The Rebel (9 page)

“Ja.” He braced his hands against the buggy. “It would be easy to condemn the parents, but we didn't know what Mary
was doing, either.” He hesitated. “That's what hurts me most—that I had no idea. I should be closer to her. I know how difficult it is for Daad, trying to raise a young girl without Mamm to rely on. If I'd been closer to Mary . . .”

“No matter how close you were, that's not the kind of thing a girl confides in her brother. Maybe a sister, but not a brother. They're too protective.”

“You act like that's a bad thing.” He guessed that meant she didn't confide in any of her brothers, either.

Barbie leaned back against the buggy, her face tilted up to him. Did she realize how appealing she looked? Most likely.

“Not bad, just inconvenient when you know you're going to break the rules.” Before he could speak, she hurried on. “I'm not proud of deceiving my parents. I just . . .” She let the words die away, shrugging a little.

“You just what?” He leaned closer, intent on her expression. “Help me understand, Barbie.”

“That's not so easy, when I don't really understand myself.” She had a rueful look on her face. “I feel sometimes as if I want something different. Something challenging and exciting and . . .” Her momentary excitement died. “Maybe I'm too much like James.”

For a moment the name didn't register, and then he realized. James, the oldest Lapp boy. The one who'd left the Amish and never been heard of since.

He clamped his lips closed on the words that wanted to rush out. As her minister, his duty was to help Barbie do right. That wouldn't come through condemning the brother she loved.

“Your family hasn't been whole since,” he said slowly. “There is an empty place in it where James should be.”

She nodded, not speaking, and her blue eyes glistened with tears. “I've never understood why he didn't stay in touch with us. The restlessness, the longing to have a different life—I could understand those feelings. But he never even wrote.”

He spoke carefully, considering his words. Maybe he shouldn't say what was in his thoughts, but he'd never imagined that behind her bright, lively manner Barbie was hurting so.

“You were just a child then. Is it possible that your parents did hear from him but chose not to tell you?”

Her face grew very still. “I . . . I can't believe they'd let me think he didn't care.”

“They might not realize. They might have thought they were doing the best thing for you.” His own words seemed to ring in his ears. That was all he was doing, wasn't it? Trying to do the best thing for Mary? “I don't know,” he added hastily, afraid of what he might have opened up. “It just . . . wondered me, that's all.”

“If they know where James is . . .” A tear spilled over, glistening on her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently. “No. I'm sure you're wrong.” She glared at him.

“Maybe so.” This was what came of trying to do what he should as her minister. He failed more often than he succeeded. “I'm sorry, Barbie. I shouldn't have said anything about it.”

“No, you shouldn't.” She snapped the words, but then she bit her lip. “I'm sorry, too. I don't even know why we started talking about James. I came here to make arrangements for Mary, that's all.”

He gave a short nod. “When do you want her?” They'd best stick to business and not stray off into the side roads of their own pain and loss.

“Friday afternoon.” Barbie kept her voice brisk. “We'll do a trial run, just as if we were getting ready for weekend visitors. I'll pick her up around one, if that's okay.”

“One o'clock,” he repeated. “I'll tell Daad, and he can set it up with Mary. Denke, Barbie.”

Now was the moment to do what he'd promised himself—to ensure that Barbie knew he held her responsible for anything that happened to his sister while she was in her care.

But something prevented him—the image of her face, suddenly pained and vulnerable, as a tear trickled down her cheek.

Lancaster County, Spring 1960

One good thing about living in such a busy household, Elizabeth decided the next afternoon, was that no one seemed to notice that she and Reuben had very little to say to each other. The trouble between them was difficult enough. It would be far worse if anyone else was aware of it.

She'd caught Reuben's mother watching her with a troubled expression once or twice, though. Maybe Mamm Alice had seen that Elizabeth's eyes were heavy today. She hadn't managed to get much sleep last night.

Reuben had lingered downstairs, talking with his daad, when she'd gone upstairs. And when he had come into the bedroom, she'd kept her eyes shut, trying to breathe as deeply and evenly as if she were asleep.

Reuben hadn't spoken. He'd undressed silently in the dark, and she'd felt the bed move as he settled into his side. She lay still, hoping he felt as miserable over their quarrel as she did.

