The Rebel (7 page)

Everyone exclaimed at how fine the quilt top had turned
out. It was a traditional log cabin design, but done in pale shades of pink and yellow and green instead of the deep, saturated colors common to Amish quilts. Lovina had done most of the piecing, with some help from Anna. Now the layers of top, batting, and back were put together like a sandwich and stretched out on the frame, ready for the quilting stitches.

Each woman's movement echoed the others' as they threaded needles, slipped thimbles into place, and readied themselves for the first stitch, right hands on top, left hands underneath. Mamm smiled at Jessie as if in silent acknowledgement of her babe. Then she took the first stitch and the others joined in, each one working on the space directly in front of her.

Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat and focused on the hands, dipping and swooping like so many birds over the surface of the quilt, making tiny, even stitches. No one would admit to pride in her work of course, but on a project like this, a person certain-sure didn't want her stitches to be larger or more uneven than her neighbor's.

The talk began to flow again—about babies, naturally. Anna began it, innocently enough, with the mention that her little Jonah was teething. From teething remedies to feeding problems to sleeping issues—everyone had something to contribute. Everyone but Elizabeth.

I will not spoil this time for Jessie.
But despite her intentions, the lump in her throat was getting to unmanageable size. With a muttered excuse about getting a drink of water, she fled to the kitchen.

She was gripping the sink with both hands, forcing the tears back, when Mamm joined her a moment later. She heard her step and then felt Mamm's work-worn hand patting her back,
just as Mamm had done when she'd been a tiny girl frightened by a bad dream.

“I'm sorry,” Mamm said. “You didn't have to come.”

“I thought I was ready. I want to be ready.” She brushed away a tear. “Surely I'll start another baby soon, ain't so?”

“I pray it every day,” Mamm said gently. “But it is in God's hands. When the time is right, it will happen.”

Elizabeth nodded. Sometimes it was hard to accept what happened as God's will, but there was no other choice. She filled a glass with water, drained it, and took a deep breath. “I'm all right. Let's go back in.”

Mamm gave her a searching look. She seemed satisfied with what she saw, because she nodded. Together they went back to the quilting frame.

Maybe Lovina had said something to the others while she'd been in the kitchen. In any event, the talk had left the subject of babies and turned to chatter about the community's young people. That was an endless source of fascination as each rumspringa group began making the first tentative steps toward matching up with each other.

Everyone had something to contribute, whether it was a rumor about who had taken whom home after a singing or who had coaxed his parents into a new courting buggy.

“All I can say is,” Lovina declared, “that some of those boys are more interested in buying a new buggy than in doing the courting that's supposed to come with it.”

“Ach, don't tell me that,” Mamm chided. “Didn't your Sam talk his folks into a new buggy when the two of you started courting? And weren't you pleased as could be to sit up beside him in that new rig?”

Even Lovina chuckled at that, though her cheeks were pink.

“Why is it men are so fascinated by a new piece of equipment or a vehicle?” Elizabeth managed to sound normal. “If somebody gets a new cultivator, half the men in the church district will make an excuse to stop by so they can look at it.”

“And the time they spend over a piece of equipment,” Jessie said. “You'd think it was the prettiest thing in the world instead of a farm tool.”

Anna nudged her. “Not like us, when you came over to see the fabric I got when I went to that big new fabric store over toward Lancaster.”

A ripple of laughter circled the quilting frame—the sound of women working together, laughing over the differences between the sexes just like women had been doing for countless generations. Elizabeth's gaze swept from face to face, her love welling up. This had to be the best part of the day—to be here in her sister's familiar front room, surrounded by the women who had been part of her life since before she was born.

“Well, whatever you say, I still think men get excited about the silliest things,” Jessie said. “My Eli came home from the mill all upset because there's talk again about the state building a big highway right across the county.”

“If it took some of the cars off the roads we use, that might be a gut thing,” Anna said. “Somebody near sideswiped our buggy on the way home from worship last week.”

“Eli says it would split the community in half,” Jessie said. “I didn't understand it all, but it seems like we wouldn't be able to get across the new road with horse and buggy. Imagine having to go miles out of your way to get to worship.”

“Ach, it will probably come to nothing in the end,” Lovina
said. “That's the way with a lot of the fancy plans the government makes.”

“Well, and if they do, we'll adjust.” Mamm's voice was calm. “We always do, no matter how the Englisch world changes.”

