The Forgiven (20 page)

He didn't speak, because he didn't know what to say. But as he helped her climb down from the tree, he knew that soon he would have to speak. He'd have to tell her the whole truth about himself, no matter how much it hurt.

•   •   •

Rebecca
slid the beef noodle casserole into the oven and straightened, only to catch a reflection of her face in the tray on the counter. Her lips were curved in a smile she hadn't seen in a long time.

She moved the tray, but it didn't help. She could still feel the smile. And she knew what had put it there. Matt had kissed her.

She should be embarrassed, shouldn't she? Or upset? But was it wrong for a man—a good man—to show an interest in her? It had been so long.

Rebecca lifted an earthenware mixing bowl down from the shelf. She'd make a loaf of corn bread to go with the casserole. Josh and Katie loved corn bread.

The thought of her children reminded her that she must be careful. She wasn't an eighteen-year-old girl any longer, and she had to put her children first in any relationship.

Not that she had a reason to suppose Matt meant anything serious by his attentions. He had probably kissed dozens of girls in his time.

Kissing her had been an impulse, nothing more. She should treat it lightly.

And if it hadn't been just an impulse? She discovered, to her surprise, that she'd like to believe it. Even so, it was far too soon to think of anything serious.

Rebecca couldn't seem to keep from feeling optimistic, though. The farm-stay was up and running, she had money coming in to provide for her children, Daad was improving every day, and Matt had kissed her.

A buggy passed the kitchen window. Rebecca put the lid back on the cornmeal box and wiped her hands before she hurried outside.

To her surprise, it was Mary Ann King, who stopped at the sight of her.

“Mary Ann. How nice to see you. Have you been over at Mamm and Daad's?”

Mary Ann nodded, not smiling. “My mamm sent supper over for them.”

“That was wonderful kind of her. And of you, to bring it.” Maybe Mary Ann was beginning to gain that maturity Mamm had mentioned. “Do you have time to come in and visit?”

“I can't stay.” Mary Ann looked like someone on a mission she couldn't figure out how to complete. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Of course.” Rebecca looked up at her. What could Mary Ann possibly want with her?

“Simon wouldn't dream of complaining, but I thought you'd want to know how he's feeling. I'm sure I would in your position.” Mary Ann's gaze avoided hers, fixed firmly on her horse's ears.

“I see.” But she didn't. If there was a problem with her brother, she wasn't aware of it. “Why wouldn't Simon come to me about whatever it is?”

“He wouldn't want to hurt your feelings,” Mary Ann said quickly. “And he wants to do his duty.”

There was a righteous tone to Mary Ann's voice that Rebecca didn't care for. She tried to be fair, but did Mary Ann actually imagine she was telling Rebecca anything she didn't already know about her own brother?

“You must see you're asking too much, Rebecca.” Mary Ann leaned toward her suddenly, flushing a little. “Simon is taking care of his daad's farm and yours, and now you've got him involved in the farm-stay business of yours. And you're not even paying him! How can you treat your own brother that way?”

Rebecca felt as if she'd been struck. She took a step back, shaking her head. She didn't want to believe what she was hearing.

Guilt rushed in. True, Simon was doing all those things. No doubt it didn't give him time for anything else.

It wasn't right. Simon was only twenty. He ought to be free to be courting, to be enjoying himself, not be tied to responsibilities that weren't rightfully his.

“I just thought you'd want to know,” Mary Ann repeated. She picked up the lines and clucked to the mare, leaving Rebecca shaken and torn.

•   •   •

It
was only when the children were tucked up in bed that Rebecca allowed herself time to think again about the distressing visit from Mary Ann. By then, she'd calmed down and could look at it more objectively.

The girl was young and she was interested primarily in herself, but Rebecca couldn't blame her. Naturally Mary Ann wanted her come-calling friend to have time for her.

More important, what had Simon said to set Mary Ann off? Rebecca stood for a moment in the kitchen, staring absently at the back window and the view beyond. Was it really only a few hours ago that she'd been celebrating the fact that her business was going well?

That happiness now seemed to be even more selfish than Mary Ann's attitude. She had taken her brother's help for granted when, without him, how could she proceed? Even if Simon felt he could cope with helping her now, what would happen if and when they got busier? Mary Ann was right about one thing—Simon couldn't run two farms and deal with her visitors as well.