But in a few minutes she heard his gentle snore. If he had
been upset, he certainly wasn't showing it. She lay stiffly, unable to relax, feeling the distance between them in the bed.

It would be easy to reach over. If she touched him, she was certain-sure he'd draw her close.

But she couldn't. She could only lie there, imagining the space widen and deepen until it was a terrible chasm no one could cross.

Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears at the memory, and she blinked them back furiously as Mamm Alice came into the kitchen. Picking up the clothes basket, Elizabeth started for the back door.

“I think it's coming on to shower. I'd best get the sheets off the line.” She hurried out before Mamm Alice could offer to help her.

At least that was true. The clouds had been thickening all afternoon, and the air seemed heavy with the threat of a cloudburst. She glanced to the west, seeing the black sky over the distant hills. Rain for sure, and coming their way fast.

Dropping the basket in the grass, she began unpinning the first of the line of sheets she and Becky had hung out that morning, automatically feeling to be sure they were dry. They were, but they wouldn't stay that way for long if she didn't get them off the line.

She folded quickly and tossed the sheet into the basket, then moved on to the next. The breeze picked up, setting the sheets flapping and making her kapp strings fly.

“You're going to get wet.” Reuben was suddenly beside her, snatching a sheet off the line. “Better hurry.”

“I am,” she protested, unable to keep from smiling at the
sight of Reuben trying to fold the sheet. “Just put it in the basket. I'll refold them inside, where it's dry.”

Reuben grabbed another just as the wind took it, and it fluttered around him like a cape. He batted at it, and she grabbed the ends, laughing now, and brought them up to his hands. He took them, managing to clasp her fingers at the same time.

For an instant she froze, unable to think of anything but the touch of his hands and the longing to be done with this quarrel. Then a sputter of raindrops hit her face.

“Hurry,” she cried, grabbing sheets any old way, letting the clothespins fly as she rolled them up and stuffed them in the basket. “Here it comes.”

Reuben snatched the last sheet. He took the basket in one arm and grabbed her hand. “Run for it.”

Together they raced across the lawn to the back door, the heavens letting loose as they covered the last few steps. They stumbled inside, breathless and laughing, and leaned against the door.

Reuben looked down at her, the laughter wiping out all the strain that had been in his eyes. She couldn't look away, because she saw all the love that was there—love that had been overlaid with the grief and stress of the past months.

“Ach, my Elizabeth.” His voice was deep and soft. “I don't want to fight with you. I love you.”

She reached for him, hardly knowing what she did, and in an instant she was in his arms where she longed to be. Safe. Together. Surely, somehow—

The door banged against Reuben's back. “Hey, you two.” Isaac was boisterous as always. “Let us in. You can cuddle later.”

Flushing, Elizabeth backed up into the kitchen as Isaac and Daad Eli came in, shaking their hats free of rainwater and spraying it in every direction.

“You boys wipe your feet before you track anything onto my clean kitchen floor.” Mamm Alice handed them a towel, shaking her head at the mess they were making. “Here, Elizabeth, let me take that basket before the men get the sheets all wet again.”

Like a hen with her chicks, Mamm Alice ushered everyone into place until they were settled around the kitchen table, listening to the rain pounding against the roof as they had what Mamm Alice called “just a little snack to tide you over to supper.”

Becky hurried to help Elizabeth fold the sheets. As they did so, Reuben caught her gaze, giving Elizabeth just the suggestion of a wink as if to say he'd like to be doing that instead of Becky.

“You won't believe what I heard when I was at the hardware store,” Isaac declared, then stuffed an oatmeal cookie into his mouth.

“I think men only go to the hardware store to gossip,” Mamm Alice observed. “They just don't want to call it what it is.”

“Not gossip,” Isaac managed to say around the cookie. He took a gulp of milk. “It's true all right.”

“Well, and what is it?” Daad Eli said. “Either eat or talk, not both.”

Nodding, Isaac plonked his glass onto the table. “The county is going to rezone a bunch of property from agriculture to commercial,” he said. “Everybody was talking about it.”

“That's nothing new. It's happening all the time.” The lines between Reuben's brows formed again, and Elizabeth's heart sank.

