The Rebel (20 page)

“That's wonderful gut to hear. But still, you must take it a little easy. Don't push yourself to do too much, and . . .”

He let that trail off, and Elizabeth read his thoughts easily. He was thinking of the proposed move.

“Reuben.” Her voice trembled when she said his name. “I know I said that I agreed to the move. But it's different now. Please understand. Now, of all times, I need the love and support of family around me. How can I go so far away from all the people who would want to help me? From the doctor who would take care of me? I . . . I don't want to disappoint you. But everything is different now. Don't you see?”

He seemed to go inward for a moment, as if searching for answers. Then he gave her a tender smile and touched her cheek. “I know, Elizabeth. I understand. I won't ask you to move away, not now.”

She went into his arms again, with thankfulness this time. “Denke, Reuben. You . . . you know I would if I could. But I just can't.”

“It's all right.” He drew back a little to look in her face. “You and the baby are what's important now. We'll . . . we'll find a house we can rent, so we can be on our own but be close to family. And I . . . well, I'll start looking for a job.”

Her heart contracted. “I don't want you to give up farming. It's what you love.”

“I love you and this baby more, so I will do what I must do. Someday, maybe things will be different, ain't so? For now, I'm content.”

The words were what she wanted to hear. But she couldn't fool herself when it came to the defeated look in his eyes. He was giving up the very thing he'd been born to do for her sake.

•   •   •

Waving
good-bye to Ashlee, Barbie headed out the back door of the restaurant at the end of her shift the next day, moving quickly. If she hung around, Ashlee would surely be nagging her about why she hadn't called James yet.

Her stomach seemed to turn a somersault. She'd been on the verge of calling a half-dozen times, but she couldn't quite make up her mind. Was it better to talk to him first, and then break the news to her parents that they'd been in touch? Or should she tell them about it first?

Telling them would mean admitting that she'd confided in Ashlee and that Ashlee had taken the initiative in finding James. She wasn't sure how they'd react to it. It would also put the decision to contact him or not in her parents' hands, and she wasn't sure she wanted to do so. After all, James's message had been to her.

She turned down the alley toward her buggy and came to a sudden stop. A car was pulled up next to it—Terry's car. And Terry was getting out, smiling at her.

“Hi. You're back.” That was a silly thing to say, but he'd taken her by surprise.

“I just got in and came by to see you first.” He grinned down at her. “Did you miss me?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, teasing automatically.

“Aw, come on. You're hurting my self-image if you didn't miss me a lot.”

“I don't see anything wrong with your self-image,” she replied. “It seems pretty healthy to me.” Smiling, cheerful, uncomplicated—there weren't any unexpected depths to Terry
to make a woman's heart twist with hurt and longing. Not like some people she could name.

“I'm back in town for the next few weeks, at least.” Terry stretched out his arm along the roof of the car, leaning toward her with frank appreciation in his face. “You think we could set a time to go out to dinner again?”

She should have known this was coming and been prepared for it. Another date would be fun, but it would also be dangerous. Each time she ventured beyond the boundaries, she risked being caught and hurting those she loved.

“I think . . .” she began.

“Barbie Lapp.”

At the sharp voice she jerked around toward the street. She'd been so involved in her thoughts she hadn't heard the buggy approaching, and now it was too late. Thomas and Miriam Miller stared at her, their faces wearing identical expressions of shock and disapproval. Two of their teenage boys peered out at her from the carriage, less disapproving but probably equally shocked.

“Miriam, Thomas.” She nodded, her mind racing. “I . . . I was just leaving work.”

“So we see.” There could be no doubt about the condemnation in Miriam's voice.

Thomas put a restraining hand on his wife's arm. “We have bad news, Barbie. Your grossmammi—she has had a fall.”

Grossmammi . . . The sudden pain in her heart felt as if someone had hit her with a hammer. “How . . . how bad is it?”

“They don't know yet.” Thomas's tone gentled with sympathy. “We saw the ambulance taking her to the hospital, so since we were on our way to town, we said we'd let you know. Your aunt thought you'd want to meet the family there.”

“Ja, ja, of course. Denke. I . . . I will do that.” Her mind raced. She'd need a ride to the hospital, she'd have to do something about her buggy—

Thomas had the same thought. “My boys will take your buggy home for you, ain't so? You won't want to be worrying about it.” He jerked his head, and the two boys jumped down.

“Denke,” she said again, turning to the boys. “The mare is back there.” She pointed. “You'll find everything . . .”

