The Rebel (6 page)

Daad watched him, his faded blue eyes cautious and maybe a little amused. “Well, if you want a wife, then you should get to work on finding someone.”

“It's not that easy.” He replied seriously, even though he suspected Daad was teasing him. “It has to be someone mature, first of all. Someone who's willing to be a mother to my kinder. To take over the work of the house, to help me in ministering to the church. Someone wise and kind.”

Daad's mouth twitched. “You have left something out. What about you? It should be a woman you love, ain't so?”

“I'm past the stage of falling in love. That's for teenagers.”

He remembered the feeling, and very uncomfortable it had been. Wondering whether Donna cared about him at all, eager to see her and yet afraid of giving away too much too soon, the ups when she smiled at him and the despair when she let someone else drive her home from singing . . .

“You don't want to behave like a teenager again, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't look for love in a wife,” Daad said. “You would be in for a long lifetime of getting along without it.”

“I know.” He struggled with his feelings, not wanting to let them out. “I just can't imagine loving anyone else the way I loved Donna. Besides,” he said hurriedly, “how can I find someone? If I so much as nod to an unattached female after worship on Sunday, half the Gmay has us married.”

Daad shook his head. “You are worrying too much about how to do it, Benuel. Maybe it would do you good to fall in love again. You love with your heart, not your mind.”

“What are you talking about?” Mary came back in just then. “Or should I say who are you talking about?” Her challenging expression said she assumed they'd been discussing her.

Daad chuckled. “We were talking about finding a wife for your brother. Do you have any ideas?”

Standing back, hands on her hips, Mary looked him up and
down, probably relieved that the focus was off her. “Ben's not a bad catch for someone his age. He ought to be able to find
someone
to marry him.”

“Denke,” he said, sarcasm lacing the word. “I'm not tottering on the edge of the grave yet.”

“I know. Isn't that what I was just saying?” Mary's eyes lit suddenly. “I know what you need. You need someone like Barbie Lapp.”

He stared at her, aghast. “What? Are you ferhoodled? Barbie Lapp is the last woman in the world who should be a minister's wife.”

“Maybe that's what the church needs,” Mary retorted. “Maybe that's what you need. Someone who'd lighten you up.”

Daad chuckled and then tried to turn the sound into a cough when they both looked at him. “You like Barbie, ja?” he asked Mary.

Mary shrugged, the defensive look forming on her face. “Barbie's sympathetic. She's full of fun. And she can tell you what's what without scolding and making you feel small.”

“Maybe that's because she's just as reckless as you are,” Ben snapped.

Before Mary could respond in kind, Daad intervened. “Enough from both of you. There's no reason I know of to talk about a sister in the faith that way, Benuel. Mary, let's get supper dished up and feed these hungry kinder.”

Abram punctuated the words by knocking over the block tower before Libby could, which led to tears on both sides. By the time Ben got them both calmed down and seated at the table, he felt as if he'd been through the wringer. He did need
a wife. But he could never replace Donna, so where did that leave him?

Lancaster County, Spring 1960

Reuben Lapp made an effort to shake off his low spirits as he drove the gelding up the lane toward the barn. It wouldn't do to let Elizabeth see how concerned he was about their future. He was the man of the family. Elizabeth and any children they might have were his responsibility. He must take care of them.

The thought of kinder sent a spasm of pain into his heart, sharp as any knife. Little Matthias, the son they'd dreamed of, had gone before he'd taken his first breath. He blinked back tears. He couldn't let Elizabeth see his weakness. He had to be strong for her.

There would still be kinder—strong boys to help with the farm and sweet girls who would look like Elizabeth. He had to believe that, and he had to help Elizabeth believe it.

He could do it. But what he couldn't do was protect her from the changes that were coming to their way of life. Nobody could protect any of the Leit from the headlong drive of what the Englisch called progress.

Daad came out of the barn and stood waiting as Reuben approached. He'd be eager to hear Reuben's news and hoping it was good.

Reuben planted a smile on his face as he drew up. Daad took hold of the harness, looking like the Englisch notion of St. Nicholas with his curly white beard and round cheeks. He
smiled back at Reuben, but his blue eyes were grave as he studied Reuben's face.

“How did you make out? Or isn't it gut to ask?”

