The Rescued (19 page)

She must be numb, Mattie decided, because she couldn't seem to move. She could only hold on tightly to Mrs. Graham's hand and wait.

“I'm sorry.” A tear spilled over on the woman's cheek. “I truly am sorry. But you're going to be served with the papers tomorrow.”

So. Mattie had known it would come, sooner or later. Now
she knew when. Tomorrow. She was astonished that she felt so calm now that the blow had fallen. She had been waiting for it, and now that it had come she actually was relieved that she didn't have to wait and worry any longer.

“Thank you.” Mattie articulated the words carefully. “I know it must have been hard for you to come here.”

Mrs. Graham shook her head. “Not hard, no. Just . . . it seemed to be right, and I hope I haven't made things worse for you. I just thought, if I was the one, I'd want to know.”

“You were right,” she said quickly. “It's best to know. I'll be able to prepare the kinder . . . the children . . . better for what is going to happen now that I know.”

Mrs. Graham nodded. “That's what I felt.” A smile trembled on her lips, and her hand moved in an almost unconscious gesture that seemed to link them. “We're not so different. We're both mothers.”

They were both mothers. Mrs. Graham was right. That made a bond stronger than anything that separated them. Even if Mrs. Graham could do nothing else to help her, she had understood a mother's feelings.

Somehow that understanding made Mattie a little less afraid of what was to come. As the bishop had said, surely people of good will could reach an understanding if they really tried. Just by coming here, Mrs. Graham had proved that was true.

•   •   •

One
bad-tempered hen squawked furiously before flapping out of Judith's way so that she could claim an egg from the nest. It was still warm, and she cradled it in her hand for a moment before putting it in the basket. Isaac kept saying she
ought to turn this chore over to the kinder, but the truth was that she enjoyed gathering the eggs.

The harmony brought on by the discovery of Jessie's carved dog had lasted nearly a day now, and Judith was beginning to breathe easier. Maybe this would be a new beginning for Isaac and Joseph. And for Isaac and her, as well.

Did he realize how thankful she was that he had managed to talk to the kinder about his little sister? She hoped so. Even though she could see that the reminder had brought its share of renewed grief to Isaac, his expression had eased, as if the telling had not only helped Joseph, but had lightened Isaac's own burden, as well.

It seemed to her that Isaac's grief, turned inward, had festered like a wound that had to be exposed in order to heal. Maybe now that he'd taken some painful first steps in bringing his pain into the open, he would find his grief easier to bear by sharing. That was what she prayed for.

Pulling her wandering thoughts to the job at hand, Judith scanned the pen, well aware that the hens could suddenly decide, for no apparent reason, to lay in an odd place. However, apparently none of them had felt adventurous today.

She started for the door, and the hens gathered around her feet, perennially hopeful that if she'd entered the pen, she'd brought mash with her. Most animals seemed to have internal clocks that told them when it was feeding time, but hens tended to be witless creatures, she had to admit, even though she was fond of them.

“Shoo, now. It's not time.” She flapped her apron at them, sending them, fluttering and squawking, back far enough that she could open the pen door and slip out without inadvertently
taking any chickens with her. She latched the door and headed back toward the house.

A buggy was coming up the lane. Judith paused for a moment, shielding her eyes as she tried to see who it was. Then she recognized the buggy horse, knowing it the way Englisch people might recognize a kind of car. Her visitor was her cousin Barbie.

Quickening her steps and smiling, Judith went to meet her. Whatever her faults, Barbie had a way of cheering a person up just through her presence.

“Looks like the hens are performing well for you,” Barbie said, nodding to the basket as she jumped lightly down from the buggy seat, disdaining to use the step. “My mamm was just saying this morning that ours must be feeling sad that summer is over, because their production is off.”

“I'll be happy to send some home with you . . .” Judith began, but Barbie was already shaking her head.

