The Rebel (12 page)

Ben suppressed a smile as Daad thanked her for the ride, if not for the advice. “Denke, Clara. You've been wonderful kind.”

“It's nothing.” She nodded toward his father. “We have to take care of the good people in this world.”

He raised his hand as she pulled around and drove off, and then headed for the door. Whose buggy was that, if not Sarah's?

Mary was already out the door, wrapping her arms around Daad. “Are you all right? Are you sure? We were so worried.” Even as she spoke, her eyes filled with tears.

Did she feel guilty, afraid that her misbehavior might have brought this on? But they'd all had a share in the stress Daad felt, surely, not just Mary. He contributed, for sure, and so did Sarah in her way.

“I'm fine, fine,” Daad repeated, patting Mary's shoulder. “Just a little tired is all.”

Mary must have interpreted that literally, because she kept her arm around him for support as they went into the house, leading him straight to his favorite rocking chair.

“Mary, whose buggy . . .” Ben let the sentence die out as Barbie came down the stairs.

She put her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture as he approached. “Both your little ones are asleep. Abram was determined to stay awake until you got home, but after a story and a song or two, he succumbed.” Her mouth curved in a smile that contained a tenderness he hadn't often seen in her. “They are so sweet.”

He felt as if she'd caught him on the wrong foot by being here, even by putting his kinder to bed. “I don't understand. Sarah was supposed to stay until Mary got home.”

Barbie glanced toward the living room, where Mary was fussing over Daad, insisting that he have a pillow behind his
back and a stool beneath his feet. It looked to Ben as if they were both enjoying it.

“We were late getting here, I'm afraid.” She gave him a quick, inquiring glance, as if expecting a complaint from him, but he just nodded.

“I suppose Sarah was fretting about getting home to her family, then.” And knowing Sarah, that fact combined with her worry over Daad would have made her short-tempered.

“It happens sometimes when you're dealing with guests. You can't always predict how long you'll be needed. As it happened, Rebecca wasn't feeling well, so Mary and I had to take care of the guests until Matt got home.”

“I understand that part, but I'm not sure why you stayed on here. You probably had things of your own to take care of.”

And he didn't like feeling indebted to her. That was the truth of it, and he'd better confess it to himself, if not to Barbie.

“Nothing pressing,” she said lightly. “Mary was a bit upset, so I thought it best if I stayed with her.” Her gaze flickered again toward the living room. “I'm sure you'd rather be on your own to get your daad settled, but if there's anything I can do . . .”

“We can manage. Denke,” he added. “I'll walk out with you. I should leave a message on Sarah's phone, letting her know all is well so she doesn't come rushing back to see for herself.”

Barbie didn't speak until they were on the porch and safely out of earshot. “How is your daad? I guess it wasn't a heart attack, since he's home.”

“Is that what Sarah said? She always jumps to the worst conclusion. He was short of breath and said his chest felt tight.” Remembering that moment and his own conclusion-jumping
made him cold. “The doctor couldn't find anything physically wrong. He seems to think it was caused by stress.”

“I'm sure you're relieved.”

He shrugged. “I suppose, except that I don't know how to go about easing his worries.”

“No, I guess not.” Barbie frowned, her forehead puckering a little. Was she thinking of Daad? Or had her mind switched over to the stress and pain her own actions might cause her parents?

If he were a better minister, he would have just the right words to help Barbie. Unfortunately, all he could seem to do was think about how appealing she looked with that little line crinkling between her brows as she pondered.

The fact that she appealed to him made it all the more important that he behave as her minister should. But still, the warmth and caring she'd shown today seemed to show she had more depth to her than the frivolous image she often showed him. He found himself imagining how she'd looked when she'd cradled his kinder close and sung to them.

They'd reached her carriage, and he automatically began helping her harness the mare.

“I can do this,” she protested. “You should call Sarah and get back to your daad.”

