The Rebel (10 page)

He stood for a moment, frowning, mulling it over with his hand still clasping hers. “Can you tell me what it said?” At the objection he could see forming in her face, he hurried on. “The ministers and the bishop should know if one of our people is doing such a thing.”

Barbie seemed to waver for a moment before giving in. “It was just a line or two, saying something about people knowing what I'm doing.” She looked up at him, the blue of her eyes deep with distress. “It was ugly, getting something like that.”

“Do you remember which of our people were in the café that day?”

She shook her head. “My station was away from the door and the register, and I was wonderful busy. I didn't have time to be looking around. Somebody could even have walked in and dropped the note and walked back out again.” Her eyes flashed briefly. “I'd have thought you were in complete agreement with what it said. So why do you care?”

Why did he? He pushed away several possible answers to the question. “It's wrong for one of the Leit to do such a thing. It's divisive and unkind. Whether I agree with the sentiment or not, the person who did it should be confronted with his or her sin. Are you sure you don't have any idea who it was?”

“No.” Her lips actually trembled for an instant before she firmed them. “I don't see any way to find out, and I don't want to know anyway. There's nothing you can do.”

“I guess not.” He conceded it reluctantly. He ought to be able to deal with such ill will arising in the Gmay. A local church district was like a large family, with everyone knowing everyone else well. Too well, maybe, in this case. “Promise me you'll tell me if you receive another.”

“I don't think—” she began.

His fingers tightened on hers. “Promise me, Barbie.”

He thought she'd argue, but she didn't. She gave a quick nod, freed her hand from his, and climbed into the buggy before he could assist her.

She didn't want his help with anything—that much was clear. He was left feeling annoyed, whether with himself or with her he wasn't sure.

Lancaster County, Spring 1960

Reuben tested the new hinge he'd just put on the stall door, making sure the door moved smoothly before putting his tools away. It seemed there were always things needing to be repaired on a farm. A farmer had to be a jack-of-all-trades, not calling in someone else to fix what went wrong.

Setting the toolbox back on its shelf, he moved through the barn door out into a warm spring day, blinking against the bright sunshine and watching with a smile as the buggy horses chased one another in the paddock. Spring made them act like foals again.

Too bad he couldn't say the same for the people around him. The Leit couldn't seem to talk about anything for the past week except the problems that might come with the rezoning proposal. No solutions, mind. Just problems. Everyone was worried.

That is, everyone except Elizabeth. His amusement vanished, his brow furrowing. Elizabeth had apparently decided to ignore the entire subject, as if that would make it go away.

Worse, he'd heard her talking to his mamm about the potential apple crop and how they'd have an apple-butter-making frolic come September. Making plans for the future as if their life here would continue forever. By September—well, by then, he hoped they'd be settled on a farm of their own, and the odds were growing that it would not be here in Lancaster County.

Those moments when they'd pulled sheets off the clothesline
together popped into his mind. For just a little while, things had been the way they used to be between them. He loved it. He missed it. But he didn't know how to bring it back again.

Movement caught his eye, and he realized it was Elizabeth. She was stooping over the rhubarb patch, gently moving the fanlike leaves as she pulled weeds from around the plants. Reuben hesitated for a moment and then headed toward her. Maybe, if they worked together again as they had on the day of that spring shower, he could find a way of talking to her quietly about what was in his heart.

And he had to. Daniel King had found a lead on some good farmland for sale up in the central valleys, a place called Brook Hill. They were thinking they ought all to go and look it over, and he wanted her approval. Well, maybe not approval, exactly, but at least understanding.

“Looks like the rhubarb has grown a couple of inches since that last rain.” He stepped into the row where she knelt, avoiding the large leaves.

Elizabeth looked up at him, and her smile was as warm as the sunshine. “Just look at the stalks. They're plenty big enough to pull some, ain't so?”

