The Forgiven (10 page)

Matt nodded. There was nothing else to say, and nothing else he could do about the situation, either. He'd wanted to make things easier for Rebecca. Somehow it seemed he'd managed to make them worse.

Lancaster County, December 7, 1941

Anna took the coffeepot and began to refill cups. Only the adults remained at the table at the end of their Sunday night supper, and experience told her that Daad and Onkel Tobias would linger talking long after they'd finished their coffee and apple crumb pie.

She exchanged a quick, secret smile with Jacob as she poured coffee into his cup. Mamm had invited Jacob to supper tonight, since Onkel Tobias and Aunt Hilda were visiting and the young people weren't having a singing. Even though Rebecca wasn't alone with Jacob, it still made her happy to see him sitting there at the long table where she'd had countless meals. He seemed very much part of the family, seated next to Seth and listening respectfully to what Daad was saying.

Anna darted a glance at her brother. Seth's black eye had faded to a dull purple. He'd told Daad part of the truth, admitting he'd climbed out of his window but saying he'd fallen on the way to the ground.

Did Daad believe his tale? She wasn't sure. He'd seemed to accept it, but he might still guess there was more going on than Seth had admitted. She could only be thankful that Daad hadn't asked her any questions. She'd never been any good at fooling him.

Finishing her round with the coffeepot, Anna slid into her seat across the table from Jacob and Seth. Seeming subdued, as he had been for the past few days, Seth concentrated on his pie, not raising his eyes.

Anna hoped that meant he was ashamed. He ought to be, to say nothing of being wary. Daad might not be so accepting a second time. It would be far better, in her opinion, if Seth stayed away from his Englisch friends for a time, at least.

Not forever. She knew better than to expect that from him. But he ought to steer clear until all this war talk died down and things got back to normal.

The loud, abrupt knocking at the back door must have startled everyone. Anna rose, but Daadi waved her back to her seat and went to answer the door himself.

Ezekiel Wagner, their closest Amish neighbor, nearly stumbled in his rush to get inside. He grabbed Daad's arm, his face pale and his eyes wide with what seemed to be shock. Anna's breath caught. His family—someone hurt?

“Zeke, was ist letz? Is it Mary, or one of the kinder?” Daad put a hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing like that.” Zeke took a gasping breath. “I just heard . . . one of the O'Brien boys came over to tell us. They heard the news on their radio.”

The O'Brien family lived in a small house just beyond the crossroads—all ten of them. Folks used to laugh and say the O'Briens had near as many kids as the Amish.

“What news?” Daad looked as if he were infected by Zeke's panic. “What has happened?”

Zeke shook his head. “It's terrible. The Japanese—they attacked the American navy base out in Hawaii. The O'Brien boy said they thought at least hundreds of people must have been killed. The navy ships were sunk. The radio said the president is talking to Congress tomorrow. They say he's going to declare war.”

War.
Anna's numbed thoughts turned the word over, trying to make sense of it. She looked at Jacob, seeking reassurance, but saw only a shock equal to her own.

“Komm.” Daad seemed to rally himself. “Sit. Have some coffee.”

Zeke shook his head. “Denke, but no. I'm on my way to Susie's place. Her husband is working away, and I don't want her to be alone with the babies.”

Susie was Zeke's married daughter. Anna could understand his need to be with her. She reached out toward Jacob, and he took her hand in his firm grasp, not caring whether her parents saw or not.

“It has come,” Seth said as Daad closed the door behind Zeke. His voice was harsh. “Everyone said war was coming, but we Amish weren't listening.”

“It's not a question of not listening.” Daad spoke evenly as he returned to his seat, but Anna had the frightening feeling that he'd aged ten years in the past few minutes. “But we can do nothing about it. We do not resort to violence, no matter what happens.”

Onkel Tobias thudded his fist against the table, his normally jovial round face bleak above his chestnut beard. “It will be chust as bad as it was during the last war. We have to face the truth.”

Mammi clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Surely things won't be that harsh again. Folks understand our ways now better than they did back before the first war. They know our boys can't fight.”