They all nodded, but Anna looked troubled. “Seems to me there's more to be worried about with the farmland it would eat up. Like all those building projects. Progress, they call it, putting up houses and stores right on land that should be growing food to feed people.”

Jessie nodded. “Eli says that, too. Eli says that if the price of farmland keeps going up the way it is, we might not be able to buy farms for our kinder when they're grown.”

Jessie was prone to quote Eli on any and every subject, as if he were the wisest man she knew. Elizabeth saw her sisters exchange glances and knew they were thinking the same thing she was—how did Eli get to be such an expert?

“Ach, I'm sure prices will always go up some,” Mamm said comfortably. “At the same time, we're getting more for our milk, so maybe it evens out in the long run.”

Jessie shook her head—surprisingly, since she wouldn't normally disagree with her aunt. “I don't know. Eli has heard that some families are already planning to leave Lancaster County to start a daughter community somewhere else.”

“Are you sure?” Lovina spoke what Elizabeth was thinking. “I can't imagine any of our brethren up and moving away.”

Jessie looked nettled that her Eli's word was being doubted. “Eli says so. He says John Stoltzfus actually went out to the valleys beyond Harrisburg looking at land. In fact, he says—” She stopped abruptly.

“He says what?” Anna leaned toward her, needle suspended as if she'd forgotten it.

Jessie colored. “He says John told him some others were interested, too. He mentioned the Esch boys and Daniel King and . . . well, and Reuben.”

Elizabeth stared at her, trying to take in the words. Reuben? Her Reuben? Surely not. He would never consider such a thing. Would he? She remembered his fruitless search for a farm, the way he'd talked about the future, and there suddenly seemed to be a weight on her chest, pressing all the air out of her.

Reuben wouldn't expect her to move away from everything she knew. He couldn't.

•   •   •

From
his seat at the front on the men's side, Benuel glanced around at the Gmay assembling for worship in the Esch family's barn on Sunday morning. They had filed in as always from eldest to youngest, taking their places in a silence that somehow seemed intense after the chatter of voices outside where the women had drawn together, greeting one another, while the men did the same, shaking hands all around.

The group of young boys who were finally considered old enough to sit with their peers instead of their daads were the last in, taking their places in the front row where they were under the eyes of the whole congregation. Ben vividly remembered the first worship when he'd been able to join them, the mingling of pride and nervousness at what was yet another recognized step on the road to becoming an adult.

He could see the women's side easily from here, not that he
would stare. But he glanced at Mary, noting that she sat with hands folded and eyes downcast. He could only hope she was considering her wrongdoing and repenting it.

Barbie Lapp was in the row behind Mary, sitting between the unmarried younger women and those who were newly married or young mothers. Most likely they were members of Barbie's rumspringa gang, all married and with kinder already.

Even as he watched, she leaned forward to murmur something to Mary, who responded with a quick smile and a sparkling glance. Ben's stomach churned. It would suit him far better if Barbie had nothing at all to say to his sister. What kind of example was she setting for the younger girls with her behavior?

The Voorsinger glanced at the three ministers. Apparently satisfied that they were ready, he raised his voice in the opening hymn, the rest of the voices joining in on the long drawn-out notes. Ben automatically stood with the other two ministers as they filed out for their time of consulting with one another over who was to preach the sermons today. In the absence of the bishop, who was visiting another church district, two of them would speak.

Given the turmoil his thoughts were in, he'd be just as pleased if he wasn't picked. He looked from Ezra King to Jonas Fisher—the one bent and gray-bearded, the other ruddy and comfortably rotund, firmly settled into his middle years. They'd taken on more than their fair share of the responsibility for the church district since his wife's death, and he'd been grateful to have their strength and example to support him.

His thoughts returned, willy-nilly, to Barbie Lapp. Ordinarily he'd have confided his discovery of Barbie's activities to them. Together they'd have prayed over the situation,
consulted the bishop, and then two of them would have called on the Lapp family to confront the backslider and bring her to repentance.

He hadn't, and that decision still ate at him as they grouped up at the paddock gate for their consultation. He kept having second thoughts. It wasn't too late. He could tell them now, seek their guidance, and shift the responsibility to them.

No, he couldn't. To do so meant exposing Mary as well, and while that might be the proper course, he couldn't do that to Daad. How could Ben add to his father's burdens by letting the whole church district know about Mary? Because that's what would happen. No matter how firmly they kept silent, folks would know they'd been to call and would put two and two together to make ten, most likely.