He squatted next to her, checking the pinkish-green stalks that were the edible part of the rhubarb plants. “I'd say so, as long as you don't take too many from the same plants. These are getting a little overgrown anyway.”

“I was just thinking I should start a new bed. After all, it takes a few years to get it established.” Her hands were busy among the plants, selecting the stalks to be pulled. “I'll make a dish of rhubarb sauce for supper. That'll taste like spring.”

He nodded, using the knife she'd brought to cut off the leaf
before putting the stalk in her basket. “It'll be a job to keep Isaiah from eating more than his share. It's just about his favorite thing, next to strawberry rhubarb pie.”

Why was it so difficult to move the conversation in the direction he wanted it to go? Surely he could find a way to talk about the subject without putting her back up right off.

Elizabeth handed him another stalk. He fingered the smooth pinkish stem as he tried to find the right words.

“The men have been awful concerned about that zoning thing,” she said suddenly.

It startled him, and he blinked. He'd thought she'd been ignoring the situation. Apparently not.

“It's worrying,” he said, trying to be cautious in what he said. “It'll make it harder to reach the produce auction, that's certain-sure. And maybe other things, as well, depending on how fast that land is developed.”

Elizabeth nodded, seeming to study the roots of the weed she'd just pulled up. “Your daad says there's nothing to be done. The Englisch will do as they want.”

“Ja, I know.” He felt his way slowly. “Just another thing that they call progress. Too bad they can't see that it's pushing us out.”

She seemed to stiffen at his words, but she went on calmly enough. “Isaac and some of the other younger men think they can change things.”

Instead of just leaving.
She didn't say it, but he could tell she was thinking it.

“I don't see what they can do.” He hadn't heard anything about it from his brother.

“Isaac says they're going to go to the zoning board meeting.” She frowned, and he suspected she found the very words alien.
“They hope they can show the people who make decisions how the farmers will be affected. Then maybe those people won't go through with it.”

He shook his head. Given the money people stood to gain by the proposed rezoning, it seemed unlikely they'd give it up to satisfy a few Amish farmers.

“Funny that Isaac didn't say anything to me about his plans.”

Elizabeth darted a quick look at him—a look he wasn't sure how to interpret. “Maybe he thinks you're so set on going away that you don't care anymore about what happens here.”

That rocked him. “Of course I care. Isaac is my brother. I want things to work out for the best for him.”

Now he could read her expression. It was challenging.

“So you'll help them? You'll join Isaac and the others in trying to change things?”

Reuben frowned, sitting back on his heels. He didn't like being pushed into things. “What's the point, when it's doomed to fail? The zoning board isn't going to listen to them.”

“Maybe Isaac was right,” Elizabeth said slowly. “Maybe you're so set on leaving that you've forgotten about the people here in our own place.”

He wanted to object—wanted to say the hot words that came to his tongue, denying it. But he couldn't. Was it possible there was a little truth in what Elizabeth said? Had he been ignoring his own family's needs in his quest to find the right place for them?

Reuben sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly. All he'd thought, when Isaac had told them about the zoning issue, was that it was yet another reason to move elsewhere. How could he have been so blind to his own brother's needs?

“I do care.” He said the words quietly. “Maybe I have been too busy thinking about my own problems to show it. I'll talk to Isaac right away.” He hesitated, then said the rest of it. “I'm glad you made me see it, Elizabeth.”

A smile trembled on her lips, and her blue eyes were bright with tears. “Denke, Reuben. Isaac will be wonderful happy for your help.”

All he could do was nod. She was right. He certain-sure had to help his brother.

But how was it that he still hadn't been able to tell Elizabeth about the projected trip to Brook Hill?

E
ven
while she was taking orders, Barbie found she was scanning the customers in the café. Which of them disliked her enough to have left that note?

Of course, it may not have been dislike. To do the writer justice, an Amish person fearful that Barbie was slipping too far away from the Leit might have thought to bring her to a realization of it. But even so, there'd been a hint of malice about the words—an implication that she was a bad example for others.