“Sarah can wait another few minutes.” He settled the harness and began fastening the straps. “And it might do Mary and Daad both good to be together. Besides, there was something Daad wanted me to ask you.”

Barbie looked a little surprised, but she nodded. Giving the mare a final pat, she looped the lines in preparation for climbing in.

He stood looking down at her, wondering how best to put the question.

“Well?” she prompted, eyebrows lifting.

“You know worship is here on Sunday. Daad thought . . . well, when the young ones come back for the singing, we wondered if you would stay and help. Mary . . .” He seemed to lose track of the words, not eager to show he needed her.

“He thinks Mary might enjoy the singing more if I were one of the chaperones?” She finished the sentence for him.

“Ja, that's right.” Actually, what he'd said was that if Sarah insisted on staying to chaperone, Mary would probably do something just to make her mad.

Barbie tilted her head and seemed to be sizing him up. “And what do you think of me as a chaperone, Ben Kauffmann?”

She'd made him smile, which was probably just what she'd intended.

I think of you a little too much for comfort.
“I want you to come. Satisfied?”

“I guess it will have to do.” The dimple at the corner of her lips showed for a moment.

She turned, grasping the rail to pull herself up. Before he could tell himself it was a bad idea, he'd clasped her waist, giving her a boost up to the carriage seat.

Was it his imagination, or were her cheeks a little rosier than normal?

“Denke, Barbie. I'll see you later.”

Barbie gave a quick, flurried nod and clucked to the mare. Had he put her off balance with his actions? Well, if so, that was only fair, because she put him off balance constantly just by being herself.

Lancaster County, Spring 1960

His companions on the trip to Brook Hill were talking so much that no one seemed to notice his silence. Reuben figured that was just as well.

He glanced out the window, still surprised after a full day and a half here at the amount of undeveloped land there was. In Lancaster County, one farm bordered the next in a peaceful checkerboard of fields. Here the woods came right to the road as often as not, with arable land still wild with growth of pines and hemlocks, sumac and mountain laurel. The laurel on the hillsides was in bloom, its pinky-white blossoms peeping through the stands of trees.

On either side the horizon was defined by the ridges that ran parallel to each other, separated by the valley floor and the inevitable streams, where a man could build a fine farm and raise a family.

But was he that man? The pain and hurt on Elizabeth's face when she'd heard he was coming on this trip couldn't be dismissed from his mind. Was he doing the right thing? Ever since they'd left home early yesterday morning, he'd been praying, asking God to give him a sign, like He had given Gideon. Stay or go? But God had been silent.

Reuben's gaze was caught by a figure moving at a fence line on the farm they were passing. The figure bent, rose, seemed to stumble, and then bent again. It took a second to understand what he was watching. The man—a white-haired Englischer—was trying to lift a wooden pasture gate into place. Even as he watched, the gate fell, taking the man with it.

“Stop a minute.” Reuben was already reaching for the door handle. “Looks like somebody needs help.”

The driver slowed, pulling over, but Johnny shook his head. “He's up. Must have just tripped.”

Their driver consulted his watch. “If we're going to meet that real estate agent at two, we'd better keep moving.”

But he had the door open. “You go on. I'll give him a hand, and you can pick me up on the way back, ja?”

“But the property—”

“You can tell me all about it.” He slid out, driven by an impulse he didn't quite understand. He wanted out, that was all. He needed to be away from all the chatter about buying and selling and moving long enough to clear his head.

Not looking back, he strode along the fence row, hearing the car pull off as he went. He took a breath, filling his lungs with fresh country air mingled with the scent of growing things. It was a gut place, he felt sure of it, but was this valley the place for him?

The Englischer straightened at the sight of him, eyeing him with a caution that suggested he hadn't seen many Amish. “Can I do something for you?”

He was older than Reuben had thought at first sight, his face weathered and wrinkled with years spent working outdoors, his shoulders stooped.