“Ben, you are very quiet this morning.” Ezra's creaky old voice was husky. “Thinking about a sermon topic?”

Ben blinked, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse. But even as he delayed, Jonas clapped him on the shoulder.

“Gut. I've a thought I've been mulling over that would be just right for the short sermon, I think. Ezra's fighting a cold, so how about you take the long one? We'll give him a rest this morning, ain't so?”

What could he do but nod? In normal circumstances he'd have been preparing all week, just in case it came to him to speak. But this week he'd been totally occupied with his fears for Mary's future, his concern for Daad, and his growing frustration over his inability to bring Barbie to a realization of the dangerous road she was traveling.

A thought struck him, so sudden and clear that maybe it was a sign from God.

“There's a duty that's been weighing on me this week—our responsibility to act in such a way that we don't cause a weaker brother or sister to stumble.”

Ezra studied him solemnly for a moment. Then he nodded. “If that's on your mind, the Lord must intend for you to speak to it, ain't so?”

The weight he'd been carrying seemed to slip away, like a draft horse shedding the heavy harness and trotting away from the plow. He should have realized sooner that scripture would have the answer he sought. He could say everything that should be said, and if Barbie felt herself accused, maybe that was the way it should be.

S
ince
it was a warm spring day, the men and boys had set up the lunch tables under the trees behind the King house, and people had hung around longer than usual, enjoying the sunshine and catching up on all the news. Barbie waited, watching for her chance, not caring how long it took. She was going to have it out with Benuel Kauffmann.

The idea of it—preaching a sermon that had been directed at her. No one else could have known, but that didn't make it any better. He'd actually looked right at her when he'd spoken the words from scripture. Well, she intended to tell him exactly what she thought of him, taking advantage of his position to scold her that way.

If he thought—

A green ball rolled bumpily across the grass and bounced against her ankles. She bent to grab it and found little Abram Kauffmann running toward her, arms outstretched for his ball.

She couldn't help smiling at the wide grin on his face. Abram had a look of his father about him, but it was certain-sure she'd never seen Ben look that carefree.

“Here it comes, Abram.” She bent to toss the ball gently toward the child. “Catch it.”

“I will. I'll get it.” He held out both hands and by some miracle actually closed them around the ball. He looked at it with astonishment.

“Gut catch.” She sent a quick glance around. Nobody would thank her for encouraging him if he hit someone in the head with it. Especially Benuel, not that his opinion mattered to her. “Roll it to me.” That would be safer.

Abram nodded. He bent, his small face crinkling with concentration as he eyed the distance between them. He gave the ball a mighty push. It came straight, bounced on a tussock of grass, and veered off. Grinning, she ran after it, catching it before it rolled into a chattering group of older women.

“Here it comes.” She rolled it back, beginning to wonder how she was going to ease herself out of this game so she could have words with the boy's father.

As Abram scrambled after the ball, his little sister toddled toward them.

“Me, me,” she cried. She sent a ravishing look at Barbie with a pair of huge, bright blue eyes.

Barbie grinned. If Benuel thought he was having trouble with Mary, wait until this little charmer hit rumspringa.

Abram, meanwhile, was showing a tendency to hold his pleasure to himself. He wrapped both arms around the ball and shook his head, eyebrows lowering. “Mine,” he announced.

“Three is more fun than two,” Barbie said quickly. “You
roll it to Libby, she rolls it to me, and I roll it back to you. It makes a triangle, right?”

Apparently struck by that way of looking at it, Abram rolled his precious ball to his little sister, who crowed with joy and ran after it.

Moses, who must have been looking after his grandchildren, walked over to watch, smiling. With Libby involved, the game took on a more erratic turn, since the ball seldom went where she wanted it to. Barbie saw Abram growing restive.

“Kick it to me this time,” she said, hoping to distract him. “Go on, give it a boot.”

Abram placed it carefully in front of him, drew back his leg, overbalanced, and fell on his bottom. His lower lip puckered, probably more in embarrassment than hurt. Barbie ran to scoop him up in a hug.

“You're okay. Let's try again.” Hands on his small shoulders, she steadied him as he kicked again, connecting firmly this time. Letting go, she ran after the ball.