“We'll take care of it.” Young Thomas, the older boy, patted her arm awkwardly. “Don't worry.” They hurried off as Thomas turned his mare and drove on.

For an instant she just stood there, trying to organize her thoughts. Grossmammi . . . Surely this couldn't be the end already. Grossmammi hadn't finished telling her all the stories in the dower chest. She had to finish, didn't she?

Barbie became aware of Terry, still standing there, looking completely at sea. What was she thinking? He wouldn't have understood any of the conversation, conducted in Pennsylvania Dutch as it was.

“Something's wrong, I guess, but I don't know what.” He looked as if he didn't know whether to go or stay.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “It's my grandmother. She's fallen, and they've taken her to the hospital. I don't know how bad it is.” Her voice broke on the last few words, and she held back a sob with a determined effort.

“So sorry. I didn't realize. Look, at least let me drive you there. You can't go out on the highway in a buggy.”

She hesitated. Accepting a ride from Terry would only put her deeper into trouble, but that hardly mattered at the
moment. Her problems seemed petty in comparison to her grandmother's health.

“That would be great. Thanks so much.”

“Good. Hop in. I'll have you there in no time.”

Apparently Terry considered this an emergency calling for speed, because he took the corner at a rate that would have caused an accident had anything been coming. She gasped and clung to the armrest.

“Sorry. I guess it wouldn't help if I got stopped by the cops.” He proceeded a little more decorously until he reached the highway.

Barbie stared straight ahead, trying not to let herself imagine the worst. Incoherent prayers jumbled through her thoughts, mixing with visions of Grossmammi—laughing, telling stories, baking cookies, listening—always there, in the background, a solid part of her life. Barbie wasn't ready to lose her yet. Maybe she never would be, but not now. Not now.

“She seemed tired when I visited her yesterday. I told my aunt.” The words spilled out. “I should have done more. If we'd taken her to the doctor, maybe this wouldn't have happened.”

Terry shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. You can't blame yourself. She's pretty old, isn't she? It's just fate.”

Fate? That wasn't something she could cling to. God's will, that was what they would say. What Grossmammi herself would say—that life was made up of good things and bad things, and all of it God's will.

But she nodded to show she'd heard. Terry was trying to be comforting, she supposed.

They turned off the highway at the sign for the hospital. He cleared his throat. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No, no, you shouldn't. I don't know how long we'll be here, and I'll be with family anyway.” She glanced at him and summoned up a smile. “Thanks so much for the ride.”

He grinned. “It wasn't quite the welcome back I'd hoped for, but you have to do what you have to do. I'll be around. Maybe we can plan that dinner later.”

She nodded absently, her mind racing ahead as he drew up under the portico at the main entrance. What was she going to find?

Once inside, a helpful pink lady at the front desk directed her to the third floor. Grossmammi had been admitted, then. She tried to tell herself it didn't necessarily mean anything dire, but it didn't seem to work. By the time the elevator stopped, her fingernails were biting into her palms.

Barbie followed a murmur of voices speaking Pennsylvania Dutch to a room just down the hall—a waiting room, by the look of it, currently crowded with family. She went swiftly to her mother, to be enfolded in a comforting embrace.

“We don't know anything yet,” Mammi said, before she could ask the question. “Your aunt heard a thud and ran over to find her on the kitchen floor. It didn't look as if she'd tripped over anything. She just . . . fell.” Mamm's voice held pain mixed with fear. “All we can do is wait and pray.”

Pressing her lips together, she nodded. Her brother David appeared in the doorway with a cardboard container of coffees. He passed them around as far as they would go and then stopped beside Barbie.

“Shall I get you a coffee, then?” His ruddy young face was pale.

“You don't need to. You just got back.”

His face seemed to twist. “I'd rather go for coffee than stand here waiting.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze and hurried back out the door.

David had the right idea. It was hard to stay, to hug her aunt and listen to her murmurings that she should have checked more often, to see the grave faces her father and uncles wore.

The room slowly filled up as the word spread. Rebecca came in with their cousin Judith, and the three female cousins clung together for a long moment. Grossmammi had entrusted them with her family stories. Rebecca and Judith would understand, without her saying it, how tragic it would be if Grossmammi didn't have a chance to finish the stories for Barbie.

Benuel slipped into the room, greeting each of the brothers first and offering words of comfort. He began moving around the room, his quiet presence seeming to spread a measure of peace.