“You looked like you could use a hand with the gate.” Reuben waited for a response, not sure he'd done the right thing. Not everyone welcomed help, he supposed, and this wasn't home, where he knew everyone in the township, Amish or Englisch.

The elderly Englischer took his time, studying Reuben's
face, and then he nodded. “It'd be kind of you.” He nodded in the direction the car had gone. “But your friends—”

“They'll stop for me on the way back. They're going to look at a place for sale down the road.”

“The Pierson farm, that would be.” The man nodded, satisfied he'd placed them. “I heard there were some Amish fellows coming in to look at it. Thinking about settling here in the valley, are you?”

“Could be,” Reuben said cautiously. “If we can find places to farm.”

“Plenty of good farmland around here.” The man bent over the gate.

Moving quickly, Reuben forestalled him, lifting the wooden gate easily and moving it into place between the posts. “If I hold it steady, can you get the hinges in place?”

He nodded, pulling a packet of screws and a screwdriver from the pocket of his overalls. “I'll manage.” He shot a glance toward the farmhouse and his leathery face crinkled in a smile. “There's Mother out on the porch, watching to make sure I'm not hurting myself. The way that woman fusses, you'd think I was too old to walk across my own land.”

Reuben found himself relaxing at the familiar plaint. “You sound like my daad. Women are always going to fuss, ain't so?”

“Your folks farmers, are they?” He straightened the hinge that had pulled loose from the post and set the new screw.

Reuben nodded. “In Lancaster County. Dairy, mostly, but a good-sized truck patch, too.”

“Local talk says you might want to move up here.”

What else did local talk say? He'd like to have an idea of how wilkom Amish would be here. The others were so excited
at the idea of reasonably priced farmland that they didn't seem to consider anything else.

“There are five families interested in coming.” He darted a look at the man, but the weathered face only showed preoccupation with the hinge. “My brother will take over my daad's place when it's time, so I need to find a place I can farm—me and my wife,” he added.

The Englischer tightened the screw and gave the hinge a testing yank. Then he stooped to the bottom hinge. “This area could do with some more good farmers,” he said eventually. “You and your wife have any kids?”

Reuben's heart winced. “Not yet,” he said.

“A farm's a good place for kids to grow up.” He spoke softly, almost to himself. “Both my boys loved it. Farm life turned them into good men.” He shrugged. “But now they live in suburban houses, and their kids don't know one end of a cow from the other.”

Reuben wasn't sure what to say. That seemed a cause for sympathy to him, but an Englischer might not look at things the same way.

Fortunately the man didn't seem to expect an answer. He finished, straightened, and checked to be sure the latch still worked right on the other end of the gate. Then he gave a short nod.

“She'll hold now, I think.” He stuck out his hand. “I'm Fred Masters.”

“Reuben Lapp.” The man's hand, horny with years of work, was still strong, his handshake firm.

“Come on up to the house, Reuben. Reckon we both deserve a lemonade on an afternoon like this one.”

He could hardly expect the others back this soon, so Reuben nodded and fell into step with him.

“How many acres do you farm?” Reuben asked, noting the sturdy barn and the various outbuildings, all in good repair. A couple of Jersey cows lifted their heads to stare incuriously at them as they passed.

“There's a hundred and ten acres altogether, but some of it's in woods.” He gestured toward the place where the land lifted to curve up to the forested ridge. “I own all the way up to the ridge, and there's nothing but State Game Lands beyond. Plentiful water comes from springs right off the ridge.”

“You're fortunate,” Reuben said. That was twice his daad's acreage, and with a good water source besides.

Masters nodded. “Always felt that way. Still, it's getting to be too much for me now. I don't like to admit it, but it's true.”

All he could do was look his sympathy. At least Daad knew that his place would be carried on by family for generations, if God willed. It sounded as if Masters didn't have that comfort.

They were near the porch now, and the woman—Mrs. Masters—was looking at them expectantly. “I see you got some help,” she said, “and it's a good thing. I don't know what you were thinking of, trying to fix that gate yourself.”