“Ja, but this is different. It's up there along Fisher Road, where the Henderson farm is. Both sides of the road. Nobody knows what they're doing it for, but the surveyors were out already, and there's talk of what they call a strip mall on both sides of the road. You know what that means. More traffic than that area has ever seen.”

Daad Eli's frown echoed Reuben's. “If that happens, how are we supposed to get to the produce auction? We always go up the lane and across Fisher Road there with the wagons. We can't stop all that traffic in both directions to get wagons to auction.”

Isaac shrugged. “I guess we're going to have to find another way to get there. Or hope they move the produce auction site.”

“If we don't have the auction to sell what we grow . . .” Daad Eli let that fade away and fetched up a deep sigh. “We'll find a way. We always do. That's the cost of living separate.”

Elizabeth's gaze flew to Reuben's face. She could see what he was thinking, and a cold hand seemed to grab her heart. For him, this was just another reason to leave.

D
id
I do all right?” Mary's face was surprisingly anxious as Barbie drove her home after her first time helping at the farm-stay.

“All right? You were great,” Barbie said quickly. “Rebecca was very pleased. Didn't you hear her say so?”

Mary blinked a couple of times, studiously watching the team pulling a plow through the field next to the road. “I thought maybe she was just being nice.”

Barbie couldn't help smiling. “She's always nice, but she meant it. I could tell.”

And why not? Barbie had been a little surprised herself by how quickly Mary had caught on to what was expected of her. Not that it was unusual for an Amish girl her age to understand how to clean and change beds and do laundry. But Mary had also showed initiative, asking questions and making careful notes on exactly what was to be put in each guest room.

“She is nice, isn't she?” Mary recovered her smile. “She's different from you, ain't so?”

Barbie bit back a grin. “You mean I'm not nice?”

Mary's lips formed an O of dismay. “Ach, Barbie, I certain-sure didn't mean that. You know, don't you?”

“I'm just teasing.” She let the lines go slack in her hands, trusting the mare along this quiet back road.

All around them, spring was making its presence felt. The spring peepers sang their song along the banks of a boggy spot in the stream, and a willow near the stream had already leafed out. The fields looked greener than they had this morning, and even the ridges showed the beginnings of color. It was a day to make the heart expand.

“Gut.” Mary was still for a moment. “I just meant that Rebecca seems like she might be a little shy.” She darted a look at Barbie. “You could take on anybody.”

“Not quite anybody,” Barbie confessed. “I'm still a tad nervous about my boss. But I know he doesn't think less of people who stand up to him. I don't answer him back or anything, but I do tell him what I think.”

Mary seemed to consider the words. “It's hard sometimes to . . . well, to say what you want without sounding sassy.”

This had to be a direct reference to Mary's family, and Barbie picked her words carefully. “I guess it's more a matter of how you say things. Like with my boss. Even if he yells, I certain-sure don't yell back. I keep my voice kind of neutral and try to stay focused on what I want to say.”

A glance at the girl's face told her that she was digesting the words. Probably thinking about how they might apply to her
family—maybe to Sarah in particular. There seemed no doubt that she and Sarah brought out the worst in each other.

Barbie was content to be silent and let her mull it over. She'd considered whether she should bring up the events of that night at the bar with Mary, but she'd decided their friendship was too fragile to bear the weight of that topic yet. For now, she'd do better to focus on just being there.

It was enough to see Mary without the sullen expression on her face. To see her laugh at the antics of Rebecca's young ones when they came in from school. If she could keep Mary in that happy frame of mind, that was a fine accomplishment for one afternoon.

But when they made the turn onto the Kauffmann lane, she could sense the girl tighten up, as if she prepared for criticism. Surely that was all in her imagination. After all, Moses wanted her to work at the farm-stay.

But Benuel didn't. Was Mary aware of her brother's disapproval? Maybe the mere fact that her brother was one of their ministers was enough to make their relationship difficult.

“You know,” she said, keeping her voice casual, “I'd like to tell your father and brother how pleased Rebecca and I were with your work. But I wouldn't want to talk about you without your permission. Is that okay with you?”

Mary's expression was of surprise, or maybe gratitude at being treated as an adult. “I guess that would be all right.”