Ben's reaction, once he'd bullied the story out of her, had come as a surprise. He'd almost seemed sympathetic, but that couldn't be.

“Why are you standing there staring at the coffee machine?” Ashlee's voice startled her.

“I'm not.” She grinned, shaking her head. “Well, maybe I was.”

“Grab some coffee. It's quiet enough at the moment that we can take our break.” Ashlee reached past her for a mug.

“Maybe we shouldn't—not at the same time.” The last thing Barbie wanted was to see Ashlee in trouble with Walt again.

“Walt says it's okay.” Ashlee's lively face wrinkled into a scowl that was probably meant to represent their sometimes-surly boss. “I'm being careful. Honest. I need this job.”

Once they'd both filled their cups, they slid into a booth at the back where they could keep an eye on the whole café. They could jump up immediately if someone needed something or a new customer came in.

“Okay, spill.” Ashlee planted her elbows on the table. “What's on your mind? You were a million miles away just then.”

“Not that far,” she protested. Was it ever possible to get away from Ashlee's questions? To be Ashlee's friend, a person had to put up with her insatiable drive to hear all the answers.

Why not tell her? Ashlee might have some insight into who left the note. Even if she didn't, she was safe. The Amish were the only ones who would care, and Ashlee didn't know them.

“Quit stalling,” Ashlee prompted. “We only have ten minutes.”

“You remember that envelope you gave me the other day? The one that had been left by the cash register?”

Ashlee blinked, as if to focus. “That? Sure, I remember. Was it a tip? If somebody left you a winning lottery ticket, I'd like a share.”

“It was an anonymous note.” Barbie lowered her voice, even though no one was close enough to hear them. The nearest occupied table had a group of four retired men who would sit there, nursing their coffee, for half the afternoon while they solved the world's problems in voices loud enough to be heard by the one who consistently refused to wear his hearing aid.

“No,” Ashlee whispered. “Whatever about? Was it obscene?”

“Of course not.” Barbie felt the color come up in her cheeks. Honestly, the things Ashlee thought of. “It was in pencil, not signed, saying something about me not getting away with what I was doing. That people knew.”

“Knew?” Ashlee blinked. “Knew what? You live the most boring life I've ever seen. What is there to know?”

Did Ashlee really think that about her? Well, she supposed her life did look boring to someone like Ashlee, who wanted to be out every night.

“They might have been talking about going to that bar. Or I guess about Mary Kauffmann. Or even just my working here.” She shook her head, getting more frustrated every time she thought about it. “If somebody saw me talking to Terry . . .”

“You mean flirting with Terry,” Ashlee corrected. “What business is that of anyone else's?”

“If it was an Amish person, they might be worried that I was straying away from the faith.” Now that she'd said it aloud, Barbie realized that was the most likely thing. “If it wasn't . . . well, I don't know. Terry doesn't have a girlfriend or wife that I should know about, does he?”

“No. Anyway, not that I know of,” Ashlee added.

“That doesn't exactly make me feel good. Still, he's a nice guy. I don't think he'd lie to me.”

And yet, how could she tell? If he were an Amish man, even from another state, she wouldn't have to wonder. Someone would have a link to his home church and be only too eager to tell all about him. Ashlee's friends seemed to accept each other at face value, apparently without wanting to know more.

Ashlee seemed to dismiss Terry with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, this note. You didn't show it to your parents?”

“I couldn't. I'd have to tell them—well, things I don't want to.” She'd told Ben, but that was an accident.

“Right. You're smart not to. The less our parents know about our lives, the better.” Ashlee's expression puzzled Barbie about as much as her statement did.

“I don't know about that. I'm pretty close to my family. Ordinarily, I wouldn't keep things from them, but this—well, it would hurt them, and there's nothing they can do about it.”

