The Rebel (5 page)

“Can I help you find something?” Elizabeth so seldom
spoke anything other than Pennsylvania Dutch that she had to concentrate on getting the words right in Englisch.

“You're Amish, aren't you?” The woman broke into a smile and turned toward the car. “Look, kids! See? This is an Amish woman.”

For all the world as if I were an animal in the zoo.
Elizabeth tried to keep her smile from faltering. “Are you folks lost?”

“I'll say we're lost. We've been driving around for ages looking for a real Amish farm. The man at the motel said we'd be able to tell because of there not being electric lines, but every place we stopped, we didn't see anyone.”

Since just about every farm along Dahl Road was Amish, they must have been visiting each one. “It's the middle of the day,” she said. “The men are out in the fields. Did you need to see them about something?”

“Well, we came all the way from New Jersey because the tourist bureau said we'd see real Amish people here in Lancaster County. We didn't want to disappoint the kiddies. How about showing us around the house?”

Elizabeth couldn't find her voice. She'd heard tales from other church members of pushy tourists now that the county was becoming such an attraction, but she hadn't dreamed she'd experience it herself. What should she do? She glanced toward the pastures, seeing the men working at a distance. They weren't even looking this way, apparently thinking she'd handle whoever had come to the door.

The woman, her eyes on the door Elizabeth had left open behind her, seemed to take her silence for assent. She moved forward, gesturing to her family, who piled out of the car. Elizabeth gathered her scattered wits and stepped in front of her.

“I'm sorry. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to show you the inside of our house.”

“Now see here.” The husband, pudgy and sunburned, looked affronted. “The only reason we came here on our vacation was that the wife thought it would be good for the kids to see real live Amish. The least you can do is show us around the house. We want the kids to see how you live without electricity or anything.”

Elizabeth felt the heat rising in her cheeks and wished fervently for Reuben, for anyone, to intercede. She didn't know how to handle these people. They were acting as if she owed them something.

The older of the two kids, a girl of about twelve, gave an elaborate sigh. “You dragged us all over that colonial village last year. We saw enough history. I don't see why we can't go to the beach like everybody else. This is dumb.”

The complaint just seemed to deepen the man's irritation, but he didn't correct the girl for her sass. Elizabeth couldn't imagine an Amish child speaking to her parents that way, but at least maybe it would deter the rude parents.

“We came to see Amish, and that's what we're going to do. Either you show us around or the tourist bureau is going to hear about it.” He said that with the air of someone giving orders from on high.

Elizabeth shook her head, fearing she was going to trip over her words. “I don't understand. We don't have anything to do with this . . . this tourist bureau.”

His face reddened, but before he could speak, his wife patted his arm.

“It's okay. Maybe this is a day off or something. Come on,
kids. Go stand with the Amish lady and I'll take your picture.” She raised the camera.

This just went from bad to worse. Elizabeth backed away, holding her hands out. “No, please.” They really did speak a different language, and she couldn't seem to get through to them.

“It's against our beliefs to have our pictures taken.” She hadn't seen Reuben and his father coming, and she sagged with relief at the sound of Daad Eli's calm tones.

Reuben touched her arm, drawing her back as his father took over. A quick glance at Reuben's face showed her his tight jaw and compressed lips. Angry, but trying to overcome the feeling, she could tell.

The tourist was pouring out all his complaints to Daad Eli, who listened with his usual patience, his gray-bearded figure attentive but somehow unyielding, too.

“Go inside,” Reuben said softly in dialect. “We will deal with them. I'll come in a minute.”

It was considerably more than a minute. She busied herself at the stove, unable to keep from glancing out. Daad Eli must be soothing them down, because the man's irritation seemed to disappear. Eventually Reuben's father led them off toward the barn, and Reuben came inside.

He crossed the kitchen quickly, putting his arms around her, and she could feel his tension. “I'm sorry you had to handle those Englischers on your own. I'd have sent them on their way, but Daad is letting them take some pictures of the animals.”

“Ach, it's fine. I should have thought of that instead of standing there like a dummy.” She managed a smile, hating to see him so upset.

“You weren't being a dummy.” He grasped her arms so he
could look into her face. “Never say that. It's these . . . these tourists.” He said the word with disgust. “What do they think they're going to see? They act as if we're putting on a show for them.”

“Not all of them.” She patted his arm. “And times are changing, ain't so? Some of the Leit are even making money by selling things to the tourists.”

“The change certain-sure isn't for the better, money or not.” Reuben's straight brows drew down, his normally cheerful expression gone entirely. With his strong jaw and firm mouth, he could look forbidding when his usual smile was missing. His blue eyes were icy at the moment, not soft and dancing as they often were when he looked at her.