“There's still plenty for us.” Barbie's eyes twinkled. “You know my mamm—if there's not anything to worry about, she'll invent it.”

“Komm in.” Judith gestured toward the kitchen door. “I'll make some coffee.”

“Don't bother with the coffee. I can't stay. I have to get to the bakery.” Barbie patted the mare's neck. “Funny. I was just thinking about the day you took my buggy and went off searching for Joseph.” She stopped, eyeing Judith's face as if wondering whether or not she should have mentioned it.

“You were a lifesaver that day,” Judith said warmly. “I won't forget it.”

Barbie shrugged, her lips tilting upward as they did so easily.
“It was nothing. Are Joseph and Isaac getting along any better now?”

Judith was almost afraid to mention it, but quickly dismissed the idea as superstition. “Ja, they are, a little. Thank the gut Lord.”

Of course she still felt as if she had to be constantly on the alert, ready to tamp down any flames of annoyance or resentment between them, but that was minor compared to hearing them shout at each other.

“That's wonderful gut news.” Barbie grinned. “Makes it easier to ask what I've come for.”

“And what is it?” Judith couldn't imagine there was anything Barbie needed that she could provide, but she'd try.

“I've just come from Rebecca's.” Barbie leaned back against the buggy frame. “She says that Matt's parents are coming in from out west this weekend for a nice visit before the wedding. They're going to stay at Matt's aunt and onkel's place.”

She nodded, not sure where she fit into this scenario. “Matt will be sehr glad to see them, I'm sure.”

“And Rebecca, too. The fact is, Rebecca would like to take the kinder and go to stay over there as well, so that the family can get better acquainted before the wedding. But she has guests coming this weekend.”

Judith thought she knew where this was headed, and she felt a moment of panic. “Does she want us to take over?”

She couldn't, that was her initial reaction, despite the fact that she'd promised to help. Aside from the fact that she'd probably be terrible as a hostess to a bunch of Englisch, how could she leave Isaac and Joseph together? Without her to provide a buffer between them, who knew what would happen?

“Of course she does. So I told Rebecca she should go plan to go,” Barbie concluded. “I knew you wouldn't mind. And I'm looking forward to actually being in charge.” Her eyes sparkled. “Don't tell Rebecca I said so.”

“I know we planned to take over . . .” Judith began, but Barbie was rushing on, heedless of her reaction.

“Now, don't think you need to stay the nights. I know that would be hard for you with the kinder. I can manage that all right, if you'll just be there during the day to help run things. I told Rebecca it would be perfectly all right. After all, we offered to do it, didn't we?”

Barbie had an uncanny knack of landing right on a person's weak point. They had agreed. On the other hand, this felt like a critical point in Isaac and Joseph's relationship. They had just begun to take small steps toward each other, but at any point, that peace could erupt into a pitched battle. How could she leave them alone? But how could she let Rebecca down?

“I'm so glad to have the chance to do this for Rebecca.” Barbie, seeming to take Judith's acceptance for granted, was already climbing back into her buggy. “You know, for all that I worked with Rebecca all summer, this is the first time she's trusted me to run the farm-stay for a whole weekend on my own.”

“Rebecca trusts you,” Judith said, wanting to assure her. “She wouldn't have taken you on as a partner if she didn't, ain't so?”

Barbie settled herself on the seat and looked down at Judith, appearing unusually serious for her. “It's important, you know. That I show everyone I can handle the responsibility when Rebecca isn't there. Important to me,” she added. Her smile flickered, but her face wasn't the usual, bubbly confident one she
generally showed people. “This is my chance to prove to myself that I'm not as feather-witted as most folks think.”

Who would think that lovely, poised Barbie could long so for reassurance? Judith reached up to clasp her hand briefly and tried to swallow her own fears.

“I know you're not a bit feather-witted,” she said. “And when we run the farm-stay this weekend, everyone else will know it, too.”

Barbie's brilliant smile blazed. “Denke, Judith. I certain-sure hope you're right.”