“The government knew that then, but that didn't stop the officials from forcing our boys into uniform.” Onkel Tobias frowned at Daadi. “Don't go gesturing for me to keep silent, either. These two boys are right at the age. They'll be the ones who have to face it.” He stopped short, shaking his head.

“What happened in the last war? Nobody ever talks about it.” Seth sounded as if he had to make an effort to keep his voice from breaking. “Like you said, me and Jacob are at the age to be affected. We have a right to know what to expect. What happened?”

Daadi exchanged glances with Onkel Tobias. He nodded slowly. Reluctantly.

“Ja. You have a right to know.” Daadi ran a hand over his forehead, maybe trying to clear his thoughts. “There was conscription—that means all the young men were called up to serve in the military. Our bishops told the authorities that it was against our faith to fight, but they didn't listen. Boys were forced to go to army camps, to put on uniforms. If they tried to refuse, the others called them cowards. They beat them.”

Anna had thought Daad couldn't get any paler, but he did. She longed to make him stop. She didn't want to hear anything worse.

“Some went to prison. Others were sent off to war, where most of them died in the fighting or from illness they picked up on the battlefields.” Daad's face twisted. “We thought we were finished with the military when our people left Europe centuries ago, but we weren't.”

“Daadi . . .” Anna reached toward him, longing to offer comfort but not sure how.

“That's what happened to your onkel John. My older brother.” Daadi's face was bleak with pain. “They gave him a rifle and told him to shoot at the enemy. The others who were with him told my mamm and daad he didn't fire the weapon. He just stood there, and the enemy soldiers shot him.” He shook his head. “I prayed no one else of the Leit would ever have to make that choice. But now—”

“People understand us better now,” Jacob said, as if repeating something he desperately wanted to believe. “They understand that our faith is founded on nonviolence.”

“Nobody understands.” Seth's face twisted. “Don't be so foolish. The Englisch are already turning against us. This will make it worse.”

“I don't believe it,” Jacob said. His fingers tightened on hers. “We Amish are committed to turning the other cheek. What good would it do to force us into uniform? Besides, if there's a war, people will need food more than ever. It doesn't make sense to take us away from our farms.”

“Nobody's thinking about good sense right now,” Seth retorted. “They're just thinking about how their own sons will have to go and fight, so we should, as well.”

“Enough,” Daad said, his tone firm. “If God is sending this trial to test us, we must stay strong and obedient. Think of those who were martyred for the faith before we ever came to this country.” His gaze flickered from Anna to Jacob. “Jacob, you should go to your family now. They will need to have you with them when they hear what has happened.”

Jacob nodded. He rose, letting go of Anna's hand, and she felt cold without his touch.

She stood, too, and went quickly around the table. She'd see him out, and they could have a moment or two of privacy on the porch before he left. She needed it.

Jacob took his black coat from the hook near the door, and Anna grabbed the wool shawl that hung there. She glanced back at the table. The family was still seated around the table, the yellow glow from the gas lamp gilding their faces, just as she'd seen them when she was pouring out the coffee. But the peace she'd sensed then was gone, shattered into bits by something that had happened a half a world away.

She and Jacob slipped out into the cold darkness of the back porch. He put his hand on her shoulder.

“You shouldn't have come out. That shawl isn't warm enough on a night like this one.”

She looked up at him, his face nothing more than a pale oval in the dim light from the kitchen windows. “I had to have a minute alone with you. Oh, Jacob, this is like a nightmare.”

He nodded. “Only we're not going to wake up from it, I'm afraid.”

She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“I thought you'd say everything was going to be all right.” She nuzzled against his sleeve, longing to be even closer.

“I can't.” His voice was solemn. He put his hand up to stroke her cheek. “I don't have any hope to give. Like your daad said, we'll have to pray we're strong enough to stand the tests ahead of us.”

Tears stung her eyes. “It's not fair. Everyone else was able to get married, have babies, have a happy life.”

“Not everyone,” he corrected, and she was ashamed, thinking of the uncle she'd never known.

Jacob pressed his cheek against hers, just holding her silently for a moment. Then he moved, and his lips closed on hers. Tender, warm, loving.

