The Rebel (15 page)

“Mary, ja.” She took a breath, annoyed that the touch of his hand could disturb her usual poise. “I . . . was just thinking that maybe it would be good to have a woman come in, even a few hours a day, to help out with the house and kinder, especially now that she's working at Rebecca's.”

She paused, but he didn't speak. Didn't give any indication as to whether he was annoyed at her interference or actually listening to her.

“There must be someone—maybe one of the older widows in the community could spare the time. It might ease the need Mary feels to . . . well, to fill her mother's place.” Or her sister-in-law's place.

“I have thought of it, you know.”

His voice wasn't angry, and his fingers moved absently against her skin, setting up a shiver of awareness that seemed to move right up her arm.

“At first Sarah insisted she could handle things, but that didn't work out very well. So Daad told her we could manage on our own.” He shook his head. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light, she could see the way his brows drew together and his mouth firmed.

“Are you concerned she'd be offended if you asked someone else for help?” Once again, she seemed to be treading more deeply into his family affairs than she ought.

“She might.” His expression seemed to lighten for a moment, as if he invited her to share his amusement. “But that would not prevent me. The truth is that I didn't see it, and you did.”

“You're not going to start blaming yourself, are you?” She kept her voice light with an effort. Little though she might approve of how rigid Ben could be on matters of conscience, she could also understand that it grew out of his sense of responsibility. Maybe even his caring.

“As a minister and as Mary's brother, I should have done better.”

Barbie was swept by the desire to shake him. “Stoppe.” She actually grabbed his arms. Impossible to shake him, though. He was as solid as a wall. “You can't carry everyone's burdens, Benuel. No one expects it of you.”

“But I do,” he said. His gaze focused on her face so intently. “Like Mary.”

She shook her head, despairing of getting through to him. “You're hopeless, you know that? You'll drive yourself crazy trying to be perfect.”

“I'm far from that.” His voice was a low rumble. “If I were, I wouldn't be—”

He stopped. Shook his head. And then pulled her against him and covered her lips with his.

For an instant, Barbie was so startled that she didn't react at all. Then she felt the warmth of his firm lips, smelled the scent of his skin, and longing spread through her, fierce and strong. She put her arms around him, leaning into his kiss, ignoring the little voice in the back of her mind insisting that this was wrong, that they shouldn't do this, that she should pull away at once, that . . .

Benuel's lips on hers, his arms strong and secure around her, their surroundings receding into the distance until there was only the circle of his embrace—

He let her go so suddenly that she nearly fell. He stared at her, aghast. “I didn't—I shouldn't—”

Apparently he couldn't find the words. She couldn't, either. He shook his head, clamped his lips together, and marched off toward the barn.

Barbie stood alone in the dark, her lips still trembling from the intensity of his kiss, and tried to find her balance. What on earth was she doing? This couldn't happen. She couldn't possibly have feelings for Ben, not Ben. Not a man who was opposed to everything that made her who she was.

When Grossmammi had told her the story of her terrible fear at the idea of moving away from all she knew and loved, Barbie hadn't really been able to understand. Grossmammi was the bravest person she knew.

She'd always thought she was brave, like her grandmother. Now she felt the other side—the fear. She was terrified of falling in love with Ben.

Lancaster County, Spring 1960

R
euben
sat next to his brother in the buggy, trying to clear his mind for the zoning meeting ahead of them. He glanced back. Theirs was only one of a long line of Amish carriages moving along the two-lane township road toward the fire hall where the meeting would be held.

“Looks almost like a church Sunday, ain't so?” Isaac said, jerking his head toward the lineup behind them. “Hope nobody's in a hurry this evening.”

“You did a fine job of passing the word about the meeting and getting the Leit to show up.”

Isaac
had
worked hard. Reuben just wished he could believe it was going to make a difference to the outcome.

“Denke.” Isaac looked almost surprised.

Was it that rare for him to say something positive to his little brother? He'd been so preoccupied with his own worries that he hadn't spared much thought for other people, it seemed. He'd have to do better.

He glanced at his brother, but Isaac seemed preoccupied, frowning at the horse in front of him as if he didn't see it. Was he worrying about the outcome of the meeting? Or maybe he was afraid he'd be called upon to speak. None of them wanted to push themselves forward or draw attention to themselves, but there was little point in going to the meeting if they didn't make their concerns known.

Isaac cleared his throat. “Is . . . um, is Elizabeth feeling any better?”

“She's all right.” The words came out too sharply for anyone to believe them, including him. Elizabeth wasn't all right. She was upset and struggling.

That was part of the problem with so many adults living in the same house. Everybody knew what was going on. He and Elizabeth would be better off on their own. And the least he could do was keep from snapping at his brother.

“You know she doesn't want to move away.” It was his turn to stare straight ahead, reluctant to see his brother's face. “It's hard for her to accept the idea that we might have to.”

Isaac nodded. “Kind of makes me feel bad that Becky and I get to stay on the farm.”