She had to talk this over with Simon. Of course he wanted to help her. He was her brother. As the two oldest, they'd always been close. But she couldn't go on taking advantage of him.

Maybe, if they could discuss it openly, they could figure out some solution. But what? It seemed each time she'd solved one problem, another cropped up.

Simon might be still at the barn. She stepped out into the mild evening, pausing on the porch. The sun had slipped behind the ridge, painting the western sky in shades of pink and purple, and twilight had begun to draw in. The barn doors were closed, and if Simon were there working, he'd have left them open for the light. Their conversation would have to wait for tomorrow.

“Rebecca.”

She spun, startled, to see Matt approaching from the workshop.

“Matt.” A little flutter in her chest made it hard to sound normal. “I thought you left already.”

“I had some work I wanted to finish first.”

His face was solemn, and her heart thudded. He looked so serious—she hoped he wasn't going to say he was sorry he'd kissed her, especially since she feared she'd made it very plain that she'd enjoyed being kissed.

“Are the kinder in bed?” He paused, one foot on the bottom step.

“They're in, although it gets harder to settle them now that it's light longer.”

“We need to talk.” The words were heavy, as if they were weighted with something. Regret, maybe?

She could hardly say she didn't want to listen. “Komm.” She gestured to the porch. “We can sit out here, where I'll hear the kinder if they call.”

She sat down on the porch swing, the motion producing its familiar creak. It was a pleasant place to relax in the summer when the day's work was done. “Please.” She gestured to the space beside her.

Matt didn't seem to notice. He leaned against the porch railing, hands gripping it, as if he was bracing himself. He frowned, maybe trying to figure out where to start.

She might as well save him the trouble. “If you are worried about kissing me—”

“No, Rebecca.” His expression didn't lighten. “I'm worried about caring for you.”

The serious tone touched her heart. He meant it. She seemed to tremble on the edge of a precipice. Matt meant it, and she cared for him, as well.

It was one thing to admit it to herself, but quite another to say it out loud. She was afraid—afraid of what that might mean.

Matt didn't seem to expect a response. His frown deepened, and his knuckles must be white considering how hard he was gripping the railing.

“I don't go around telling people about my past. But you have a right to know the truth about me.”

“I know that you're kind, and caring, and responsible,” she said quickly. “I don't need to know anything else.”

Matt's gaze rested on her face, and she couldn't quite interpret what it said. “No.” He shook his head. “I've made so many mistakes in my life. They were all caused by the same thing—a temper I can't control. A temper that can lead to violence.”

Everything in her denied it. “You're beating yourself up, but there's no need.”

“Listen to me, Rebecca.” He leaned toward her, his face a mask to hide his feelings. “That's why Isaiah nearly drowned, because I couldn't control my urge to hit back.”

“Matt, you were a kid. You've grown out of it. You can't go on blaming yourself for something that happened when you were just a teenager.”

“You're quick to defend me.” His grim expression lightened for an instant. “But I'm not a kid now, and look what happened with Simon.”

“It seems to me Simon is the one who should feel guilty about it.”

Matt couldn't seem to accept any excuse. “You don't understand. I was so furious that I nearly struck him with my fist.”

“But you didn't.” She longed to touch him, to comfort him, but she was afraid to move lest he stop talking.

“I didn't because you were there.” A ghost of a smile appeared and was gone. “I've tried again and again to live in peace. I've failed.”

“You've done nothing wrong. Just because you get angry sometimes—well, none of us is perfect. Don't you think all of us fail to live up to the church's teaching?”

“Not like me.” He sucked in a breath. “I thought I'd be happy when I jumped the fence. I thought I'd fit in to the outside world. But I didn't. I ended up in jail.”

She stared at him for a long moment, unable to accept the words, thinking he must be joking. But he was serious.

“What happened? Why?” An Amish person might go to jail for failing to obey a law that he felt went counter to God's will. She could understand—

“I got into a fight in a bar. A man was injured, so badly he had to go to the hospital.” He raised his hands in front of him, looking at them as if they belonged to someone else. “I struck someone. I injured him. I was arrested and sentenced to six months in jail.”