The moment should have been full of promise, but it couldn't be. As quickly as he'd kissed her, Jacob turned and was gone, vanishing into the dark.

Anna wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth, trying to find comfort, and fearing she wasn't strong enough or brave enough to stand up to the test.

R
ebecca
felt as if she'd been put through the wringer and hung out to dry by the time she got the children into bed that night. Too much emotion piled on an already shaky foundation would do that to a person.

Anger spurted up, startling her. But she couldn't be angry with Matt. It wasn't fair to blame him for bringing her yet another problem. If one of her kinder did wrong, she had to know about it so that she could deal with it. Being angry with Matt in this situation was as foolish as being angry with Paul for dying.

Something seemed to quiver in her at the thought. She didn't blame Paul, she told herself quickly. That would be both stupid and wrong. But she couldn't seem to dismiss the thought, even as she tucked the quilt around Joshua, snuggling him close in its warmth.

“There you are,” she said. “Snug as a bug in a rug, just the way you like it.”

He cuddled his favorite toy against his cheek—the black-and-white stuffed cow her mother had made for him. He gave her a drowsy smile.

“When I helped clear up his tools, Matt said—” Josh stopped, shooting a glance toward his sister.

What a tender heart her little boy had. Rebecca tousled his hair. “He probably said you did a fine job of helping him, isn't that right?”

Joshua nodded. Rebecca sent a quick look at Katie, but her daughter was turned on her side, presenting nothing to them but her back.

Or at least, that was most likely what Katie thought. She wouldn't know, not until she was a mammi herself, just how much a parent could be affected by the vulnerable curve of the back of a child's neck.

Uttering a silent prayer for wisdom, Rebecca smiled at Joshua. “Denke, Josh. I'm glad you helped Matt clean up the mess.”

Katie didn't move, but Rebecca thought her shoulders stiffened. She knew full well that she was the one who should have done the cleaning up.

Rebecca kissed Josh with a soft good night. Then she rose and walked around to the other side of Katie's twin bed.

Probably she should have separated the two of them into different bedrooms sometime in the past year. In the normal course of events, by now there'd have been another boppli or two, and there would be a boys' bedroom and a girls' bedroom, just as there had been when she was growing up. But with Paul gone, she hadn't been able to bring herself to leave either of the kinder alone in the dark.

She sat down on the edge of Katie's bed, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We have to talk, my Katie.”

Katie sniffled a little, her face woebegone, and Rebecca's heart melted. Why did life have to be so difficult?

“Don't want to,” Katie muttered. She tried to frown and only succeeded in looking a little more lost.

“Ach, Katie, sometimes we have to do what we don't want to.” She smoothed her hand over the log cabin quilt that Grossmammi had made, finding comfort in the love it represented. “I know you miss Daadi. I miss him, too, so much.”

Katie's lips trembled. “You don't. You don't even cry about him.”

That struck her in the heart, taking her breath away for an instant. Had her stoic little Katie been emulating her?

“Of course I cry,” she said. “I cried every day at first, but maybe a little less often now. I just always tried to do my crying when you wouldn't see me.”

Josh had turned toward them, listening intently. Maybe he needed to hear this, too. Had she been wrong, making every effort to protect them?

“I thought it might make you afraid if you saw me crying, so I tried to be strong for you. It hasn't been easy to do.”

Katie's eyes were suspiciously bright. “I'm sorry, Mammi. I thought it meant you didn't care.”

Rebecca's throat was tight, but she forced herself to go on. “Of course I care. What happened to Daadi was so sad, and we feel so lonely without him, but he would want us to go on, ain't so?”

Katie nodded, sniffling a little, and Joshua copied her, rubbing his fist against his nose.

“I know you hate the idea of somebody else using the stable we built for Daadi's horses, but Daadi can't use it anymore.”

“I thought we could raise the horses for Daadi, just like he wanted,” Katie said.

“Ach, Katie, can you see us doing that?” Rebecca managed a smile. “You, and me, and Joshie trying to take care of those great big Percherons? One swish of the tail would knock Joshie over, wouldn't it?”