It bounced crazily over the grass and fetched up against a pair of legs in black broad-fall trousers. Barbie skidded to a stop. Benuel. It would be, just when she was acting like a child.

He picked up the ball with a brief nod. Was there a trace of embarrassment in the way he turned quickly away toward his family? If there wasn't, there should be, she decided.

“We should be going soon. Where's Mary? I thought she was watching the kinder.”

Moses ambled over. “What's the hurry? I told Mary to run off and talk to her girlfriends. The young ones have been having a grand time with Barbie.”

“No doubt Mary and her girlfriends are comparing notes
on what they'll wear to the singing tonight,” Barbie said. “I see the King boys are putting the volleyball net up already.”

She nodded to the level field beside the barn where several teenagers were erecting the net. They'd look forward to a game later before moving into the barn for tonight's singing.

“I suppose.” Ben clamped his lips tightly, no doubt to keep from saying that he didn't think Mary should be joining the other teenagers for tonight's fun. “All the more reason for us to get home before it's time to turn around and bring her back.”

Now or never,
Barbie thought. “I'd like a few words before you leave.” She could be just as firm as he could.

“No, no.” Abram grabbed Barbie's skirt, and Libby hurled herself at her legs. “Play more.”

Moses bent to peel them away before Ben could speak. “We'll take a break for some lemonade. That will taste fine, ain't so?”

Talking gently, he eased his grandchildren away, leaving Barbie to stare up at Benuel.

She knew just what she wanted to say to him. Instead, she found her thoughts on his attitude toward the singing. “I take it you think Mary shouldn't be coming tonight.”

He bent a forbidding look on her. “It doesn't matter what I think. Daad made the decision to let her attend.”

“Lucky for Mary her father has more sense than you. If you don't want her looking for fun and excitement someplace else, you'd best let her find it in the community.”

Ben appeared to grit his teeth. “She ought to be punished for what she did.”
And so should you,
his expression said.

Barbie made an effort to speak calmly. “If you do that, everyone will be wondering why she's not allowed to be there. They'll probably come up with something much worse than the truth.”

“Nothing could be worse than the truth.” Anger flared in his eyes, setting a match to her own.

“You are impossible. I suppose that was why you decided to preach a sermon aimed directly at me this morning. I'm surprised you didn't call me by name as a terrible example.”

His jaw hardened, if that was possible. “I didn't say anything that wasn't true.”

“There's a difference between telling the truth and interfering.” She glared at him.

“I am a minister. It's my job to interfere when one of the Leit is drifting away.” He returned the look doubly.

Much as she wanted to hold on to the anger, Barbie couldn't help seeing how ridiculous they must look, standing here glaring at each other. Her perverse sense of humor bubbled up through her anger.

“I know,” she said. “That's why I'm so mad at you.”

His surprise gave way to an answering gleam of humor in his eyes, startling her. Benuel was actually attractive when he almost smiled.

“Truth has a way of doing that,” he agreed. “I expect that's why your words about Mary and the singing annoyed me so much.”

She nodded, accepting what might have been a slight apology.

The next instant the rare warmth disappeared from his eyes. “All the same, I'd rather you stay away from my little sister.”

Barbie's chin came up. “Fine. I'd be delighted if it will save me from any more lectures from you.”

She thought he'd snap back at her. Instead, he spun and walked away.

Lancaster County, Spring 1960

Reuben ran his hand down the pony's cannon bone, and Dolly obediently lifted her hoof. The hooves were badly overgrown after a winter in the pasture with nothing to wear them down. She'd be more comfortable with them trimmed back a bit.

He'd put her in cross-ties in the barn, not that it was necessary. Dolly knew perfectly well what he was doing.

The shaggy black-and-white pony had taught all of them how to drive the pony cart. He had an inward smile for the thought. Oh, Daadi had given the instructions, but it was Dolly who knew what to do. He'd tried to persuade her into a gallop once when Daad wasn't watching. She'd turned her head, looked at him, and trotted patiently on, ignoring his urgings.

Over twenty now, she was. Ponies lived a gut long time, but he doubted she'd be around when his and Elizabeth's kinder were ready to learn to drive the pony cart. Dolly deserved a peaceful retirement.

The thought flickered through his mind to start looking for a suitable pony, but he dismissed it. There was little point in doing that until their future was determined. If they ended up moving—well, then it made more sense to wait until they were settled.