Barbie watched him. How did he do it? And how strange that he didn't seem to understand what a good minister he actually was.

He'd reached her, and he touched her sleeve lightly, the gesture hidden from those around them by his sturdy frame. “She is in God's hands, as we all are.”

Barbie nodded, her throat closing. She wanted to say she knew, to tell him the family appreciated his presence, but the words wouldn't come out.

Before she could find her tongue, there was a stir in the room. Everyone turned to face the door. Ben moved in close beside her. His hand touched her elbow as if in mute support.

The young doctor who stood in the doorway seemed taken aback by the size of the group waiting for him. “Family of Mrs. Lapp?” he asked.

They all nodded, and Daad and his brothers stepped forward.

“How bad is it?” Onkel John, Rebecca's daad, asked the question that was in all their minds.

The doctor gave a second glance at the chart he held, as if to be sure of the facts. “Mrs. Lapp is conscious now.” His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “In fact, she's telling us she wants to go home, but we can't allow that yet.”

“Her injuries?” Daad said.

“A slight concussion and a badly bruised arm, probably from where she tried to break her fall. Apparently she became dizzy, so we want to do a few more tests to find out why. Preliminary indications are that her blood pressure is low, but we haven't found anything else yet. If nothing else turns up, we should be able to let her go home in a day or two.”

A babble of talk burst out. Barbie sagged with relief, and Ben gripped her firmly. She could feel the warmth and strength of his hand right through her sleeve.

“You're all right now,” he murmured. “Everything is fine.”

For a moment longer she leaned into his support, and then she straightened. Grossmammi would be all right, but everything else was all wrong. Unless she was badly mistaken, Ben and the other ministers would soon be hearing from Thomas and Miriam Miller about her behavior.

A cold hand clamped over her heart. Once he heard the truth, Ben would turn away from her. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. She just hadn't realized until this moment how much it would hurt.

I
hear Elizabeth Lapp is doing much better.” Benuel's father put his newspaper aside to comment the next evening. “You saw her today, ain't so?”

Ben sank down in the rocking chair and leaned his head back against the pad. Some nights he felt as if he ought to go to bed the same time as the little ones did.

“I stopped by to offer support.” That was part of his responsibility as a minister, to say nothing of his duty as a friend.

And he hated to admit he'd felt a pang of disappointment to find that Barbie wasn't there. He was thinking too often of those moments in the waiting room when she'd seemed to rely on him. To say nothing of that episode in the moonlight when she'd been in his arms.

“So?” Daad prompted. “How is Elizabeth doing? A fall can be serious at her age, ain't so?”

He nodded, trying to keep his errant thoughts under control. “It can, but she escaped with a sore wrist and some
bruises. She can't wait to be home, and the family hopes that tomorrow will be the day.”

Daad folded his paper, the better to focus on Ben. “Do they know for sure what made her pass out that way?”

“From what I heard, her blood pressure was low, and that might have made her dizzy when she stood up. The tests they've done so far have been fine. That's why the doctor has kept her longer, for the test results. Now he wants to adjust the medicine she's taking.”

Daad nodded. “That sounds wise, but I'm sure Elizabeth is impatient. She's not one to lie around when she thinks there are things to be done.”

“Better to be safe . . .” he began, but stopped when he heard the clop of horse's hooves and a harness creaking from the lane outside the living room window.

Daad was up and at the window before he'd gotten out of his chair. His father seemed to freeze, his hand on the pane.

“Daad? Who is it?”

His father turned toward him, his face paling. “The bishop. Ezra King and Jonas Fisher are with him.”

Mary.
Ben didn't say the name aloud, but he knew that's what Daad was thinking, too. Had they found out about Mary's misdeeds? If so, Mary would not be the only one in trouble. He had known, and he had ignored his duty as a minister and kept it secret.

He realized his hands were clenched into fists, and he deliberately relaxed them, forcing himself to calm. “Komm. We'd best go to greet them.”

By the time the knock came on the back door, he'd managed to compose himself. They would deal with whatever happened together as a family. That was all he could be sure of.

Ben opened the door and nodded to the others as they filed in. There was no point in pretending this was an ordinary visit when they all knew it couldn't be.

Bishop Caleb Esch greeted each of them, his lined face giving nothing away. After he'd refused the offer of coffee, he turned to Daad. “We have church business to talk over with Ben, Moses. Will you excuse us?”

Daad's relief was written on his face for all to see. “Ja, ja, for sure. I'll just take my newspaper upstairs with me.” Nodding to them, he went quickly toward the front of the house, his step light.