Katie couldn't seem to stop a small giggle from escaping. “Well, but maybe Onkel Simon could take care of them until we're older.”

Rebecca stroked her daughter's cheek. “That wouldn't be fair to him, would it? The Percherons were Daadi's dream, but not Onkel Simon's. He has his own dreams, ain't so?”

Katie nodded, the movement reluctant.

“I had to decide which things were most important to Daadi.” She picked each word with care. “I think keeping our home was at the top of his list. He loved our place so much.” Her smile trembled on the edge of tears. “When he hung the bell on the back porch, he said that every time it rang, it meant home to him.”

“Then why don't we ring it anymore?” Josh raised himself on one elbow to put the question to her.

Her heart was being squeezed again. “I guess it reminded me too much that Daadi is gone.” She blinked back tears. “Maybe we'll start ringing it again soon.”

“I think Daadi would like it if we did that for him.” Josh lay down again.

Rebecca studied Katie's face, encouraged by the thoughtful look she saw there.

“I intend to keep our home by taking in guests this summer, like Daadi planned. And renting the stable to Matt helps, too.” She ran her hand over Katie's soft, silky hair, smoothed back in loose braids for the night. “I know doing so means changes, but if it helps us keep our home, isn't it worth it?”

Katie nodded, the movement slow. “I guess,” she whispered.

Rebecca was reminded of her conversation with Grossmammi about accepting changes. Maybe she had been selfish, thinking only of how she was affected. All of them were facing changes, it seemed, and somehow they had to accept them.

“Gut.” She bent to kiss Katie's cheek. “I will always take care of you and Josh. You know that, don't you?”

Katie murmured something that sounded affirmative. Then she flung her arms around Rebecca's neck in a throttling hug. “I love you, Mammi.”

“I love you, Katie. And I love you, Joshua. Always and always. And now I think it's time for sleep.” She smoothed the quilt over Katie and kissed her forehead. Rounding the bed, she did the same to Joshua. Then she went out of the room quickly, before she could start to cry.

Wiping tears away with her palms, Rebecca went slowly down the stairs. She breathed deeply, trying to ease the tightness in her chest. This talk with the children had been hard, but obviously it had been needed. It seemed not even a mother could guess everything that was in a child's mind.

The sound of a buggy drew her attention to the kitchen window in time to see Matt drive up to the back porch. Her stomach gave a lurch. Surely nothing else was wrong. This day had held enough troubles.

By the time she reached the back door Matt was climbing down, and they met at the bottom of the porch steps.

“Is something wrong?” She couldn't help the apprehension in her voice.

“Not exactly.” His strong features were unusually solemn. There was no charming smile to distract her now. Even the cleft in his chin looked carved from wood. “I've been thinking about what happened. I just wanted to say— Well, if it would make things easier for you, I'm willing to move my shop somewhere else.”

“No.” She pressed her fist against her ribs. “No, please don't do that.” She sucked in a calming breath, realizing that she'd startled Matt with her emphatic response. “I know this incident wasn't very pleasant for you, but I promise, it won't happen again.”

“That's not worrying me, Rebecca.” His expression eased a little, his voice becoming gentle. “I don't want to make things more difficult for you and the kinder.”

“You didn't.” She shook her head, unsure how much she wanted to say. “Katie will be better now. What happened forced us to talk about her feelings, and it seems that was just what she needed. I guess I should have spoken to them more about how things had to change since their daadi died, but I was afraid to let them see how I felt.” She rubbed her arms, suddenly aware of the cool evening air.

“How did you feel?” Matt's voice was low, his gaze intent on her face. He really wanted to know.

For a moment Rebecca didn't seem to see anything but the gathering shadows. But she knew the answer to the question. “Like a child left alone in the dark.”

He clasped her hand. “You're not really alone.”

“No, I'm not.” She shrugged off the chill that wanted to settle into her heart. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you.”

Matt shrugged, letting his hand drop to his side. “It's all right. I'm glad you did.”

“It's easier to say some things to you than to my family.” Voicing the words seemed to clarify her thoughts. “They all care too much, you see.”

