The Rebel (25 page)

Without waiting for an answer, she tugged Mary along with her and ran for the trees. The rush of footsteps told her the others weren't far behind. Back through the trees again, but with no firelight to guide her this time. Mary stumbled once, and Barbie helped her up and got her moving again.

When they emerged from the trees, Terry saw them right away. He flung the doors open, turning on the overhead light. The motor was already running. Even as they cleared the brambles and hit the grassy area, she heard the sound she'd been dreading. Sirens wailed in the distance, and someone shouted.

Barbie shoved the girls into the backseat, slammed the door, and jumped into the front. “Okay, go.”

Terry didn't need a second invitation. He roared back down the lane before Barbie could even get her door closed. She managed to slam it just as he reached the dirt road.

He glanced toward the backseat. “You three better crouch down in case they've left a cop car out on the road. I'll tell you when it's clear.”

White-faced, they did as he said. The younger Esch girl stifled a sob. They were scared, as well they should be. If they got out of this without a major scandal, they'd be fortunate. She could only hope they'd also learn a difficult lesson.

Mary . . . She hurt for all three of them and their families, of course, but Mary was her responsibility. It didn't matter that she hadn't wanted to take it on, and it didn't excuse her, either. She'd known the girl looked up to her, and she hadn't cared enough not to let her down.

They neared the blacktop road, and she held her breath. If there was a police car there, if they were stopped with three teenagers in the backseat—

Terry made the turn, slowing so as not to attract any unwelcome attention. The police car was still there, farther down the road, but the officer standing next to it didn't even glance in their direction. He was focused on the road ahead of him, probably here to make sure no one ran out through the woods to the main road to get away.

They rounded another turn, and the police car vanished from sight.

“Okay,” Terry said. “You can sit up now. It's over.”

Over. Relieved as she was, Barbie knew nothing was done with, not yet. She still had to cope with the repercussions of what had happened tonight.

F
ollowing
Barbie's directions, Terry dropped the Esch girls at the end of their lane. They'd have to figure out for themselves what to tell their parents.

Sadie paused by Barbie's window. “Barbie . . .” She looked thoroughly chastened and at a loss for words. “Denke,” she said finally. “We won't forget what you did tonight.”

Barbie nodded. If the two of them were smart enough, they'd take a lesson from the wailing sirens that would keep them out of trouble, at least for a time.

They drove on down the road, and Barbie gestured toward the lane to the Kauffmann place. “You can just let us off at the end of the lane.”

Terry glanced at her, the light from the dash just enough for her to see his expression. It seemed to linger between relief and regret. “How will you get home?”

“Someone will take me.” She managed a rueful smile. “Believe me, it won't help for you to be seen.”

The relief seemed to win out. “I guess this is good-bye, then.”

“Yes.” There wasn't much she could add to the word. It was definitely good-bye. “Thanks for your help. I couldn't have done it without you.”

He shrugged. “Hey, it was an adventure. I hope everything goes okay with you and your friend.”

She slid out quickly and waited while Mary climbed out of the backseat, her head bowed. They stood by the sign that read
Kauffmann Buggy Repairs
and watched as Terry's taillights disappeared down the road and around a bend.

Barbie started walking, her thoughts revolving around the word Terry had used. “Adventure,” she said, as much to herself as to Mary. “I always thought I wanted adventure, but if this is what it's like, maybe it's not so great after all.”

“I know. I've never been so scared in my life.”

Mary's voice took her by surprise. She'd thought the girl was going to give her the silent treatment, since she hadn't spoken since they'd bolted for the car.

“You want to know the truth? Me, either.” She smiled at Mary, who gave her a trembling grin in return.

The lighthearted moment slipped away quickly. “I guess I'm really in trouble now.” Mary looked ahead at the lights from the farmhouse, growing closer with each step.

In contrast the darkness seemed to press around them, isolating them. Aside from a few faint rustles in the grass of the hedgerows and the call of an owl in the distance, the night was still. It provided a kind of anonymity, in a way. It was easier to say difficult things when you couldn't see the other person's face, Barbie decided.

“It would be worse if they'd had a police car coming to the door,” she said, keeping her tone practical. It wouldn't help for Mary to lose control and fly out at her father and brother over this incident.

“I know.” They took a few more steps. “I'm not sure why you bothered with me.” Mary's voice was tearful and miserable. “You could have gotten in big trouble yourself.”

