled. “I haven’t decided yet. I have to go home and think. It would mean a lot of hard work. The moving and all. Selling the farm. I’m not sure about prices right now. We can’t sell at a loss and expect to make it in Wheat Ridge. Those people have lots of money.”

She glared at him. “You’re not changing your mind, are you, Reuben? You wouldn’t get my hopes up like this, then let them fall to the ground. I don’t expect miracles, but this could be our only chance for a fresh start. You’re not scared of their money are you?”

Now he glared, whispering back, “Why would I be? Sure I’ve never had much of it. You knew that when you married me. You didn’t come into this blindfolded. And it’s not my fault you were cut out of your father’s will. It’s just that I am what I am.”

“You could at least
try,
” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the changing landscape visible thorough the van windshield.

He scooted himself up on the seat until his head was raised as high as it would go. “I am a deacon,” he said, falling back on his one winning hand. “Have you forgotten that? The lot sure thought I was good enough. That’s driven by the hand of the Lord. Have you forgotten that?”

She said nothing as the tires sang their rhythmic song, weighted down with its cargo of twelve humans.

Reuben leaned toward her again and said, “Then there’s this to think of too: I am under the church’s authority. I’ll have to talk to the bishop before we could move anyway. I would need a good word from him to be accepted in Wheat Ridge.”

“So why have you not thought of this before? There are other important things too,” she said, her voice now strained.

“What, like money?” he whispered, knowing her well enough. “You should be ashamed of yourself. I’m a servant of God in service of His church. That’s more important than worldly goods. Those stay here once we are gone. Nothing in this world can go with us when we go. You know that. Our spiritual values are what are of great price to God. I’m a minister of those things.”

His tongue is loosened at last,
she thought.
He always was good with words. Too bad it can’t talk some cash loose once in awhile.

“I’m grateful for what the Lord has given us,” she said.

“Including me?” he asked bluntly.

“Including you.” She turned toward him, forcing a smile.

He nodded. Satisfied, he proceeded to slide down in his seat and lean his head back to get some sleep. “We’ll see about moving,” he said before nodding off.

Yes,
she told herself,
we will see. That means we’re not going. After all this buildup, he will do nothing.

“We’re not going,” Luke whispered into his mother’s ear from the backseat.

She nodded, glad someone understood even if she could do nothing about it.

Luke said nothing more for a few seconds, then asked, “Who was that we saw by the bridge today?”

She shook her head and answered, “I’m not sure. I wasn’t really looking.”

“It looked like Rebecca Keim,” he said. “They moved from Milroy a few years ago. I didn’t know the boy.”

“Oh,” Rachel said, turning around to face him, “was she someone you liked?”

“No.” He grinned a little. “She’s a little out of my shooting range. Always was. Even in Milroy. She was a grade behind me in school.”

“Then they have nothing to do with us,” his mother told him, turning back around in her seat.

“I was just curious.” He shrugged his shoulders, but she was not listening.