Reuben shrugged. Moving together with the ease of long practice, they began to unharness the horse. “Wish I could say I had encouraging news, but I don't.”

“Not about either place? Not the Harrisons' farm or the one that belongs to that Englisch family over toward Lancaster?”

“Nothing.”

Reuben's jaw tightened as he thought about giving Elizabeth the news. Not that she'd have wanted to move over toward Lancaster anyway. She continued to believe he was going to find a farm to buy in their church district, even though she must know how unlikely that was.

Trouble was, she wasn't thinking reasonably on this subject. She was reacting with her heart, not her mind.

“Isn't Fred Harrison selling after all? I was certain-sure he'd put his place on the market this spring.” Daad led Brownie clear of the buggy shafts.

“He's selling, all right. In fact, he's already sold.” Reuben could hear the grim tone of his voice and wanted to soften it. But what was the use? Daad knew him too well to be fooled. “He sold out to some company that's going to break the farm up into half-acre lots and build houses on them. Another fine farm gone for good.”

Daad made the complicated sound in his throat that expressed disapproval and disappointment at the same time. “Ach, I never thought a gut farmer like Fred would do such a thing.”

“He was sorry. Maybe even regretting it, I'd say. But like he said, he doesn't have sons to take it over, and his daughter
lives clear up in New York. Married to a doctor, she is. They're not going to farm it.”

“You'd still think he'd want to sell to someone who'd farm the land. I hate to think it of him.”

“Seems his wife's health isn't good, and the doctors want her to move out to the southwest. That takes money, and I guess the folks who run the building company have plenty to spare. More than anyone who was buying it for farmland could afford to spend.”

Daad turned the gelding into the paddock and came back, shaking his head. “It's not for us to judge, that's certain-sure. What about the other place you heard about?”

“That's no good, either. I might as well have saved myself the trip.” He grasped the shafts and pushed the buggy into place with a little more effort than he needed. “The owner decided not to sell now after all. It seems there's talk of a big new four-lane highway cutting right through the county. He figures his land would become real valuable if that happens, and he's willing to hang on to it until then.”

Daad's forehead furrowed. “There was talk of that at the lumber yard when I went in. Some folks sounded pretty sure it would happen, and if it does, it would cut right through the settlement—splitting us in two, likely. After all, we can't take buggies on a four-lane highway.”

“I hear there are those who think it would be gut, because it would bring more tourists in to gawk at us.” Reuben's hands worked futilely, as if he could grasp the situation and bend it into place the way he would with a piece of chicken fence. “Some of the Leit are saying we should fight against the government building it.”

“Ja, I've heard talk like that. Foolish talk.” Daad sounded severe. “It's not our way to fight against the government. If we can't settle it any other way, we move on. We don't fight.”

“I know.” That was their history, after all. The Amish didn't fight. They took the Lord's teachings seriously. And they'd learned the futility of trying to stay where they were hated when their people were hunted down and killed in the time of persecution in Europe. Still, a man couldn't help the anger that welled up sometimes, even knowing it for a sin.

“I've heard rumors.” Daad's expression was questioning. “Talk that some of the younger families are thinking of moving on. Starting a new settlement someplace else.”

Reuben nodded slowly. He hadn't meant to tell Daad yet, but maybe it was for the best. “Johnny Stoltzfus, for one. Daniel King. And the younger Esch boys. They're all in the same boat I am—needing a farm and finding none available they can afford.”

Daad didn't speak right away, and Reuben sensed he was measuring his words and trying to be fair. Finally he put a hand on Reuben's shoulder.

“You don't need to think about doing something right away. There's plenty of work here on the farm for all of us.”

“That wouldn't be fair to Isaac and Becky. It's been settled for ages that Isaac would have the farm when you were ready to take it easier.”

“That was before we knew how hard it would be to find farmland for you. Your mamm and I saved so we'd be able to help you buy a place. We didn't count on land being so dear. If you or Isaac wanted to do something other than farming . . .” he began.

Reuben shook his head. “That's something I won't do, and
Isaac feels the same way. Farm life is what's right for Amish—the whole family working together, not having the father go off someplace else to work all day and hardly see his kinder.”

“Ach, I can't argue with you there. Taking care of the Lord's earth is as close as a man can get to Heaven in this world. It's what I want for my kinder, that's certain-sure.” He hesitated. “But I don't know how the women are going to feel about the notion of you moving away.”