She considered passing it off lightly, but that would only compound the wrong she'd already done. “Listen.” She stopped and faced the girl, just short of the porch. “I was responsible, that's why. Everything you said about me was true. I was telling you to live a life I wasn't willing to live myself. That was wrong, and I had to do what I could to make it right.” She glanced at Mary, adding, “Besides, I'm fond of you. I didn't want to see a headline about you in the newspaper.”

Mary caught her arm. “Wait. Before we go in—denke. And I'm sorry. I . . . I care about you, too. I don't want you to get into trouble because of me.” Her voice wavered a little, and in the next moment, she was hugging Barbie desperately. “I've just been so lonely since Mamm—and Ben doesn't understand—and I don't want to disappoint everybody, but what if I can't do what I should . . .”

She dissolved into tears at that point. Barbie just held her, rocking her back and forth a little as if she were a baby. That's what she was, really. Just a baby, missing her mammi and not sure what to do about it.

“It's going to be all right.” She patted the shaking back. “Everything will work out. No one expects more of you than you can manage.” How like Ben she was—trying so hard to
meet everyone's expectations. How strange that neither of them seemed to see it.

Mary drew back at last, mopping her face with the backs of her hands. She took a deep breath. “Okay. I'm okay. But you'll go in with me, won't you?”

Barbie put her arm around Mary's waist. “That's certain-sure. Let's go.”

It felt like a replay of that first time she'd brought Mary home, but there was a difference. She hadn't understood, then, just how much she had to lose.

Brook Hill, Pennsylvania, Fall 1960

Elizabeth hurried to give her mother another hug before the group from Lancaster County climbed into the van to go home. So many people had come for the weekend they'd had to farm them out to the neighbors to have enough beds.

“I'm wonderful glad you all came to help with raising the new tie barn.” She pressed her cheek against her mother's, memorizing the feel and warmth of it.

“It was a treat for us,” Mamm said. “The tie barn looks grand, ain't so?”

They both glanced at the raw new structure next to the sturdy old barn that already stood on the property when she and Reuben bought. The barn-raising had been accomplished in a single day, thanks to their small church community, the family from Lancaster County, and some of their new Englisch neighbors.

“Reuben's sehr happy with it. Maybe now he'll have time to finish the cradle he's making for the boppli.”

Mamm smiled, laying a hand on Elizabeth's burgeoning
belly. The babe kicked just then, and they both laughed. “A fine, strong babe, ain't so?”

“That's what the doctor says. I hope it's another boy, for Reuben's sake, but he insists he'd be just as happy with a girl who looks like me.” She blushed a little at repeating the compliment. Still, it filled her heart with warmth and gratitude each time she thought of it, and she suspected Mamm understood.

“You're not worrying, are you?” Mamm's gaze searched her face. “Because of Matthias, I mean.”

“Not too much.” She couldn't say it hadn't crossed her mind, and her smile was bittersweet when she thought of their first son. “The doctor is reassuring. He's convinced all will be well.”

“I'll be back to help when the time comes,” Mamm reminded her. “It's not such a long trip as it seemed at first.”

“We'll look forward to it.” She'd told her mother several times that she needn't make the trip for the babe's birth, but Mamm was determined.

“Ach, your father is looking impatient. He wants me to get in so we can start.” She gave Elizabeth another searching look. “You are happy here, ain't so?”

“Very happy.” She walked with her mother to the van and saw her safely inside. She was happy, but it wouldn't be surprising if she shed a tear or two when they drove away. They'd brought a sense of family with them when they came, and the weekend was over too soon.

Reuben came to put his arm around her as the van drove away. He touched her cheek. “Tears?” His face grew anxious. “You're not feeling regrets?”

“No. No regrets.” She turned into his embrace, laughing a little when the bulk of her stomach came between them. “This
place seemed strange to me at first, but now . . . well, now it feels like home. We have the farm and the life we've always wanted, with gut friends and church members nearby.”

Reuben's expression relaxed. “And the church will be growing, if all I've heard is true. There's been talk of another two or three families joining us in the spring. Soon Brook Hill will have a big Amish community.”

They turned to go in the farmhouse.
This is home,
she thought.
Not the place where you grew up, but the place where you raise your family.

“My grossmammi was right.” She thought of her grandmother and smiled. “She said that one day the Amish of Lancaster County might see us as pioneers, carrying our community to a new place.”

Reuben stopped on the porch to kiss her cheek. “Your grandmother is a wise woman. I think that one day, you'll be just like her.”