“Please, sit.” Ben's thoughts scrambled over likely possibilities for this meeting. It had to be a serious matter to be brought up in this fashion. He took the chair at the foot of the table, opposite Bishop Caleb.

“This is a grave matter,” he said, echoing Benuel's thoughts. “I hate to say it, but I've heard disturbing news about one of our people. More than rumors. Fact.” He gave a heavy sigh, his face drawn down with regret. “I have learned that Barbara Lapp has been going out with an Englischer.”

His first instinct was denial. “No. Surely not. I don't believe she would do so.”

The bishop shook his head sorrowfully. “I don't want to believe it, either, but when Thomas and Miriam Miller went to tell her the news about her grandmother, they found her with a young man. She seemed to be leaving the café where she works with him.”

“She might have just been talking with someone. One of her customers at the café, or someone who asked for directions.” Even as he said the words, Ben knew they didn't sound very convincing.

The bishop sighed. “They say they heard something said about another date. She will have a chance to explain herself, but we have to act.” He folded his hands on the table, his face grim. “Don't think I come to this point easily. There have been other rumors about her actions—rumors I have been reluctant to believe without more evidence. But it seems now we have it.”

Ben wanted to protest, but he had a sinking feeling that it would do no good. Barbie had been skirting the line lately; he knew that as well as anyone did. Now it seemed she had crossed it. Maybe that night at the bar hadn't been the only one. Maybe she made a habit of it.

Then he thought of how good she'd been with Mary, with his own kinder, and he rejected the thought. Surely this couldn't be as bad as it looked.

“She's not a baptized member yet, of course,” Ezra reminded them. He rubbed his forehead as if to wipe away the task ahead of them. “But she's not a teenager. She's of an age to be married and have a family.”

“Well, she's still young,” Jonas said with a touch of indulgence. He had daughters nearing their twenties himself. “Girls seem to want to work awhile these days before settling down. But I agree. We can't ignore it if Barbie has gone so far as to be dating an Englischer.”

“What do you plan to do?” Ben forced the words out, looking at Bishop Caleb's weathered face and dreading the answer.

“We must go together to ask her if this is true,” he said firmly. “That's what scripture commands. If so, and if she is willing to submit to the church's discipline, we will proceed to impose the penalty. Since it was a public act and one that could influence younger people, I think something more than private confession
is needed. Public confession before the members meeting is warranted in this case.”

Jonas stirred. Perhaps he would press for the more lenient private confession to the ministers. It was what Benuel himself wanted to say, but he was tied by the conflict between his duty as a minister and his relationship with Barbie.

But all Jonas said was, “Sitting or kneeling confession?”

The stages of church discipline were well-known to all of them. Private confession. Sitting confession before a members meeting. Kneeling confession. And in the end, if there was no other way to bring the offender to his senses, expulsion.

“Sitting,” Bishop Caleb said. “I see no need for kneeling for this offense.”

Ben's jaw was too tight for speech. Surely it would be enough for Barbie to confess privately. To humiliate her before the congregation was a serious blow.

But he knew what the bishop would say to that argument. The aim of confrontation, confession, and repentance wasn't to humiliate. It was to bring the penitent back into the fold.

The bishop looked a question at the others. One after the other, they nodded, with Ben a reluctant last.

His mind was beginning to work again, but his thoughts were in turmoil. He knew, none better, what Barbie had been doing. After all, he'd seen her in those Englisch clothes the night she brought Mary home. But as he'd gotten to know her recently, he'd begun to change his initial opinion of her. He'd started to believe that behind that pretty face and pert manner was a warm, caring woman just waiting for someone to love.

And where had that search for love taken her? Into an Englischer's arms? Pure jealousy shot through him.

“We're agreed, then. Best to get it over with right away, before rumors begin to spread.” Bishop Caleb's glance at Ben was filled with a kind of pity. “We all know that you have become . . . friends with Barbie. There is no need for you to go with us.”

It was tempting. He'd give a lot to be spared this ordeal. But Ben shook his head. He couldn't shirk his duty just because the person in question was Barbie. He could only pray that she would see he wanted what was best for her. Imposing public confession was a loving act on the part of the fellowship, a desperate effort to retrieve the straying sheep.

But he feared Barbie wouldn't see it that way.

•   •   •

She
should have been expecting this, Barbie knew. She watched as the men filed into the kitchen, and wished for the floor to open up and swallow her. She didn't want to see Mammi and Daadi standing there, shock in their faces, glancing at David as if to ask what he had been doing. But it wasn't David the ministers had come to see, she knew.