Matt's smile seemed to contain a certain wry edge. “I guess that would be a problem, wouldn't it? We'll say no more about it, then. Good night, Rebecca.” He swung himself up into the buggy without looking back.

•   •   •

Matt
walked back toward his uncle's farmhouse from the barn after tending to the animals first thing the next morning, liking the silent moments at the opening of the day. Even in late May, the air was cool this early, and the sun was just making its way over the eastern ridge, its rays lighting up the parallel ridge to the west long before they reached the valley floor. A pale silver crescent moon clung to the darker sky. It had been different out in Indiana where it was so flat, but a morning like this reminded him of his childhood.

Onkel Silas walked beside him, sunk in the silence that seemed to have become habitual with him. He'd never been as talkative as Matt's daad, but now his isolation was a cold, frozen thing that seemed to chill even those who cared for him most.

Was this what his parents had been like after Matt had jumped the fence? He didn't want to think about that time or its after-effects. He'd been a kid—young, heedless, not thinking of anyone but himself, unaware of causing pain.

Onkel Silas had set up a sink in the back hall years ago at Aunt Lovina's insistence, and they stopped there to wash up and take off their boots. He could remember Aunt Lovina standing in the doorway, lecturing him and Isaiah when they'd tried to skip this step.

There will be no muddy boots in my clean kitchen, so don't you even think about it.
Would she know or care now? His smile faded.

He followed his uncle to the table, hearing the thump of feet as the younger kids rushed down the stairs, dressed for school. Sadie and Aunt Lovina were already setting bowls of oatmeal and a platter of scrambled eggs on the table.

Once they were all seated, silence fell at a glance from Onkel Silas. Heads bowed. Matt found his prayer leaping from one concern to another.

Silent prayers ended simultaneously, even though no signal had been given. If you were raised Amish, you must have an internal timer for the proper length of prayer. Dishes clattered, and the younger ones resumed an argument about whose turn it was to wash the boards after school today. He caught fourteen-year-old Thomas's gaze and grinned at the boy. It all sounded so familiar, and they both knew the boy was only persisting to tease his next younger sister.

“Sadie, we've forgotten.” Aunt Lovina's voice rose over the chatter. “We haven't laid a place for Isaiah. How could we forget?”

Silence. No one even seemed to breathe. Matt glanced, exasperated, from his uncle to his cousin Sadie. Surely they should have found a way to deal with Lovina's memory lapses by now, but they sat there like stones. When he couldn't stand it any longer, he seized control.

“Isaiah's away this morning, remember, Aunt Lovina?”

“He is?” She looked puzzled, raising a hand to her forehead. “But he has to have breakfast.”

“I'm sure he'll find a place to eat. He can stop at a restaurant if need be.” Matt spared a frustrated thought for Isaiah, who probably wasn't even out of bed yet, wherever he was.

“He'll be fine,” Sadie echoed finally. “Daad, some more coffee?”

Talk began again, more muted this time, but at least sounding fairly normal. Matt found he was thinking of something Rebecca had said last night—something about how she hadn't talked openly about Paul's death with the kinder, and how she felt now it had been wrong not to bring it out in the open.

But if his uncle or Sadie did talk to Aunt Lovina about Isaiah, would she understand or remember? Maybe if they'd all behave more normally, she could accept the idea that Isaiah was working away someplace.

As for Isaiah, the least he could do was write to his family, or even call and leave a message on the machine in the phone shanty. It wasn't as if he'd already been baptized into the church, so that his defection would result in the bann being imposed. Whatever Isaiah's quarrel was with being Amish, it wasn't right to leave his mamm in such a state.

Matt eyed Sadie. If anyone knew what had been going on with Isaiah before he left, it was Sadie. She wouldn't want to talk to Matt about it. Well, too bad, because she was going to.

He waited until everyone had scattered after breakfast, leaving Sadie alone cleaning up. He approached the sink where she was working. Was there any way of bringing up the subject without making her angry with him? Probably not, so he might as well come right out with it.

He leaned against the counter next to her.

“Do you know where Isaiah is?”