There it was, the thing he didn't want to think about. Elizabeth's reaction to the idea of leaving. “Elizabeth won't want to leave her family.”

His voice was flat. He knew, only too well, how she felt about it. She'd always been close to her mother and sisters, and especially so since she lost the baby.

“Well, I guess that's the way it's always been,” Daad said slowly. “I don't doubt our ancestors left the old country with the women looking back over their shoulders at what they were leaving behind. Still, if it has to be, they'll accept. You'll just have to help Elizabeth understand.”

Daad gave him a final clap on the shoulder and turned away, leaving Reuben standing there, struggling with himself. Daad was right, that was certain-sure. He'd have to help Elizabeth understand.

But what if that was impossible? Then what?

B
arbie
took a deep breath and forced herself to open the door to the café kitchen. She'd put off talking to her boss until after the morning rush, but she couldn't delay any longer. She hoped he'd agree to change her schedule now that she'd be juggling this job with working at the farm-stay.

When they'd finally had a chance to talk it over the previous day, Rebecca had been definite. Her marriage wasn't going to make a difference in having Barbie work with her. She'd insisted she couldn't care for the guests without Barbie's help. After all, Barbie was the outgoing one who actually liked entertaining the Englisch visitors.

She and Rebecca had come a long way in the past year. She knew perfectly well that Rebecca had thought her reckless and irresponsible, just as she'd thought Rebecca a shy stick-in-the-mud. Well, they'd both found out differently when Grossmammi pushed them into working together on the farm-stay,
and Barbie knew she'd always be grateful. But at the same time, she didn't want to give up the little bit of freedom she experienced working here at the café.

“If you're coming in, come in and shut the door.” Walt Tyler, the café owner, had a brusque, snarling manner that was like the bear he resembled—big, paunchy, and hairy. He was an excellent cook who kept an immaculate kitchen, though no one would think it to look at him.

She let the door swing closed behind her. “Do . . . do you have a minute, Mr. Tyler?”

He gave her a grudging smile. “Yeah, I guess so. What's up, Barbie? And don't tell me you're going to give me an excuse why that Ashlee didn't make it for the breakfast shift, because I wouldn't believe one of them.”

“I won't . . . I mean, I don't know what happened to Ashlee. Maybe she's sick.”

Ashlee had been showing up late too often, with Barbie and Jean, the elderly Englisch server, trying to cover for her.

Tyler's snort told her he didn't think much of Ashlee's likely illness. “Don't tell me you're going to quit on me. You and Jean are the only reliable servers I have.”

“Nothing like that,” she said, and plunged into her request. “I just hoped that for the next few months, you might schedule me for times other than Friday and Saturday.”

“Are you sure you wouldn't like a three-course dinner thrown in?” He slammed a spatula on the cooktop. “I hired you because you claimed you'd be responsible, and now you want special treatment. Between you and Ashlee, pretty soon nobody will want to work.”

Barbie refused to quake when he yelled. He didn't seem to think any less of people who stood up to him—in fact, she thought he preferred it.

“I've been very responsible,” she said, keeping her voice firm. “All I'm asking is a change in the shifts. Jean would rather work more on the weekends and have off during the week, because she watches her grandkids. And I'd rather work weekdays so I can help my cousin on weekends. Doesn't that make sense?”

He glared at her, brows lowering, for what seemed forever. Then he gave a curt nod. “Okay. You and Jean fix up the schedule between you. Just make sure all the shifts are covered.”

Barbie let out a breath of relief. “Thank you. We won't let you down.”

“You better not.” The scowl was back. “And if Miss Ashlee ever decides to show up, tell her I want to see her.”

“Ja—yes, I will.” She escaped, letting the door swing shut.

Poor Ashlee. It sounded as if she was in for it.

She rounded the corner from the kitchen and found herself face-to-face with Terry Gilliam, sitting on the end stool at the counter. He grinned at her, jerking his head toward the kitchen.

“Sounds like trouble in the kitchen. You okay, Barbie?”

“I . . . yes, I'm fine. Mr. Tyler always sounds that way.” She could feel her cheeks growing warm. “I'm surprised to see you here.”