It almost frightened her, this look at a Reuben she didn't seem to know. She'd seen him grieved, and his pain at the loss of their baby had been a terrible thing. But she'd never seen this almost implacable anger.

“Don't take it so seriously, Reuben.” She patted his arm. “I'm not. Next time I'll know better how to handle them.”

“There shouldn't be a next time. We ought to be able to live our lives the way we believe, without people acting as if we're something on display.”

Since she'd thought that herself, she had trouble arguing, but she'd best tease him into a better mood if she could.

“Komm see the elephants and zebras and Amish,” she said, making her voice light. “Ach, they're just foolish. Or not understanding our ways the way the Englisch who live around here do.”

“They're probably the ones who will benefit from the county bringing in visitors to gawk at the Amish,” he muttered, “not us.” But she could feel his initial anger seeping away.

“Maybe that's what God wants for us,” she suggested. “To be an example of people living according to His word.”

Reuben shook his head, unconvinced and still frowning. “It will just keep getting worse and worse, that's what folks are saying. Just like land prices keep going up and up. Seems like Lancaster County might not be the best place for Amish any longer.”

His words struck her, leaving her speechless for a moment. Then protests sprang to her lips. “But, Reuben, there have always been Amish in Lancaster County, ever since the very first ship came over from Europe. You know that.”

“Like you said, times change.” He was looking at her now, an expression she couldn't interpret in his eyes. “Maybe it's time for us to move on. Go someplace where we can have peace.”

He was serious. He was actually serious, and fear struck Elizabeth's heart. She wanted to put her hands over her ears, like a child blocking out something she didn't want to hear.

“No, no.” She seemed to be shaking inside. “We can't do such a thing. This is our home. It always has been. It always will be.”

Reuben just looked at her, not speaking. He didn't need to speak to make his views clear. He really was thinking about this terrible idea. He really thought it would be possible for them to move away from everything and everyone they knew and loved.

B
arbie
cut slices of peach pie as her mamm set dishes in the sink. Daad and David, her two-years-younger brother, were engrossed in a conversation about the upcoming livestock auction, but David broke off to grin at her.

“What, no ice cream?”

“In a minute.” She ruffled the hair that was as blond as hers. With their identical blue eyes and closeness in age, their older brothers liked to tease them about being twins—the runts of the family, coming along some years after the next older brother. “If you put on too much weight around the middle, the girls aren't going to bat their eyes at you anymore.”

“Ach, I think Sally King would overlook a few extra pounds,” Mamm teased, obviously glad to see that David, at least, was showing signs of fixing his interest on a possible mate.

“I wouldn't be so sure.” Barbie managed a mock-serious tone as she took vanilla ice cream from the gas-operated refrigerator. “Seems to me there are a lot of guys interested in her.”

“She just likes me,” David said, plunging his fork into the pie. “I'm irresistible. She told me so.”

“She should have known better,” Barbie retorted. “I'll have to have a talk with her.”

“You leave her alone.” David tried to sound fierce, but his eyes danced. “No stories about what a cute little boppli I was, mind. It's bad enough when Mamm starts that.”

“I'm sure I never interfere,” Mamm said, and her children exchanged laughing glances.

“Right, Mammi. We know that.” Barbie flicked her brother's clean-shaven cheek and sat down to her own pie. “Since you're all spiffed up, I'd guess you're taking off in the courting buggy again tonight.”

David glanced at the clock and bolted his last bite of pie. “I have to get going.”

“Mind you're not late getting her home,” Daad said, pushing back his chair. “I'll walk out with you. I want to have another look at Belle. Wouldn't be surprised if that foal came along sooner than we expected.”

The two of them went out, leaving Barbie and Mammi with the remains of supper. Barbie took another bite of pie. “This is wonderful gut, Mamm.”

Her mother hid a pleased look behind a shake of her head. “Always hard to get the filling right when I use our canned peaches, no matter how I try. Warm as it's been, the rhubarb will be ready by next week, I think. Then we'll have something fresh at last.”

Their meals always revolved around what was in season, and Barbie knew the progression of pies as well as Mamm. Rhubarb first, then strawberry. Then the black raspberries
would be ripening, followed by blueberries. To say nothing of the tree fruits—plums, then peaches, then apples.

“You're making me feel stuffed, talking about rhubarb pie when we've just finished a big meal.” She carried the last of the pie plates to the sink. “Want me to wash tonight?”

“My turn to wash, yours to dry,” Mamm said briskly, bringing the coffee cups to the sink. “It's wonderful gut I don't have to rely on David to help me. He breaks more dishes than he dries.”