“No need for you to feel that way,” Reuben said quickly. “It's the sensible thing to do. Daad will want to keep working for a few more years anyway. You know it as well as I do.”

A grin split Isaac's ruddy face. “The problem will be to get him to slow down when he needs to.”

Reuben couldn't help smiling at that idea. “Daad and Mamm both. Somehow I don't see them retiring to a grossdaadi haus any time soon.”

“No. Well, I wouldn't want them to, and neither does Becky.
She always says she'll be wonderful glad to have Mamm there when babies start coming along.”

Reuben felt himself tensing at the mention of babies. The whole subject had become like a sore tooth—just made worse by poking at it.

“So what do you think will happen at the zoning board meeting?” It was an abrupt change of subject, but he couldn't go on talking about something so sensitive. “You've been closer to it than I have.”

Isaac's shoulders moved restlessly. “The way I hear it, they'll listen to the folks who want to make the changes. Then, when they're done, we should have a chance to ask questions and say what we're thinking.”

“Are you ready to say something?”

“Ja, I guess so. I figure it's not as important how we speak up as that we do. If they could just understand how much trouble it would cause the farmers, I'm certain-sure they'll reconsider.”

Isaac didn't sound as if he really believed his own words. And Reuben surely didn't. They'd been seeing which way the wind was blowing in Lancaster County for a few years now. Progress. That's all the Englisch seemed to want to talk about.

“I hope so,” he said. “What are folks around the township saying about it?”

“I heard a few things when I was at the mill yesterday.” Isaac's forehead furrowed. “Some folks think the zoning board members have already made up their minds. That doesn't seem right to me. I'd think they should be more like a judge—listen to both sides and then decide.”

“Maybe they figure they've already heard everything they
need to hear.” Reuben tried to think of something encouraging to say. “At least we'll have a chance to show them there's more than one side to the issue.”

“Ja.” Isaac's frown deepened. “Somebody heard one of the zoning board members saying they'd accommodated the Amish enough.” He shook his head. “Didn't make sense to me. I can't see what they've done for us at all.”

“I guess they'd say that more people stand to gain if there's a lot of building along that road. Folks in construction, electric contractors, building suppliers—they've all got a chance to make some money off it.”

“They have a right to make a living, and I can't argue with that. But does it have to be where it hits us so hard?”

Isaac sounded as if he'd been giving the matter deeper thought than Reuben would have expected. He kept forgetting that his little brother was an adult, with adult responsibilities now.

“The thing is,” Isaac went on, “the farmers have the same right to make a living, and what they're talking about doing will hurt us. If we can just make them see it . . .” Isaac let his words trail off. It sounded as if, despite all his efforts, he didn't have much confidence that they could influence the outcome.

Reuben glanced at the road ahead. They'd been riding along between pastures and cornfields on either side of the road, but all of a sudden houses and businesses started appearing. He waved his hand.

“Look at it. Ten years ago this was cropland, producing food to feed hungry families. Where do they think the food on their tables will come from if they succeed in driving out all the farmers?”

Isaac was silent for a moment. Then he looked at Reuben.
“You're going to leave no matter what is decided tonight, aren't you?”

Reuben's hands tensed, gripping the edge of the seat. “I think moving on is right for us. So yes, most likely.” He paused, the weight settling on his shoulders. “If I can just get Elizabeth to see sense—”

He stopped abruptly, realizing what he'd said. That sounded so selfish. Was he that confident he knew what was right for everyone else? Somehow he didn't like that picture of himself.

“If we can come to an agreement,” he said carefully.

“Well, either way, I'm wonderful glad you worked on this with me. Denke, Reuben.”

He nodded. There wasn't really anything else to say. They would try their best to affect the future of the place they loved, and the rest was in the hands of God.

The cement block fire hall appeared ahead of them. He could feel his brother growing tense at the thought of what they were about to face.

As they drew into the gravel parking lot, Isaac spoke quickly, as if there was something that had to be said before he lost his nerve.

“There's something we've been keeping quiet about.” His voice was a bit higher than usual, a little forced. “We didn't want to make things any harder for Elizabeth. But the thing is . . . well, Becky is going to have a baby.”

Reuben felt the way he had the day he'd fallen from the barn loft and landed on a hay bale. It knocked the breath right out of him.

He should have expected it. Becky and Isaac were a young
married couple. Naturally they'd be starting a family. It wasn't their responsibility to fret over how Elizabeth would take it.

Forcing a smile, he clapped his brother on the shoulder. “That's wonderful gut news, Isaac. I'm happy for you.”

“Are you?” His brother's face lit. “I . . . We just worried about how Elizabeth would react.”

“Elizabeth will be happy for you and Becky,” he said firmly. “There's no doubt about it.”

Isaac ducked his head, grinning. “Baby will be coming in November, Becky says. She wants to name him after me.”

Reuben kept his smile pinned on his face, determined not to think of his own tiny son. “If he's a girl, that's not going to work too well, ain't so?”

Laughing together, they pulled up at the hitching rail.