Rebecca's throat was dry, and her stomach twisted. “Matt, I . . . I'm sorry.” For him, for the other man, for the whole situation.

His jaw clenched. “When I got out, I made up my mind to come back to the church. To start over. I thought I could live in peace.”

“You can,” she said, forcing the words out through a tight throat.

He shook his head. “It's not something I could leave behind in the Englisch world. It's something inside me.” He looked down at his hands again, as if he saw something she didn't. “I wish I could be the man you think I am, but I'm afraid I can't. So the safest thing is not to let anyone rely on me.” His face twisted. “Especially not you and the children.”

“Matt, that doesn't make sense. It doesn't have to be that way.” She reached out to him, but he didn't seem to see her.

He shoved himself away from the railing, took the porch steps in a long stride, and headed toward his buggy at something just short of a run.

Her heart clenched painfully. She couldn't think of anything else to say, any way to reach him. Matt had locked himself behind the barrier of his guilt, and he wouldn't come out, even for her.

Lancaster County, September 1942

A
nna
shoved a basket of tomatoes into the wagon and stood leaning against it for a moment, hand on her aching back. The wagon wasn't quite full, but this was the last picking of the summer. It was the first week of September already.

She nodded to her youngest brother. Peter looked smaller than ever perched on the wagon seat. He slapped the heavy lines on the back of the workhorse, and the wagon moved slowly down the field.

Eli, who seemed to have grown a foot since Seth had left, came to her, automatically measuring himself against her. He seemed to be living for the day when he'd be taller than she was.

Because he felt he had to take Seth's place? It might well be. He wasn't the only boy who had to do a man's work before his time, now that so many of the county's young men had gone off to the war.

Anna tapped her brother's frayed straw hat. “Komm. Let's get back to the barn. Daadi will be needing us.”

He nodded, his young face tightening. “He works too hard. I wish . . .”

“Ja. I know.” She wished it, too. If there had never been a war, if Seth hadn't thought he had to fight . . .

A wave of anger swept through her, startling in its power. Had Seth thought about them when he left? Had he known Mammi would be crying every night, Daadi aging ten years in a day, Anna and the kinder taking on a man's work to keep the farm going without him?

The government kept announcing that farmers should produce more food because of the war. But how could they when their young men were gone, either into the military, like Seth, or to the Civilian Public Service camps, like Jacob?

Jacob's family was struggling, too. They were missing him and challenged to bring in a decent crop with only kinder and old people to help. Jacob would be missing it. He'd always said he was never so happy as when he had his hands in the earth.

She remembered teasing him.
Not even when you're taking me home from singing?
she'd asked.
Not even when you kiss me good night?

He'd responded with a grin and a light kiss on her lips, and she'd thought she'd always be as happy as she was right in that moment.

“Everyone is in the same situation,” she told her brother, not sure how that was supposed to make Eli feel better.

“Not everyone,” he said, his mouth twisting a little. “Not the Yoders. Zeke Yoder got exempted from going to the camps. How did he do it?”

Everyone, even the Amish, had a new vocabulary these days, it seemed. She and Eli left the field for the easier walking of the yard and headed toward the barn.
Exempted
—she wouldn't have expected her little brother to know the word in an ordinary world.

“You mustn't blame the Yoders for Zeke not having to go,” she said. “That would be as bad as our Englisch neighbors blaming us for speaking German.”

“Well, I still say it's funny. Why should Zeke get a farming exemption and not Jacob?”

She couldn't deny the fact that she'd asked that question herself sometimes, especially when she woke in the night and thought of Jacob so far away.

“I don't know.” That was the only honest answer she could give. “It seems like the folks on the draft board don't know exactly what to do with us. We just have to be thankful that none of our boys have been forced to bear arms.”

“I don't want to hear any more war talk.”

They'd gotten close enough for Daadi to hear, and his voice was sharp.

“Sorry, Daadi.” Anna knew how he felt about it. She should have been more careful.

Daadi's gaze rested on her face, softening. “We've done enough for now. We'll finish up after supper. Go, all of you, and have a break.”

The two boys didn't need an excuse. They darted off across the yard as if they'd been fired from a slingshot, making Anna smile.

“If you're sure you don't need me now, Daadi, I'll go and see if there is any mail.”