His lips quirked. “I'll bet I'm more surprised.” He nodded toward her dress. “Or is that a costume you wear for work?”

“No. No costume. I'm really Amish. I thought Ashlee might have told you.” Her cheeks must be bright red by this time.

“So what was the other night? An experiment?”

Was he angry? She didn't think so, but it was hard to tell since she didn't really know him.

“No. At least, not exactly. Ashlee and I got to talking about the differences between Amish and Englisch, and, well, she sort of egged me on to see what a night out was like for her.”

“You must not have liked it. You didn't stay long.” He actually sounded disappointed.

“It wasn't that,” she said quickly. “I enjoyed meeting you. And your friends. But there was a girl there I knew who was obviously headed for trouble, and I thought I'd better take her home.”

He tilted his head to the side, considering. “That's all?”

“Yes, of course.” Had he been offended that she'd hurried away when they'd been talking? She'd never thought of such a thing.

“Too bad you had to rush off.” He touched her fingers where they rested on the countertop. “We were just getting to know each other. You couldn't let the girl take care of herself?”

“She was only sixteen.” Startled, she gave him a look to see if he really was as flippant as he sounded.

He shrugged. “Plenty of sixteen-year-old girls can take care of themselves.”

“She couldn't.” She was irrationally disappointed in him.

“Hey, don't be mad. I'm a great believer in letting people do what they want, that's all. If you felt like you had to interfere, that's okay by me. I hope that doesn't mean you won't be around in the future, though. We need to finish our conversation.”

She found herself nodding, responding to the twinkle in his eyes. Maybe there was a lot to be said for being easygoing. At least he wasn't as stiff-necked as Benuel.

She caught a sidelong glimpse of Mr. Tyler, moving by the
pass-through on the kitchen side. If he glanced this way, he'd think she was wasting time.

“Would you like something?” she asked quickly. “Coffee?”

Terry nodded. “Black, two sugars. And a cruller.”

“You have a sweet tooth,” she teased.

“Goes with my sweet personality,” he said.

With a ripple of laughter, she went to get his order. She'd just set the coffee and cruller in front of him when she spotted Ashlee slip in the side door.

“Ashlee. Thank goodness you're here. Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The word came out as a snarl. Ashlee yanked off her sunglasses and blinked as if the light hurt her eyes. She was pale, her lipstick put on crooked, and she stared blearily at Barbie. “Did you cover for me?”

“We tried, but it didn't work.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “He wants to see you.”

“Sounds like you didn't try very hard,” Ashlee snapped. She marched off to the kitchen.

Barbie blinked. What did Ashlee expect? The small café wasn't crowded today, and all Mr. Tyler had to do was glance out of the kitchen to see that she was missing.

“I wouldn't take anything she says seriously. She's hungover.” Terry sent a doubtful look her way. “That means—”

“I know what it means,” she interrupted. “Just because I'm Amish, I didn't grow up under a rock. I saw my brothers in that condition a time or two during their rumspringa.”

Terry nodded as if the word meant something to him. “Time to run wild, right? At least for the guys.”

Barbie shook her head, wondering if it was worth it to try to correct the common myth. “It's not that at all. Rumspringa
is a time when Amish teens have freedom to mingle with others their age, to start figuring out who you're going to marry. Some kids do get carried away, and there's a certain amount of drinking.”

Her own teen years had been happy but uneventful, but there were always stories of Amish kids who took a wilder track. She glanced toward the kitchen, wondering how Ashlee was doing.

“I wouldn't worry about Ashlee,” Terry said, correctly interpreting her look. “She always lands on her feet.”

“I hope so.” Ashlee liked to have fun. There was nothing wrong with that, but she'd hate to lose her job.

But when Ashlee came out a few minutes later, she was putting on her apron. Apparently she'd smoothed things over with Mr. Tyler, one way or another. She paused by Barbie.

“Hey, I'm sorry. That was my headache talking earlier.”

“No problem.” She echoed the words she'd heard Ashlee use often. “Maybe some coffee would help.”

Ashlee nodded carefully, as if her head might slip off. She headed for the coffeepot.

“See? All settled,” Terry said. “Now, when are you coming out with Ashlee again?”

“I don't know.” Much as she enjoyed talking to Terry, her first excursion had left a bad taste in Barbie's mouth.