“He probably does that on purpose so he won't have to help.” She took out a clean dish towel as Mamm ran water into the sink.

“Ach, he's a gut boy.” Mamm's indulgent smile said it all as far as how she felt about her youngest.

Somehow that reminded Barbie of that unexpected revelation from her grandmother earlier.

“Mamm, did you know that Grossmammi Lapp had a baby that died before the other kinder were born?”

Her mother looked startled. “Ja, I knew it, but only because your daad mentioned it once. She never talks about it. Did she tell you?”

Barbie nodded. There hadn't been time to discuss her visit with Grossmammi, but she could always count on chatting over the dishes. “I stopped to see her after work today. She showed me the piece of family furniture she's giving me—her own dower chest.”

Again she felt that odd cringing. Was it that she didn't think her grandmother should part with it? Or because she didn't want something that might seem to ensure her own inevitable Amish marriage?

“She did?” Mamm let a dish slide from her hands into the dishwater. “Ach, that's wonderful kind of her. That dower
chest is a treasure. I'm thinking she said it was her own grandmother's.”

Barbie nodded. “It was. It seems to mean so much to her that I felt strange accepting it. I told her she should keep it, but she's determined.”

“We'll have to find some space for it in your bedroom.” Mamm looked ready to fly upstairs and start rearranging furniture right now.

Barbie smiled, shaking her head. “No rush. The chest is full of things, and she wants to go through it with me first. That's how she came to tell me about the lost baby.” Her throat tightened. “There was a gown in it she'd made for her first baby—never used. They were going to name him Matthias.” She had to clear her throat to go on. “She cried a little when she told me, and I . . . I didn't know how to comfort her.”

“You couldn't.” Mamm's voice sounded strained. “You never forget the babe you lost, no matter what the cause.”

“Mamm?” She reached out to touch her mother's wet hand, clutching the edge of the sink. “What is it?”

Her mother shook her head. “Just remembering.” She took a deep breath. “I had two miscarriages between Zeb and you.”

“I . . . I never knew.” She'd never even wondered at the gap between her and her next older brother.

“Ach, it was a sad time. For a while I feared there wouldn't be any more babies. But then you came along, just when I'd begun to give up hope.” Her smile was like the sun coming up. “A precious girl after all those boys. Just what I'd dreamed of.”

Once again she didn't know what to say. This had been a day of surprises. She settled for giving her mother a quick hug.

“How ferhoodled we're being.” Mammi wiped away a tear
with the back of her hand. “I'll have you all wet before we're done.”

“I don't mind.” She hesitated. “I'm glad you told me.”

She felt as if she'd been admitted to a private company of Lapp women—those females who were old enough to be let in on the secrets.

“Anyhow, I'm wonderful glad your grossmammi is going to entrust that dower chest to you. Some girls would say they wanted a brand new one, but I'm sure she knows you'll treasure it.”

Barbie could practically see her mother's thoughts. She was imagining Barbie taking another step toward her place as a married Amish woman.

“When Grossmammi told the three of us cousins that she wanted us to carry on the family stories, I never thought . . .” She hesitated, wondering what she
had
thought that day nearly a year ago when her grandmother had talked to her and Rebecca and Judith. “Well, I guess I didn't think about there being sad stories, as well as happy ones.”

Mammi looked at her, seeming to study her face for a moment. “But that's what life is, my Barbie. It's a mix of all the happy times and sad times, sometimes coming right on top of one another. Good and bad, light and dark.” She smiled gently. “It's like that quilt pattern I'm working on now: sunshine and shadows. That's what life is.”

Again, Barbie didn't know what to say. Maybe she wasn't ready to be admitted to so much knowledge. She dried a plate slowly, trying to find a way to turn the conversation to something less serious.

“I had thought I'd stop and see Rebecca after I saw Grossmammi, but it was getting too late. I'll have to do it another
day. We should be firming up plans for the farm-stay for this season.”

Mamm brightened. “Just what I was thinking myself. If this warm spring weather lasts, she'll be getting some reservations soon, ain't so?”

“I guess she will.” Barbie hesitated. “Now that she's married, I'm not sure how much she's going to want me to do.”

“She'll probably need you more than ever now,” Mamm said. “Especially if she's . . .”

Mamm let the sentence die away, flushing a little.

Barbie looked at her for a long moment before it sank in. “Is Rebecca pregnant?”

“Hush,” Mamm said quickly. “She's not saying anything yet. But sometimes—well, sometimes you can just tell from how a woman looks. She has a glow about her.”

Barbie considered. “Maybe that's just because she's so happy now that she and Matt are married.”