His worn face creased in an answering smile. “You mean you will see if there's a letter from Jacob, ain't so? Go ahead and check. I hope you'll find one.” He waved his hand toward the road.

Anna's tiredness slipped away as she hurried down the lane toward the mailbox out by the road. Now that Jacob was settled at the camp in Maryland, he wrote more regularly, although Jacob never had been much of a letter writer.

At first he and the other men, mostly Amish and Mennonites with a few Quakers and Englisch, had been kept busy renovating the dilapidated buildings that were their barracks. The only thing that had held them back initially was the lack of supplies, but the sponsoring churches had quickly brought in what they needed.

Now, according to Jacob's last letter, they had been put to work planting trees. He'd said he heard that some men would be picked to help with the harvest on area farms, and he hoped to be chosen.

Planting trees is okay, but harvesting crops would be better. It seems like farm work would be a better use of a bunch of farm boys!

Anna smiled, thinking of his words. At least he was well and safe. The peace churches had to provide everything that was needed for the camps, and folks were generous, knowing it was their own boys and their neighbors' sons who were far from home and needing them.

She'd nearly reached the gravel road, and she quickened her steps, reaching the metal mailbox at what was almost a run. Yanking open the door, she thrust her hand in and pulled out the contents: a newspaper for Daad, a round robin letter from Mammi's cousins, and finally a letter from Jacob. She held the envelope in both hands, gloating over it.

Waiting to read it was impossible. She ripped the envelope open and pulled out two sheets of paper covered with Jacob's sprawling hand. If he—

The sound of an engine startled her. She'd been so preoccupied with her letter that she hadn't heard the pickup coming, and her breath caught in alarm. The truck bucketed down the narrow road, too fast, surely, weaving from one side to the other and then heading straight for her.

Anna stumbled backward, feet slipping on the gravel, fear sending her heart thudding. Tripping into the ditch, water in her shoes, the truck screaming down on her . . .

Brakes shrieked. Laughter—someone was laughing. Two boys hung out of the bed of the pickup. Before she could speak something struck her once, then again and again.

Tomatoes. They were pelting her with tomatoes. She winced away, trying to shield her face and hair with her hands. Almost before she knew what had happened, the truck lurched off down the road, weaving from side to side.

Anna looked down. Her skirt and apron were splattered with red that looked like blood, her shoes and socks soaked and muddy. Her stomach lurched, but she couldn't be sick, not out here in the road for anyone passing by to see.

“Are you all right?” A teenage Englisch girl scrambled off a bicycle and came running toward Anna. Anna hadn't even noticed her in the wake of the truck. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, no. I'm fine.” But she was shaking uncontrollably.

The girl leaned over, grasping Anna's hand. “Come on. I'll help you. Just lean on me.”

She pulled, and Anna managed to control her shaking legs enough to climb up out of the ditch. Once there, she couldn't seem to move. Shivering, she looked at the girl.

“Denke. Thank you.” She shook her head. “I can't seem to think straight. It's kind of you to help me.”

“I saw what they did. You should tell the police.” The girl brushed ineffectively at the mess on Anna's skirt.

“It's all right.” She caught the girl's hand, her voice rising. The Amish didn't go to the police, not even if they were attacked. “Really. I don't want to cause any trouble.”

The girl straightened, smiling at her, and Anna realized she was older than she had thought at first. The pants she was wearing made her look like a kid, but her face was mature. She had brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and curly bangs, and her lips were slicked with pink.

“You're Anna, Seth's sister, aren't you? I'm Patty Felder.” The young woman was looking at Anna as if that should mean something to her.

“I'm sorry . . .” Anna began.

“I guess Seth didn't tell you about me.” She smiled, showing a dimple in each cheek. “I'm a friend of his.”

Why she should be so surprised that one of Seth's Englisch friends was a girl, Anna couldn't say. “I'm wonderful glad to meet you, Patty.”

Patty's smile widened. “You'll be even happier when you see what I have for you.” She pulled a folded paper from her pocket. “It's a note from Seth.”

“From Seth?” Anna's heart swelled until it seemed about to burst through her chest. “For me?”

“I guess for the family, but Seth said in his letter that I should only give it to you.” She shrugged. “He didn't know how his dad would feel about his writing to the family. He says you'll know what to do about it.”