Ashlee shrugged. “My theory is that the more they know, the more they interfere. That's why I'm here, instead of in Baltimore, where my parents would be looking over my shoulder all the time, trying to push me into the mold they want for me.”

The bitterness in her voice took Barbie by surprise, and she didn't know how to respond. “Is that where you grew up?”

Ashlee nodded. “It's not a bad place. Lots of jobs, lots of clubs and nightlife. But I had to get away someplace where I could be on my own.” She looked around at the quiet café. “Didn't picture ending up here, but after I dropped out of college, I just sort of drifted. I knew a guy at school who was from this area, so . . .” She let that trail off, as if she didn't really have a reason why she was here instead of anywhere else in the world.

“Don't you miss your family and friends? There must be people you grew up with who you want to stay in touch with.”

Barbie's thoughts flickered to the girls from her rumspringa group. Maybe their interests were different now, but they were still important to her.

“Nope.” Ashlee glanced toward the door and grinned. “Look who's here. And I don't think it's because he likes the pie.”

Terry, pausing in the doorway, saw them, smiled, and came straight toward them. “Hi. Funny thing, running into two of
my favorite people in the same spot.” His gaze, resting on Barbie's face, was warm and admiring.

“Never mind about me,” Ashlee said, sliding out of the booth. “I'm done. You can sit here with Barbie.”

“I can't.” Barbie glanced at the clock. “Our break is over.”

“Guess I should have come in sooner,” Terry said easily. “So is this table in your station?” He smiled at Barbie as she slipped out of the booth.

Okay, flirting she understood. It was the same in the Amish or Englisch world. So she smiled back. “It is. May I help you?”

He sat down. “You bet. Bring me a coffee, black, and a piece of whatever kind of pie you think is the best today. And don't be in a hurry. I tip better if the server chats a bit.”

“I bet you do.” Smiling, she headed for the counter.

Amazing, how much it improved her mood to have a personable man look at her so admiringly. It contrasted very nicely with the disapproving scowl she usually received from Ben Kauffmann.

When she returned with the slice of cherry pie and the coffee, she contrived to set them down slowly, arranging the fork and spoon, the napkin and plate, with care.

“I thought you'd like the cherry today. It's fresh this morning. The owner's sister makes them. I've never met her, but she has a light hand with pastry.”

“So, can you bake a cherry pie, Barbie?”

“I do a pretty fair one, though I shouldn't brag. My mother taught me when I was no higher than this.” She gestured to a spot about three feet off the floor.

“I can just picture you. Long blond braids, big blue eyes, and a smile that would light up the room. Right?”

Now she did blush. “I don't recall anyone ever saying that about me.”

“Then they just haven't been noticing.” He brushed her fingers lightly with his.

Barbie let them linger for a moment before she drew back. Walt could be unpredictable, and she didn't want a lecture from him. In fact, at that moment he rang the bell on the pass-through, sending a frowning glance in her direction.

“I have to go. Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” He captured her hand. “How about me picking you up after work? We can go—well, I guess it's silly to say we'll go for coffee. We can go for a ride. Have a chance to talk for more than two minutes without being interrupted. Please?”

She shouldn't. But she wanted to, instead of following silly, old-fashioned rules. There was no harm in getting to know someone.

“I can't stay long,” she said. “If I'm late getting home, my folks will be imagining I've had an accident.”

“Not long,” he agreed, giving her that easy smile. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She smiled back.

Lancaster County, Spring 1960

Elizabeth stirred, waking slowly from a dream of apple trees in blossom. It wasn't light, but she always seemed to wake automatically in time to get Reuben up for the milking.

She was lying against Reuben, his arm around her, his steady breathing the only sound in the bedroom. She didn't move, wanting to prolong this sense of closeness.

They'd seemed on the verge of losing it altogether in recent
months, and something inside her shuddered at the thought. But now . . . as he'd promised, Reuben had joined with his brother in making plans for confronting the zoning board with their concerns. The men had talked all evening, sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and pie, making lists of all the concerns farmers had.