They'd reached the hitching post, and the mare stopped without being asked. As the two of them descended from Barbie's buggy, Abram came running across the grass to them as fast as his short legs would carry him. He threw himself at Mary.

“You're home, you're home!”

“Sure I am. I told you I'd come after you got up from your nap, ain't so?” Mary hugged him, her face lighting.

“Here's someone else to greet you.” Moses stepped off the porch, Libby in his arms, and set her down in the grass.

For a moment the two-year-old just stood there, wiggling her bare toes in the grass, and then she toddled over, holding up her arms for a hug. Abram gave Barbie a shy smile, obviously remembering her from their ball game after worship.

“Want to play ball?” he asked hopefully.

“Ach, Abram, don't tease Barbie.” Moses shook his head, smiling. “You started something, I'm afraid.”

She ought to be heading for home, but Barbie couldn't resist the pleading look on Abram's small face. “Sure, for a few minutes. Where's the ball?”

In answer, Abram ran full tilt to the porch, making her wonder if the little boy had any speed other than fast. He was back in seconds with the ball, tossing it toward Barbie.

She had to lunge to catch it. “Wait a second until I take my bonnet off. I have to be able to see better to play ball.”

She was happy to shed the black bonnet, stowing it under the buggy seat. Normally she might not wear it to go a short distance, but since she was coming clear over to the Kauffmanns', she'd thought she should.

Because Benuel might disapprove otherwise? She hoped that hadn't been in the back of her mind. No bonnet would change his opinion of her.

Tossing the ball gently to Abram, she clapped when it actually landed in his arms. He looked so surprised at himself that she nearly laughed out loud. What a cutie he was, with his
straight silky hair and his round blue eyes and that funny intent look he wore when he prepared to throw the ball.

“Me, me!” Libby wasn't going to be left out. She ran a few steps, fell down in the soft grass, and promptly hopped back up again, holding out her arms.

This time Abram rolled the ball to her without protest.

“Gut job, Abram,” she said, and he beamed. “Next one goes to your aunt Mary, ja?”

He nodded, and they soon had the ball bouncing merrily among the four of them. Libby, of course, never actually caught it, but she seemed to get as much pleasure out of running after it as actually getting it.

Mary tossed the ball slightly off course to Barbie, and when it hit the ground, Libby chased it.

“Hey, that one's for me, Libby.” Barbie took off after her, catching the little girl and swinging her up in her arms. “You're trying to take my turn, aren't you?” She grinned, bouncing the child.

Libby giggled helplessly, and then she threw her chubby little arms around Barbie's neck in a huge hug.

Barbie's heart swelled at the feel of the small body pressed against her so trustingly. To have a child of her own, to have her own little girl giving her a heartfelt hug—the longing welled up in her suddenly, astonishing her with its power. She'd never felt this with any of her nieces and nephews or her friends' babies. Why should it happen today?

•   •   •

Benuel
crossed the yard toward the group, frowning a little. His young ones were shrieking with laughter as they chased Abram's ball back and forth with some help from Barbie and
Mary. He'd hoped to have an opportunity to ask Barbie a question, but not with the entire family around.

What letter?
He hadn't forgotten the moment when she'd flung the question at him like an accusation. She hadn't answered him then, and the words were like a burr under a blanket, prickling and demanding action.

Barbie raced Abram across the grass, both of them laughing. She was a different person today than she'd been that night when she came to the door with Mary—that was certain-sure. But which one was the real Barbie?

His father nudged him. “Barbie's gut with the kinder, ain't so?”

“Maybe,” he said, grudging the word. “She's . . . frivolous.”

“She's lighthearted,” Daad corrected. “The world needs some lighthearted folk to balance out all the negative ones.”

He didn't object to Daad's characterization, because he didn't want to start an argument. He couldn't deny that Barbie's laughing face was an enjoyable sight, but Barbie was a grown woman. It was time she started acting more serious.

The game came to an end with all four of them tumbled in a heap on the ground. At a glance from him, Barbie swung herself to her feet and brushed off her apron.

“You two are just too good for me. I give up.”

Ben's daad, smiling, put a hand on each child's head, hushing them. “So, Mary, we haven't had a chance to ask the important question, what with these noisy kinder. How did your first day of work go?”