He raised one eyebrow. “Maybe you and I could go someplace together. Do something quieter, like dinner or a movie.”

He looked very appealing, sitting there with that easy smile on his face. She felt her enthusiasm rise and nearly said yes. But she'd better think this through.

Besides, it never hurt to let a guy wonder.

“Maybe,” she said lightly, and turned away as the bell rang on the door.

They grew busy enough that there wasn't another chance for any private exchanges with Terry. But he caught her eye as he left. Grinning, he winked at her.

By the time her shift was over, Barbie was relieved to find things had returned to normal with Ashlee. In fact, Ashlee hurried to catch up with her as she started to leave.

“Hey, wait up.” Ashlee thrust an envelope into Barbie's hand. “Jean says someone left this for you by the cash register.” Her eyes sparkled. “Maybe it's a note from Terry.”

“I doubt it.” She studied Ashlee's face. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“Fine.” There was an edge to the word that warned her off. “I better get back to work. I said I'd do an extra shift to make up for being late today. Let's go out again soon. You owe me a whole evening, remember.” She hurried back inside.

Barbie went slowly through the motions of harnessing the mare to the buggy. Go out with Ashlee again? Go out with Terry? She wanted to explore that new world, and she didn't want to lose the friendship she'd started with either of them, so why did she hesitate?

Maybe Grossmammi had been lucky to grow up when she did. She'd had her sorrow, but at least she hadn't had to juggle two worlds and try to decide where she belonged.

It would be nice to think she could talk the whole issue over with someone who wouldn't judge, but she didn't know anyone who didn't have a bias when it came to being or not being Amish.

As she climbed into the buggy, the envelope crackled,
reminding her. She settled on the seat, ripping it open. Maybe somebody had chosen this odd way of leaving her a tip.

But no money fell out. Just a small piece of lined paper that looked as if it had been torn from a notebook. The message on it was printed in pencil.

Don't think you'll get away with leading innocents astray. Someone is always watching.

Lancaster County, Spring 1960

Elizabeth forced herself to keep smiling as she entered the front room at her sister Lovina's house for the quilting frolic. Not because of the quilting, but because today they had met to complete a crib quilt for Cousin Jessie's baby.

Her heart twisted. The last time she'd come to a quilting frolic, they'd been doing the crib quilt for Matthias.

This is Jessie's time.
It would be unkind not to celebrate with her or to draw attention away from the joy of the day.

“Here we are,” Mamm announced. She'd insisted on stopping to pick up Elizabeth today. Maybe she'd thought Elizabeth would need a little support. “You didn't start without us already, did you?”

“We've been gossiping,” Lovina said, her cheeks pink with pleasure at having them all at her house. She hugged Mamm and then pressed her cheek against Elizabeth's, holding her close for an extra moment.

“That's as much fun as quilting.” Anna, Elizabeth's other sister, hurried over to get her share of the hugs. “You'd think we didn't see one another for a month instead of most every day.”

Anna and Lovina were very alike, with only a little over a year between them. They both had soft brown hair that persisted in curling no matter how severely they pulled it back. They had identical hazel eyes, but where Lovina's chin was softly rounded, Anna's came to a point like a heart. And they both regarded Elizabeth as their baby sister, to be chided and encouraged and helped along the way.

There had been a point in her life when Elizabeth had resented their big-sister bossiness, but now she felt nothing but gratitude. She could never have gone through the past year without them.

Cousin Jessie, heavy with the last months of pregnancy, blew Elizabeth a kiss. “I'd try to hug you, but something keeps getting in the way.” She patted her belly, face curving in a sweet smile, her gaze seeming to go inward. The forthcoming baby would never be mentioned in mixed company, but among women, it was another story. How could they help it?

Elizabeth's smile faltered. She remembered the feeling Jessie had now—that time when the life inside a woman occupied so much of her attention that she hardly had any to spare for the world outside her own body.

“Well, let's get to work,” Lovina announced, starting toward the quilting frame. Maybe she'd noticed Elizabeth's reaction, but if so, she would be tactful. Lovina was always so quick to think of others' feelings.

There was a shuffle of pulling up chairs around the frame. It was an adjustable frame, shortened to fit the crib quilt. The five of them were plenty around the small quilt. Any more people, and they'd have been getting in one another's way.