She pictured herself an old woman, surrounded by children and grandchildren and maybe even great-grandchildren. The image seemed to glow with promise.

One day,
she thought. One day she would tell those grandchildren their story—the story of what it was like to be Amish in a constantly changing world.

•   •   •

Saying
a silent prayer, Barbie tapped and then opened the kitchen door. Ben was in the act of rising from the table, a cup in his hand. He looked at her as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

His father came in from the living room as Ben moved toward the door. “Was ist letz? Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly.” She stepped inside, once more tugging Mary along behind her. She could understand the girl's hesitation to face the music. After what had happened the last time, this would be like reliving a nightmare for all of them.

Speechless for a moment, Ben stared at his sister, taking in her jeans and her tearstained face. Barbie put her arm around Mary's waist again and gave a little squeeze for courage.

At the same time, she tried to look a warning at Ben.
Don't overreact. Don't drive her further away with what you say now. Please.

Did he get the message? In any event, he didn't say anything. He might just be saving it up, intending to vent it on her.

“I'm sorry.” The words burst from Mary on a wave of tears. “I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.”

It was the best thing she could say. Her father held out his arms, and Mary rushed into them, sobbing. He held her, patting her, making soothing sounds. Ben looked at Barbie, who lingered, not sure what to do next. They'd want an explanation, and she didn't think they'd get anything coherent from Mary for the time being.

“You'd best come in, I think.” Ben's face didn't soften when he looked at her, but at least he didn't bark.

“Barbie, komm, sit.” Moses looked shaken, but he managed to sound fairly normal. He led Mary to a chair and sat down close beside her, still holding her.

“I'm sorry.” She sat down, glancing from one to the other of them. She really was. If she could have seen a way to spare them, she would have. “Mary, do you want me to explain?”

The only answer was a small affirmative movement of her head.

“All right.” She forced herself to be calm, but her hands twisted together in her lap, as if they would independently protest.

“I was working the supper shift at the café. My last shift,” she added quickly, wondering if Ben would question what she was doing back there after her confession. “I overheard some talk at the counter about a big party the teenagers were having at the reservoir tonight. Apparently there had been talk that they had some Amish girls coming.”

Ben didn't speak, but he seemed to wince. Of course it would hurt him. As a minister, he felt responsible.

“And one of the other men said that the police knew about it and were going to raid it. So I knew I had to do something.” She struggled to condense the events of the evening into as short an account as possible. “I called . . .” She paused. “I called someone I thought might know what our young ones were doing.”

Ben could probably translate that with no difficulty. He'd guess that she would have called David as her closest insight into what the teenagers were doing. But she was determined not to name anybody she didn't have to.

“He gave me three names,” she said carefully. “It was too late to try reaching the families, and I didn't know who else to turn to. So I got a . . . a customer at the café to drive me out there. We were able to get the girls away before the police arrived.” That was really a shortened version, but she hoped they'd be satisfied and not inquire too deeply.

Silence for a moment. Maybe they were thinking, as she had, how close they had come to open scandal, with Amish teenagers' exploits trumpeted in the newspaper.

“Ach, Barbie,” Moses said at last. “You could have been caught up in it yourself.”

If he knew how close she had come to failing . . . well, that would have been disaster, for her as well as for the other families.

“I know, but . . . I couldn't just let it happen without trying to stop it.”

Moses glanced at Mary and then at her. “You followed your generous heart. We're thankful.”

“She was just in time.” Mary looked up, her face shining with tears. “We could hear the sirens as we drove away.”

“It's over with now,” she said quickly, not wanting to bring on another bout of weeping from Mary.

“You are a gut friend, Barbie Lapp. And a kind person.”

She could feel her color rise at the unexpected praise from Moses. The silence from Ben seemed to indicate that he didn't agree, but that didn't surprise her, did it?

Not surprise, no. But hurt. Still, she ought to say the rest of what was in her mind. If it hadn't been for her actions, Mary might never have been in that position tonight.

“I let down a lot of people when I went outside the boundaries, and Mary was one of them. If I could do something to make up a little for it, I'm wonderful glad I had the chance.”

“Denke, Barbie.” Mary's eyes swam with tears. “You won't have to rescue me again. I promise.”

She smiled at the girl who was so quickly growing into a woman. “Gut.” She stood before she could start crying herself. “I'd best go.”

“Do you have a way home?” Ben glanced toward the window, as if wondering whether a car was waiting there.