“Thank you.” The words didn't seem big enough for what she was feeling. Anna grasped Patty's hand. “I can't tell you how much it means to hear from him.”

Patty nodded. “I figured as much. He did tell me that his family wouldn't understand his joining up, and he said they'd take it hard.”

“It goes against our beliefs.” Anna longed to have this unexpected friend understand, strange as it was to stand beside the road and talk this way. “We don't stop loving Seth and worrying about him, but it grieves my parents that he went against our faith by joining the fight, and Daadi doesn't want us to write, even if we knew where he is.”

“I guess that would make it worse,” Patty said. “Most folks act like they're proud when their boys join up, but I bet they do a lot of worrying and crying, too.”

“It's hard on everyone,” Anna said. And how much harder was it going to get? She couldn't even guess.

“Sure is.” Patty's lips twisted. “You know, at first all this business about the war was exciting. Scary, but exciting, too, with all the boys going into uniform and everything. But now . . . now it's just sad.”

“Yes.” Anna met her gaze and saw understanding there. “It is.”

Patty drew away. “I'd better go. I don't want your dad to spot me. Or my dad, either, for that matter, not that he's likely to. So if I hear again, I'll come see you. If I happen to come past the mailbox at this time of day, will you be the one picking up the mail?”

Anna nodded. “If I possibly can, I'll come to the mailbox every day. Although after this, my mother will probably make a fuss.” She gestured toward her stained apron.

“I still say you ought to tell the police. I recognized that truck, and I'd back you up.”

“No, I can't.” She could see that Patty didn't understand, and it seemed useless to try to explain the Amish aversion to dealing with the authorities. “People are already upset with us. I don't want to make it any worse.”

“It's up to you.” Patty appeared doubtful. “Tell you what—if you want to write a letter to Seth, I'll send it on to him.”

“I would love to write to him,” she said quickly. “Would you really do that for me?”

“I sure will. I'm supposed to work at the Red Cross all day tomorrow, but I'll come by the next day, same time. I'll wait out here for you. Okay?”

“Thank you.” For an instant Anna held back, but her feelings were too strong. She gave Patty a quick hug and felt the girl's arms close warmly around her. When Anna drew back, there were tears in Patty's eyes as well as hers.

•   •   •

Rebecca
found parts of Anna's diary slipping back into her thoughts at odd moments of the day. Anna had begun to seem so real to her—as if she were a dear friend Rebecca talked to daily.

Rebecca unpinned sheets from the clothesline in the backyard, enjoying the fresh scent of air-dried linens as she folded them. One challenge about having guests was keeping up with the constant laundry. And she'd thought she had plenty of sheets.

Rebecca's thoughts turned to the segment of the diary she'd read last night before bed. Anna's experience with Englischers had aroused emotions from disappointment to downright fear, and yet she'd managed to stay open to possibilities when she'd met her brother's Englisch girlfriend. She clearly hadn't suffered from being tongue-tied around strangers.

Tomorrow's guests would give Rebecca another opportunity to become the friendly, open hostess she longed to be, she reminded herself. This time she would try to be more like Barbie. Surely the whole experience would become easier with practice, wouldn't it? She was counting on it.

Glancing toward the stable was becoming a habit for her. It was too early for Matt to be there, of course. Still, she couldn't help praying he would come. He might well want to avoid the whole place after what he'd said to her yesterday.

Matt had told her things he apparently hadn't spoken of to anyone else. In the aftermath, he might well be regretting it. What if he felt he couldn't face her, now that she knew?

A jagged edge of pain sliced through her. She should have handled the conversation better. She should have thought of something to say that would show him he was the good man she knew him to be, despite his past.

But she hadn't. She'd stood there silently, hardly able to say a thing. She hadn't been smart enough or brave enough or strong enough to make a difference for him.

When he came . . . If he came . . . she must try harder.

A flicker of movement caught her eye and sent her heart jumping before she realized it was Simon. She had to talk to him, as well, and that task loomed nearly as difficult as finding the words for Matt.

Well, it had to be done. She must make it clear to Simon that he didn't have to dedicate his life to helping her. And she'd have to try to keep Mary Ann's name out of it, if she didn't want to figure as an interfering possible sister-in-law. She put the folded sheets in the basket and waved to her brother.