The worry that hung heavy on his mind reared up again. Time was moving on. Ideally he hoped to have the matter settled by fall. That was a gut time to buy, giving him the winter to plan the planting and prepare the fields for the next growing season.

If only . . . The thought slid away as a shadow crossed the shaft of sunlight that lay on the barn floor. He glanced up to see Elizabeth coming toward him.

“Back from the quilting frolic, ja? Did you get Cousin
Jessie's quilt finished? And find plenty to talk about with your mamm and sisters?”

“It's done, ja. As for the talk . . .” She drew in a breath, and as quickly as that Reuben realized something was wrong.

He straightened. “Elizabeth? Was ist letz?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide and somehow almost frightened. “It's Cousin Jessie. She said she'd heard that John Stoltzfus and some others were thinking of starting a daughter settlement elsewhere. And she said you were one of them.”

Reuben clenched his teeth. Drat Jessie. He'd been trying to keep things quiet until he'd broken it to Elizabeth in his own time.

And when would that time have come?
his conscience murmured. He didn't have an answer, and that added to his annoyance.

“Your Cousin Jessie is a blabbermaul,” he muttered. He'd like to stay focused on the pony's hoof, but he suspected that wasn't going to work. He set the foot down, dropping the nippers he'd picked up, and Dolly turned her head to give him an inquiring look.

“Jessie was repeating what Eli told her. Is he a blabbermaul, too?”

The edge in his gentle Elizabeth's voice took him by surprise. It was foreign to everything he knew about her.

He patted Dolly's graying muzzle, buying time to arrange his thoughts. “All right. Now, don't be upset, but I have talked to John a little about his plans.”

“Without telling me.” The hurt in her face reproached him.

“I didn't want you to start worrying about it until I knew a little more, that's all. Nothing's been decided. So far Johnny and the others are just thinking about it. There's no harm in talking about their plans, is there?”

“I guess not, as long as it's just talk.” Some of the rigidity seemed to leave her, and she stroked the pony's back absently, as if hardly aware of what she did. “Then you're not really wanting to go away.”

He was tempted to assure her that he wasn't, just to get to the end of this conversation. But that wouldn't be fair. Elizabeth had a stake in any decision.

“We have to find a place of our own,” he said. “Isaac and Becky will be starting a family of their own before long, and this place will go to them. It's best if we get settled before that time comes, ain't so?”

She nodded, and he wondered if he'd imagined that she'd winced when he'd spoken of Isaac and Becky starting a family.

“I understand all that, but I always thought we'd be finding a place somewhere close. Maybe even a little nearer to my folks. Why can't we do it that way?”

“Because there's nothing available.” He heard his voice rise and reined it back. “You know I've been following up everything that might be for sale. Either the farms are already earmarked to stay in the family, or they're being sold to outsiders for outrageous amounts of money. If things keep going the way they are, pretty soon nobody will be able to afford farmland in Lancaster County.”

Elizabeth was shaking her head, seeming unable to take it in. “But . . . how can that be? Our people have always farmed here. Even the Englisch think that's a gut idea, the way they're advertising for tourists to come and visit to see the Amish.”

“I know.” The contradiction wasn't lost on him. “It wonders me what they're thinking, inviting people to come here because of the Amish with one hand and making it too hard or too expensive for us to live here with the other.”

“But surely they'll see it. Something will happen to turn things around. It has to.”

He wished he could believe it. “I don't know what. You can't stop progress—that's what I hear everyplace I go.”

Elizabeth pressed her fingers against her temples. He thought she was within an inch of putting her palms over her ears, like a child desperate not to hear unwelcome news.

“I know you don't want to accept it.” He reached out to touch her arm, half-wanting to draw her into his arms and half-afraid that if he did, he might not be able to say what he had to. “But we must look at things the way they are. If we can't find farmland here, I don't see any choice but to move.”

“You could do something else. You don't have to be a farmer.” She blurted the words out.

Reuben stiffened, his hand dropping to his side. “I'm a farmer, Elizabeth. It's what I've always been and what I've always wanted. Our kinder must grow up on a farm the way we did, working the land, caring for the animals, all of us working and sharing together.”

She didn't answer, and he tried again.

“There's nothing wrong with moving on. It's what the Amish have always done. If living a separate life becomes impossible where we are, we don't fight and we don't change. We move on to where we can live the way God calls us to.”

Elizabeth shook her head, and he wasn't even sure she'd taken it in.