Ben was the last man through the door. Her heart sank even further. Was he responsible for this visit? It was hard to believe that he would sacrifice Mary in order to report her. If he had . . . Her hands clenched. If so, how did he rationalize his own actions?

Bishop Caleb greeted each of them. Then he looked at her brother. “David, we need to speak in private with your parents and your sister. Will you leave us, please?”

David sent one startled, scared look toward her before nodding and slipping out the back door.

Daad's face was stricken. He nodded to the seats around
the kitchen table. One by one they sat down, until she was the only one left standing.

Bishop Caleb's steely gaze rested on her. “Sit down, Barbie. We must talk.”

Wordless, she sat, feeling so stiff that it was a wonder she could get her knees to bend. She couldn't look at Ben. Wouldn't look at him.

But she found herself stealing a glance. He sat nearly as rigidly as she did, his face so tight it might have been carved of stone. The man who'd laughed with her over Abram and Libby's antics with the puppy had vanished, leaving behind this censorious stranger.

Bishop Caleb cleared his throat. “We come in response to the Biblical injunction. If a brother is in error, two or three must call on him to give him the opportunity to repent. Tonight the erring soul is our sister Barbara Lapp.”

Daad's expression didn't change, but Barbie heard a stifled sob from her mother and thought she felt her own heart begin to break. How could she have been so heedless as to bring them this pain?

An unexpected little flare of anger lit in her. But who were they to judge her, especially Benuel Kauffmann? She hadn't done anything so terribly wrong, had she?

“Barbara, word has come to us that you have been seeing an Englisch man.” Bishop Caleb frowned, and Barbie dropped her gaze, studying her hands as if she'd never seen them before. “There have been other rumors, but in this case you were actually seen with him.”

Thomas and Miriam, of course. They had told the bishop, but they obviously hadn't told Mamm and Daadi. If her folks could have been prepared, it wouldn't have come as such a shock.

But she couldn't very well blame Miriam for not telling. She
was the one who should have told them, who should have prepared them. Instead, she'd let herself hope she could get away with it and that no one would know.

Silence. She clenched her hands together.

“Do you wish to say anything in your own defense, Barbara?” The bishop's tone had gentled slightly.

For one wild moment she considered denying it. They didn't really have proof of anything. Obviously no one had seen them that night she'd dressed in Ashlee's clothes and gone to dinner with Terry.

But lying would only compound the offense. And she might have bent the truth a little when she'd told Mamm and Daad that she was spending the night with a friend, but she couldn't sit here and tell an outright lie.

Everyone knew what happened when the bishop and ministers called to bring you to a sense of your own misdeeds. You either repented or you rebelled, and rebellion seemed inevitably to lead away from home and family and everything you loved.

“No.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “There is nothing.”

She thought he breathed a little easier. “Will you tell us how far this offense has gone?”

Her fingers gripped the edge of the table. She couldn't look at any of them. She couldn't bear to see the pain in her parents' faces. And she didn't want to know what was in Ben's eyes right now.

“I met him—the Englischer—through friends.” If she were being completely honest, she'd tell them about going to the bar, dressing in Englisch clothes. But if she did, any questions would lead inevitably to Mary. “He started coming to the café where I work. We talked.”

When she didn't go on, the bishop stirred. “And then?”

She sucked in a breath as if she couldn't get enough air. “He wanted to take me to dinner. To get to know me better. So I went.”

“How many times?” The questions were inexorable.

“Just once.”

“This man—did you let him kiss you?”

She could feel her cheeks grow hot. “Yes.” She dared to flash a quick look at the bishop. “But that's all. Nothing else.”

Mamm pressed her hand against her mouth. Was she thinking about James? Had the ministers come to call about James, too, before he left? She'd been too young to know.

“Are you prepared to confess your wrong before the members meeting? To show repentance and agree that the offense will not be repeated?”

Rebellion flared again. To go before the whole church, to make such an admission—it was unfair. Why should she be singled out in this way?

But she sensed the tension that held Mamm and Daad motionless, not even breathing. Unless she was ready, here and now, to leave the faith and her family for good, she had no choice. The only answer she could make was the expected one.

“I am.”

“Gut.”

She could feel the wave of relief that went around the table, and even with her heart sore and bruised, she recognized that there had been no malice from anyone. They truly believed they were doing the right thing.