Mary's pale, heart-shaped face seemed to glow from within. “Ach, it was wonderful gut. And I learned so much.”

“You weren't the only one,” Barbie said quickly. “Mary taught us a couple of things about bed-making.”

“So she did all right?” Anxiety threaded Daad's voice. He wanted so much to hear something good about Mary that it caught at Ben's heart.

“All right? She was excellent. Caught on right away to how we like the rooms prepared and took the initiative in setting up.” Barbie was beaming, so apparently it was true.

“Gut, gut.” His daad's relief was plain. “I'm wonderful glad she can be of some help to you.”

Mary smiled eagerly. “Rebecca showed me how to get the rooms ready, and Barbie taught me about the questions the Englisch might ask me. I'll have a whole list of answers ready for them, ain't so, Barbie?”

“You sure will.” Barbie exchanged grins with her, and for a moment it seemed to Ben that she was as young and inexperienced as Mary was.

“Did you thank Rebecca and Barbie for taking all this trouble?”

No sooner was the question out of his mouth than Benuel knew he'd made a mistake. Mary's smile vanished, transformed in an instant into that familiar sullen look. And Barbie—well, Barbie looked as if she was clenching her teeth to keep from giving him a rare scolding.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, focusing on his sister. “I'm sure they know you appreciate the job.”

He thought Mary was going to burst out with a retort, but a squeal from Libby had them all turning to her. Libby clapped her hands.

“Doggie! Komm, doggie.” She held out her arms, and the shepherd-mix puppy he'd thought was secure in his pen pranced over to her, his tail wagging furiously.

“How cute he is. Is he your puppy?” Barbie knelt next to Libby and Abram, gently restraining the pup's efforts to lick Libby's face.

“His name is Shep,” Abram said. “Cause Daadi says our farm dogs are always called Shep.”

“Sounds like a good name for him.” She stroked the puppy's head, and he turned his attention to trying to lick her face. She fended him off easily. “Good Shep. I don't want any kisses today.”

Libby giggled at the idea of the dog giving kisses. Abram, eager not to miss out, rolled over in the grass and plopped the puppy on his stomach, only to have his sister dive on him.

“I thought I had the pen door latched.” Daad shook his head. “Maybe he dug his way out. Komm, Abram. We'll take him back and check to see if the pen needs repair.”

Abram got up willingly enough, but Libby started to wail at being left behind. Mary scooped her up.

“You'll help me with supper, ain't so? We should get started.”

Sniffing a little, Libby nodded, and Mary carted her off toward the back door. He and Barbie were left alone together.

Ben braced himself for the criticism she was no doubt about to offer in regard to what he'd said to his sister. Not that it was any of Barbie's business, anyway.

“I should be getting home,” she said instead. “Mamm will wonder what happened to me.” She turned toward her buggy.

He'd have snapped back if she'd scolded him. The fact that she didn't made him all the more eager to justify himself, only he couldn't, not if he was being honest.

He fell into step with her. “I shouldn't have said what I did to Mary. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?”

“If you already know that, there's no point in my saying so.”

Somehow the woman always seemed to get him in the wrong. Gritting his teeth, he put out a hand to stop her as she started to get up into the buggy. “What letter?” he said abruptly.

Barbie blinked, turning to look at him. Then the puzzlement in her face was replaced by wariness. “What are you talking about?” She glanced away, fumbling with the lines.

“That day we talked about Mary. You accused me of writing a letter to you.”

She shrugged, evading his eyes. “It's nothing. I just thought what you said sounded like . . . well, like a letter someone left for me at the café.”

It took a moment to process that information. “You are saying that someone wrote you an anonymous letter?”

“It's . . . nothing.” She braced her hand on the edge of the seat to pull herself up, but he covered her hand with his.

“It can't be nothing if someone is writing you anonymous letters. Have you told your father about it?”

“No,” she said sharply. “He doesn't need something to worry about. I threw it away, and there's an end to it.”

“Barbie, wait. I know you think it's none of my business, but I am your minister. If one of the Leit is doing such a thing . . . or was it one of your Englisch friends?”

“Meaning they'd be more likely to do it?” A spasm of annoyance crossed her face. “It was written in pencil on a scrap of lined paper. It didn't sound or look like an Englisch person wrote it.”