•   •   •

Ben
peered into the buggy he and Daad were repairing and shook his head. “If this were tricked up any more, the boy might as well buy a car and be done with it.”

The youngest Esch boy's courting buggy was done up with every gadget imaginable, from LED headlights to automatic interior lights to shag carpeting and a double mug holder.

“And what does he need with a speedometer?” He glanced at Daad, who shook his head, smiling.

“Maybe the answer to that is how he managed to break the suspension on a buggy he's had for less than a year. Still, it's money in our pockets to fix it.” Daad patted the elliptic suspensions that hung along one wall of the workshop. “At least we already have all the parts we need in stock.”

“Ja, looks like it.” Ben picked up his clipboard and went over the list of what had to be done. “I hope his daad gave him a good talking-to about his antics.”

“There's no harm in the boy.” Daad always had a generous attitude toward the young. “All this is a young man's foolishness. He'll be putting away such childish things soon enough, like you did.”

Ben's eyebrows lifted, and he smiled. “I never wasted money on something as frivolous as a buggy mug holder.”

“You were foolish in other ways, as I remember. Luckily Donna wasn't looking for the fanciest buggy.”

Ben's smile faded a bit as he thought of the day Donna had agreed to let him drive her home from a singing. He'd been walking on air all afternoon, and by the time the singing was over and they'd headed down the road in the buggy, he'd been so jittery he could barely speak.

“No, Donna didn't care about the buggy. I was the lucky one. I fell in love with the right person.”

Falling in love was a dangerous thing. It made a man too vulnerable.

“The right person?” Daad squatted, checking the wheels to see what damage had been done to them. “I thought whoever you loved was the right person.”

Ben shrugged, the memory of what had happened the previous night still haunting him. “A man could be attracted to someone who wasn't good for him. Maybe even attracted enough to do something foolish.”

Daad straightened slowly, holding on to the wheel as he did. “Do you want to tell me what foolish thing happened between you and Barbie last night?”

“How did you know?” He felt as if he were twelve again, surprised at how on earth Daad could have known he was the one who'd forgotten to latch the stall door.

“I have eyes in my head,” Daad said. “And so does Mary. When she says you and Barbie went outside during the break and you came back looking like a thundercloud, she knows something is up. Especially when Barbie couldn't seem to concentrate on where she was or what she was supposed to be doing.”

“She said that?” He hadn't noticed Barbie's reaction to what had happened between them. He'd been too busy chiding himself for his own.

“She did. Mary's the sort who sees what folks would rather she didn't sometimes, ain't so?”

“Well, I certain-sure don't want her talking about me and Barbie,” he muttered. The shame for his conduct was bad enough when he thought only two people knew what had happened out in the quiet darkness.

“I don't suppose she will,” Daad said. “Barbie's a good person,” he added.

“Ja.” Whatever else he thought, he couldn't overlook the fact that she'd rescued Mary even at the risk to herself.

Daad's gaze, steady and serious, was the one that had always induced a younger Benuel to confess whatever minor offenses were weighing on his mind. Ben sighed. That look still worked.

“I kissed Barbie. I didn't intend to. And I don't suppose she did, either. It just . . . happened.” As an excuse, that sounded feeble even to himself.

“You're a single man. Barbie is a single woman. I can't see any reason why you shouldn't kiss if you want to.”

Was Daad laughing at him?

“It shouldn't have happened,” he said stubbornly. “I shouldn't be kissing anyone unless I'm thinking of marrying her. And Barbie is the most unsuitable person in the world to be a minister's wife.”

Daad leaned against the wheel of Thomas Esch's buggy, apparently ready to stand there all day talking if need be. “You know, that puts me in mind of how you got to be a minister. You didn't fill out an application or produce references or even ask for the job.”

“No, of course not,” he muttered. He could see what Daad was driving at. “People don't choose a minister. God makes the choice.”

A slip of paper stuck in one book—and if you were the one who picked it up, that meant God had chosen you for His minister for the rest of your life. You had no say in the matter. The people you would minister to had no say. God chose.

“I don't see how God is going to pick the right wife for me. I'm the one who has to ask. I should use my best judgment, ain't so?”

Daad shrugged. “Barbie Lapp might not fit the picture you have in your mind of the best woman to be a minister's wife, but—”

“She doesn't,” he said, interrupting. “She's frivolous and impulsive and far too interested in things Englisch.”

“Maybe so. But she has a good heart,” Daad said. “She brings a gift of laughter with her wherever she goes, ain't so? And she has been wonderful kind to our Mary.”

Daad's words stung, pricking his conscience. “That's true. I haven't forgotten that, but I still wish I hadn't kissed her.
She'll be expecting . . .” He let the words fade out, not sure what Barbie might expect after that kiss.

She'd kissed him back—that he knew. He could still feel her arms close around him, smell the fresh scent of her skin, and taste the sweetness of her lips. But that—well, that was desire, wasn't it? At his age, he ought to expect more of himself.