She'd rejoiced in the sight. Surely, if he still cared so much about what happened to farmers here in the county, he wasn't really committed to leaving. She indulged herself for a moment in a rosy dream in which they found the perfect farm within easy reach of their families—one with a farmhouse they could fill with the babies they would have.

That was the only thing wrong with their comfortable bedroom. There was no crib at the foot of the bed. Still, maybe this time . . .

Reuben sighed, turning his face toward her a little. Even in the near darkness she could visualize his dear face. She could see the thick lashes against his ruddy cheeks, the soft down on his cheekbones, the tiny scar at the corner of his eye where Isaac had swung an enthusiastic bat and hit his brother instead of the ball. She loved him so much. Why couldn't they just live and be happy?

The creak of a floorboard in the hall announced that her father-in-law was up. She touched Reuben's cheek, saying his name softly.

His eyes fluttered open, fixing on her face. He smiled. “My Elizabeth.”

“You were maybe expecting someone else?” There was a lightness in her voice that had been missing lately.

“Never,” he said, and kissed her.

His lips were warm on hers when his daad's knock came on the door. Reuben drew himself back just a little.

“I'm up,” he called. Then he kissed her again and swung out of bed.

As usual, she lay still for a few minutes, giving him space to dress. When he'd hitched his suspenders over his shoulders, he bent down to kiss her again, very lightly.

“See you in a bit.” He went out, and she heard the rumble of his voice as he exchanged a few words with his brother.

Sliding out of bed, Elizabeth stood on the braided rug while she quickly washed and dressed. Over the years she'd become adept at getting her hair pinned up smoothly and quickly, smiling to herself as she thought of Reuben winding the long strands over his hand last night.

They'd been so happy. Surely, this would be the month when she started a baby. Then her empty arms would be full.

This was no time to stand here daydreaming, she scolded herself. Already she could smell the coffee that Mamm Alice started first. She should get downstairs and help with the breakfast.

As usual, Elizabeth found Mamm Alice already in the kitchen, measuring oatmeal into a pan.

“Shall I start the bacon?” She reached for the cast-iron skillet. She and Mamm Alice had worked out a routine for getting breakfast on the table smoothly.

“That's gut.” Her mother-in-law glanced at her face. “You look better this morning.”

Elizabeth blinked. “I didn't know I hadn't been looking all right.”

Mamm Alice's glasses slid down her thin nose, as usual. “Ach, well, it's been a hard year, ain't so?” She paused, then gave Elizabeth's hand a quick squeeze, startling both of them since she wasn't a demonstrative person.

The gesture touched Elizabeth's heart. Since Reuben's mother didn't speak of her loss, Elizabeth had thought—well, she didn't know what she'd thought. She'd just instinctively turned to her own mother for comfort.

“Denke,” she said softly. “I do feel hopeful today, ja.”

Mamm Alice gave a short nod, her eyes blinking rapidly as if to chase away tears.

Should she have confided more in Reuben's mother? The thought troubled Elizabeth. If she had excluded her without thinking, that was unkind. But what could she say now?

Becky clattered down the stairs and into the kitchen, still settling her kapp in place, and relieved Elizabeth of the responsibility of saying anything more. But still, the thought wondered her.

“Ach, I don't know how you two make an early start look so easy.” Becky seized plates and began setting the table. “I hate getting up while it's still dark.”

“That's because you didn't have cows to milk when you were growing up,” Elizabeth said. Becky's father, unlike most Amish, wasn't a farmer. He ran a busy harness shop instead. “You'll get used to it.”

Becky darted a look at her mother-in-law's rigid back and rolled her eyes. Elizabeth repressed a smile. She'd had to play peacemaker between Mamm Alice and Becky more than once. How would they get along when Elizabeth and Reuben moved out?