Judith hoped so, too. Still, she didn't really have a choice about helping. She'd agreed. And after all, she'd be home every night. Isaac and Joseph would have plenty to do to keep them busy during the day. What could go wrong?

Lancaster County, Late September 1953

A
dam
approached Mattie's house from the field between her place and his uncle's, moving easily enough even without the aid of the flashlight he'd brought. The nearly full moon sent a silvery glow over the land, interrupted by the shadows that were trees, hedges, and outbuildings. Even if it hadn't been for the moonlight, he was accustomed enough to being out in the dark, tending to the animals without the help of a light that came on with the flick of a switch.

Folks had lots of superstitions about the full moon, it seemed to him—the idea that more babies were born then, or that the moon could make people wakeful or give them bad dreams, or even encourage some to wild behavior. He'd always taken most of that with a grain of salt, but he had to admit that the ease of seeing tonight could encourage people who were up to no good to be out and about. He and Onkel Jonah would have to make sure that none of them got away with targeting Mattie for their mischief.

He walked on, striding easily and with little noise. He'd have
known it was late in September without a calendar by the aroma of the air—a compound of drying grasses, fallen apples, and a hint of smoke from someone's fire. It was cool, not cold, and a light breeze touched his face as he looked up, hearing something ahead.

For an instant Adam froze, thinking the intruders might have come back. Then he saw a doe step delicately into the open, her ears flicking in every direction, it seemed. He watched, enjoying the sleek lines of an animal who'd been created to escape its enemies by fleeing or by fading into the surroundings.

The doe took another step forward and stopped, as still as a statue save for the ears that probed for danger. He didn't move. But seeming to recognize his presence by instinct, the doe spun on the spot and bounded away toward the woods, her white tail flashing.

Smiling a little from the encounter, he moved on, coming out onto the farm lane between the outbuildings and the house. He and his uncle had worked out a route for themselves that let them circle the house without coming near enough, they'd figured, to startle Mattie and the kinder. Once he'd crossed the lane, he could see down the length of it, past the willow tree where he'd kissed Mattie, and on to the rectangular shadow that was the produce stand.

Nothing disturbed the peace of the night. Maybe the vandals had found something else to occupy them, bothering someone else instead. Strange, this business of trying to live separate in a world that changed around them almost daily.

Mattie would not think of reporting the vandals to the police, not even if she knew exactly who they were. But the police would arrest Amish parents, just because those parents didn't want to send fourteen-year-olds to the consolidated school. He'd long
since stopped trying to understand it, instead reminding himself that whatever happened was God's will for them.

That practice had worked very well, right up until the time Mattie and her kinder were threatened, and he'd realized how much he loved her. He didn't doubt any longer that she could love him. Her response to his kiss had told him.

But he did fear for the amount of time it might take for her to accept her feelings. In the ordinary way of things, time wasn't an issue. He could have courted Mattie slowly, letting her get used to the idea without disturbing the balance of their friendship.

It was only the intrusion of Englisch standards into their lives that made it so difficult. If he and Mattie were married, he would be the one to pay the price for following their ways instead of Englisch ways.

Adam moved another step or two and realized that a light glowed from the kitchen window. The angle of the porch had hidden it from him until he reached this point, and now he stopped, wondering. Why was Mattie up so late? Was she sitting awake, worrying? Or was one of the children sick?

His first thought was to let her know he was there, for whatever comfort that might provide. Anytime in the past three years, tapping on her door late at night would have been perfectly natural. But what had happened between the two of them had changed things. After they had shared a kiss, a late-night call would be awkward.

Better leave it,
he thought, but even as he did so he took an unwary step and knocked over a flowerpot that clattered against the one next to it, loud in the still night. A horse neighed once from the direction of the barn and then was quiet,
probably recognizing his scent. He froze, hoping Mattie hadn't heard and been frightened.