“We'll see,” her mother said with an air of knowing that annoyed Barbie. “In any event, I think she'll need more help than ever. Once you quit your job at the café, you'll have plenty of time to help.”

Barbie stared at her mother, aghast. Quit the café? “What makes you think I'm going to quit working at the café?”

A guilty look crossed her mother's face. “I . . . well, I don't know, but I always thought it was just a stopgap until the farm-stay opened again. Surely you'd rather be working with your cousin instead of working for strangers.”

Non-Amish strangers, that was what she meant, Barbie realized. Mamm had been worrying about her, out there among the Englisch. “Mamm, I don't know that I want to quit
the café. I'll need to find out what Rebecca has in mind. And even so . . .” She stopped, because she could read the expression in her mother's eyes too clearly.

Fear.
Her mother was afraid of what might become of her working in the Englisch world. The words her mother had spoken earlier seemed to take on a new meaning.
You never forget the child you lost.

Mamm had also lost her firstborn, James—not to death, but to the outside world. That was what her mother had meant. She'd been mourning James, gone as certainly as if he'd died.

And now she feared losing Barbie in the same way.

•   •   •

When
Ben went into the house after closing up at the buggy repair shop, he was surprised to find Daad stirring something in a pot on the stove while Mary set the table. Before he could comment, four-year-old Abram ran toward him, grabbing his pant leg. “I'm helping make supper, Daadi.”

“You are? That's wonderful gut.” He rested his hand on his son's thatch of straight blond hair. “You're a big help, ain't so?”

“Libby help, too.” Two-year-old Libby waved the spoon she held in her small hand, and it promptly fell on the floor. She looked down at the spoon, her round face puckering, but Mary swooped down and retrieved it.

“Put this one on the table for Daadi.” She handed his daughter another spoon. “He'll like this one.”

“That's right.” He scooped her up into a hug and then set her down by his place at the table. “That's just the spoon I want.”

Libby plopped the spoon onto the table upside down and beamed.

“Gut job,” he said. He shared a smile with his son, wordlessly encouraging the boy.

“Gut job,” Abram echoed.

It was good. Not just that his kinder were learning to help, but that Abram was finding out what it meant to be the big bruder.

Ben straightened, glancing around the kitchen. “I thought Sarah was here.” His sister had stopped by earlier that afternoon with the intention, she said, of fixing supper for them.

“I sent her on home to tend to her own family.” There was a warning note in Daad's voice that alerted Ben. “She shouldn't be fussing around here when she ought to be taking care of her kinder.”

“Daad means that Sarah was fussing at me.” Mary put a plate down with unnecessary force. “She decided it was her job to lecture me about my behavior. Well, it's not! And what's more, I told her so!”

Ben could imagine how that had gone over. Sarah always thought she knew best for everyone. He looked at Daad, who shook his head slightly.

“Ach, I forgot to shut the chickens in,” Daad said. “Mary, would you run out and do that before we dish up supper?”

Mary looked as if she were considering whether to make an issue of it, but then she put down the plates she was holding. “I know what that means. You want to talk to Ben.”

Daad just looked at her with that steady gaze that always seemed to require obedience. Mary held his gaze for a moment before she shrugged and went out the back door.

Crossing to the stove, Ben inhaled the aroma of chicken potpie. “I suppose Sarah didn't say anything to her that wasn't true.”

“Probably not,” Daad said. “It's the way she says things. And the fact that she thought she ought to speak at all.”

Ben was reminded of Barbie's reaction to his sister Sarah when they'd talked. Sarah's bossy manner and sharp tongue did raise people's hackles even when she had the best of intentions. “She means well.” That was all he could think of to say.

“Sarah was after me again to let Mary live with her. Seems to me that's the worst thing that could happen, so don't you encourage her if she brings it up to you. I'm not so old I can't raise my own daughter.”

“If Sarah could be a bit more tactful . . .” He couldn't help but think that his sister understood adolescent girls better than he and Daad did.

“She won't. She can't.” Daad gave a reluctant smile. “I love her dearly, but she drives me crazy with her bossiness, and it would drive Mary into something even worse.”

He was afraid that was true. “Ach, I should get married again.” He glanced toward the kinder, hoping they hadn't heard his outburst, but Libby was helping Abram build a block tower, probably with a view to knocking it down.

Daad chuckled. “Maybe you should, but not just to provide Mary with a woman to confide in.”

“No, but . . . I can't help seeing that it's what we need.” He frowned down at the tabletop. “It's been two years, and as gut as Mary is with them, the young ones need a mammi of their own. And I need someone to help. It's hard enough to be a minister even with a wife at your side. Alone . . .” He let that trail off.