The back door opened, sending a rectangle of yellow light out onto the porch, with Mattie silhouetted in it. “Adam?” Her voice was pitched just loudly enough to reach him.

“Ja, I'm here.” Like the deer, it seemed she'd sensed him. “I didn't mean to alarm you. Sorry.”

“It's all right. I was waiting and listening, because I want to talk to you.” She moved forward to the edge of the porch as he approached.

“You knew I would be out here?”

He had a feeling she smiled. “You or Daad Jonah, but I thought it would be you at this time of night.”

“I guess we haven't been as sneaky as we thought we were.” At least she didn't seem angry that they'd taken it upon themselves to watch over her.

“Not really, no.” Mattie sat down on the top step and patted the place next to her. “Komm. Sit. We have to talk.”

He sat, half-turned so he could see her. Her face was a pale oval in the light from the door—pale and strained, as well. She was worried, and no wonder, and yet there was something in her voice that was different. More decisive.

He was imagining it, he told himself. Enough weighed on Mattie to keep anyone awake at night.

“You should be asleep. You need your rest.” His voice was gruff with the need to keep his emotion out of it.

She dismissed the idea with a short chop of her hand. “I couldn't.”

“Ach, Mattie, you'll do no gut to yourself or the kinder by losing sleep over this trouble. The worry will still be there in
the morning.” He longed to touch her in comfort, but that might not be wise, not after what had passed between them. He might have trouble keeping it brotherly.

“It's not . . . not so simple.” She seemed to have difficulty getting the words out. “Something happened tonight. I have to tell you about it. Just . . . just listen until I'm done.”

The tightness in her voice alarmed him, and he fought to keep control of his feelings. If listening was what he could do for Mattie right now, then he would listen.

“Ja, all right. Tell me about it.” His gaze traced the pure line of her profile, the soft curve of her cheek, and his heart swelled with the love he felt.

Her fingers closed on her apron, wrinkling the fabric. “I had a visitor this evening. After supper. I didn't expect . . . but it was Mrs. Graham.” Her gaze met his, seeking understanding. “You remember. I told you she comes to the stand, and she's so kind and sympathetic. Not at all like her husband.”

Adam nodded. “Ja, you told me you'd spoken to her about the trouble.”

“She said before that she couldn't interfere, but tonight she came. She said her husband didn't know she was here, you understand, so we must be careful with letting folks know about it.”

“Ja, of course.”

Mattie drew in a breath, audible in the still night. “She saw some papers her husband had. It was a list of who was going to be arrested and when. My name was on it. I will be served with the notice. Tomorrow.” Her voice cracked on the final word.

Pain ricocheted through him. He grasped her hand before he could even think of his resolve not to touch her. For an
instant he thought she would pull away, but then her fingers closed around his, clinging tightly.

His first instinct seemed to be to deny it. “Are you sure she was telling you the truth? Maybe they're trying to frighten you.”

“No. I could tell. She was honest. And it hurt her even to say it. She loves him, but she thinks he is wrong.”

“This can't be. We must find some way—”

“Hush, Adam. There isn't any way, and now I need you to help me.”

“Anything.” She was right. Denying the obvious didn't help anyone.

“I need you to pass the word to the others—the family and the bishop. I'm not sure when . . . when it will happen.” Her voice trembled and then steadied. “But if it's the same as with the others, probably I will be arrested the next day after tomorrow. At least it gives us time to make plans. Someone must be here for the kinder and to take care of the animals. I have to know that everything is arranged. Will you do it?”

“Whatever you say. You know I will. Everyone will help. But you must listen to me now.” He captured both her hands in his, holding them firmly. “There's nothing else to do. You must marry me so I can protect you.”

His mind raced, coming up with and rejecting ideas. There was no way they could be married before the police arrived, but they could do something.

“Surely if the bishop tells the police we are betrothed, even that I am guardian for the young ones, they will take me instead of you. But we don't have any time to waste. We must act now.”

Mattie was already shaking her head, but he rushed on, not giving her a chance to mount an argument.

“Mattie, don't you think I want to take my time in courting you the way I should? It's my fault—I left it too long, and now we are forced by this injustice to act.”

“I won't marry you just to stay out of jail. I won't.” Her hands twisted in his.

“Stop, Mattie. The children—what will they think if you are arrested? It's too hard for them.” He was losing her—he felt it, and desperation gave passion to his voice.

“They will think that their mother is standing up for what is right.” Her voice was surprisingly strong. “Besides, you will be here for them, and the rest of those who love them. They will turn to you, like always.”

His heart nearly broke to hear her say it so calmly. “Ja, I love them. And I love you. If you're refusing me because of this foolish notion that I am too young for you, you have to forget it. I know what I want. I want you, to love and care for all the days that God gives us.”

It was no use. He could feel it. Her face seemed impossibly remote, and only her hands, warm and trembling in his, assured him that she was still his Mattie.

A spasm of what might have been pain disturbed the stillness of her face. “It's not that, or at least not only that. All my life I was taken care of—my parents, my older brothers and sisters, even Ben—they all thought they had to take care of me. And now you think it, too.”

“It's not wrong, to take care of each other. It's God's plan for us.”
Please, make her understand.

“Not wrong, no. But I've learned something through all this trouble. Each of us must stand alone before God and pray we've done right. I won't marry you so that you can go to jail
in my place, Adam. I won't marry you because I need to be taken care of.”

“That's not the only reason, and you know it. We both felt it when we kissed.” He was losing. He knew it.

“Adam.” She said his name gently. She touched his cheek—a featherlight caress. And then she fled into the house, closing the door and leaving him alone in the dark.

•   •   •

Judith
put the packet of decades-old letters down and glanced at the clock. Joseph would be home from his vocational class soon, and the boys returning from school as well. She'd best put the letters away for now to be safe. She wouldn't want them getting mixed up with Paul's homework.

She folded the papers carefully, mindful of how brittle they felt, and slid them into the study table drawer she had taken for her own use. The letters from Mattie's two cousins were interesting, giving a glimpse into Amish women's lives in an era when a terrible war had finally ended and change was sweeping across Englisch society at what must have seemed an alarming rate. As fast as the changes the Amish faced today, with the threat posed to their young people by drink, drugs, cell phones, and the Internet?

It had doubtlessly seemed so to them. Maybe that was destined to happen to each succeeding generation, as the Leit struggled to hold onto their values in a world that was always strange and sometimes antagonistic.

But it was Mattie's story that held her fascinated. She felt so strongly for Mattie's efforts to know what was right and have the courage to do it.

Judith closed the drawer and pushed her chair back. Maybe
Mattie's story resonated with her because she constantly struggled with the same questions. How did she know what was right for Isaac and Joseph? And even if she was sure, did she have the courage to stand for it?

Footsteps sounded on the back porch, and the screen door swung open.

“Joseph. You're home from your class already. How did it go today?”

“Great.” Joseph grinned, looking happier than he had in a long time. Maybe the breach with Isaac had been weighing on him more than she'd thought. “The instructor let us do some work on our own this time. Judith, you wouldn't believe the equipment they have for us to practice on. I'm learning so much.”

“I'm wonderful happy for you. The class is everything you hoped for, then, ja?”

She was tempted to add that he shouldn't show so much enthusiasm around Isaac, but wasn't that foolish? After all, if Isaac could begin to see how much this business meant to his brother, surely it would help him understand.

“More,” Joseph said with emphasis. “I'm really loving every minute of it. If only . . .” He stopped, shaking his head a little, but she knew what that
if only
was. If only his brother would understand.

One thing was certain sure. If Isaac was still clinging to his hope that Joseph would become bored with the machinery and turn his focus back to dairy farming, obviously he'd be disappointed.