The Forgiven (22 page)

Matt started for the phone shanty and then hesitated. “You're all right?”

Rebecca nodded, her face set. “I'm fine.”

She didn't look fine. He felt a familiar exasperation. If she dreaded this whole business so much, why should she do it? Surely enough time had passed that she could stop trying to fulfill her late husband's dreams.

Or maybe that was the point. Maybe she couldn't.

I
t
wasn't until evening when Rebecca was finally alone. The children were in bed and she hoped asleep. The two couples, apparently unable to face a night without television, had gone off to a movie theater, some fifteen miles away in the nearest larger town.

Barbie, after appearing promptly in response to Matthew's call and jumping into action, had gone home after they'd left, promising to return first thing in the morning, and Simon had activities lined up for the next day.

Rebecca could finally stop smiling . . . a good thing, as her face had begun to feel frozen. She stood at the sink, washing the bowl she'd used to mix up a breakfast casserole for the morning. She was alone. She could relax.

Unfortunately, being alone also gave her time to consider her performance when the guests had arrived unexpectedly. She put wet hands to her cheeks and found them burning with humiliation. She'd been faced with a challenge, and she'd frozen.

We must be ready for the unexpected.
That was what Paul had said repeatedly the first summer they'd opened. People cancelled at the last minute, people arrived on the wrong day, people had allergies they hadn't mentioned or couldn't live without electricity or expected to have high-speed wireless in an Amish home. In all those situations, Paul had smiled and dealt with the problem.

And what had she done when faced with the smallest hiccup? She'd failed. A tear slid down her cheek and dropped into the dishwater.

“Rebecca?” Matthew stood at the screen door in the dusk, looking in at her. “Was ist letz? What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” She turned her face away to wipe her eyes.

The screen door creaked, and she heard Matt's footsteps cross the kitchen floor.

“It can't be nothing when you're standing here crying.” He was close behind her, and his voice was gentle. “What happened to the guests? They didn't leave, did they?”

She shook her head, forcing herself to turn and face him. “Only to go to a movie. I think they weren't prepared for how quiet it is.”

Matt's chuckle was a low sound in his throat. “There's something to be said for knowing how to amuse yourself. But if the guests are all right, why are you crying?”

A flicker of anger went through her that he'd force her to say it aloud. “You know why. You saw me. At the first little problem, I panicked. If you hadn't been there . . .” She let that trail off, not willing to say how much she'd relied on him in that moment.

“It wasn't as bad as that, was it?” Matt almost sounded amused. “You were shocked, and you couldn't think what to say for a minute. If I hadn't been there, you'd have done fine on your own.”

“No. I wouldn't.” The anger turned from a flicker to a flame. “Don't you see? I'm just not capable.”

“That's ridiculous.” He didn't look amused any longer.

She shook her head stubbornly. “You mentioned one time when I climbed that big oak tree in the schoolyard, but you conveniently forgot what really happened. I climbed up all right, because someone teased me about it. But then I saw how high I was and I froze, just like I did today. Paul had to come up and rescue me. I couldn't do it alone.”

“Komm, Rebecca.” Matt leaned against the counter next to her, and she couldn't help being aware of his warmth and strength. “There's a big difference between a child afraid of heights and a woman who has a momentary hesitation in the face of the unexpected. You're not a failure because this particular job is a little hard for you.”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead, because her head seemed to be thudding in time with Matt's words. Why couldn't he just go away and leave her alone?

“I know you mean well. I appreciate your help. But I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“You want me to go away, ain't so?” There was an edge of anger in Matt's voice, and his straight brows drew down over his eyes. “Then you can sit here and feel sorry for yourself because you think you can't do what Paul wanted.”

Her head came up at his words. “I'm not sitting. I'm working. And I'm not going to cry anymore, but even so, it's true. I can't do what Paul would have wanted, and that hurts.”

“What Paul wanted.” Matt's hands shot out and grasped her wrists. “It was Paul's dream, not yours. You can do it, but why should you?”

“You don't understand.” She tugged at her hands, and he let them go at once, but his cleft chin looked as if it were carved from stone.

“No, I don't understand.” His gaze searched her face as if looking for answers. “Don't forget, I knew Paul, too. He was a good kid, and I'm sure he grew into a good man. But he wasn't a saint, and he didn't have all the answers.”

“I never said he was a saint. But—”

“But you think you can keep him alive by doing what he would have done.”

She gasped at that, feeling as if he'd hit her. She wasn't trying to keep Paul alive. She wouldn't. Matt was wrong, and he had no business talking to her that way.

“You're a fine one to be telling me how to live.” She flung the words at him, wanting to hurt. “If I'm a coward, I'm not the only one. You're busy using your past mistakes as an excuse for not living your life now.”

Silence. No one had ever made her as angry as Matt had. She had gone too far, and she wanted the words back, but she didn't know how to retrieve them.

“You know, you might just be right about me.” Matt's lips twisted in what could have been meant for a smile. Then he turned and walked away.

•   •   •

Matt
tossed clothes at random into the duffel bag he'd put on his bed, impelled by a fierce need to get moving. There was only one thing he could do after the mess he'd made of things with Rebecca.

He'd known all along it would be a mistake to get involved with her, hadn't he? So he had only himself to blame for caring so much that leaving her felt like wrenching his heart right out of his chest.

“Are you running away again?”

The tart female voice had him spinning to the door. His cousin Sadie stood there, one hand on the frame almost as if she'd bar his way.

Matt gritted his teeth together. That was unlikely to happen. Sadie would be far more willing to give him a swift boot out of her family's life.

“Is that what you want me to do?” He ground the words out. The last thing he needed right now was a hassle with Sadie.

She wrapped her arms around herself, her face clouding. “No. But isn't it what you always do?”

Her words echoed too closely what Rebecca had said to him, jabbing him in whatever was left of his heart. But for once there had been no malice in Sadie's tone or her face. She'd asked as if she really wanted an answer.

Matt glanced down at the shirt he held and tossed it in the direction of the duffel bag. “I'm going after Isaiah.”

Sadie took a hasty step toward him, her face lighting. “Do you know where he is? Tell me.”

“Not exactly.” He didn't want to watch her face, but he couldn't help seeing the hope battling doubt in her eyes. “I talked to Simon, and he gave me the name of an Englisch friend of Isaiah's. The upshot is he might be at a place out in Holmes County.”

“How long have you known?” she demanded. “Why didn't you tell me before now?”

“I didn't want to tell you because it's so vague. I guess I hoped I'd find out a little more before I raised anybody's hopes.”

Or maybe he'd just been too preoccupied with his own affairs. With Rebecca. But that was over now, and the only really useful thing he could do for anyone here was to find Isaiah.

“Anyway, I've decided to go out there and have a look around for him. If he's not there, maybe someone has been in touch with him and knows something. It's better than doing nothing.”

A glimmer of hope remained in Sadie's face as she nodded. “I wish I could go. If only I could see him . . .”

“I know.” For the first time Matt felt completely in sympathy with Sadie. It was the hardest thing in the world to see someone you loved making a mistake and being powerless to help. “But your mamm needs you here. Onkel Silas doesn't have much work planned for the next week, so I can be spared more easily.” He managed a smile. “Besides, this might be a situation where my having lived Englisch comes in handy.”

“I guess you're right.” Sadie pressed her lips together, and he thought she was trying hard not to let her emotions out. “But how will you manage the trip if you don't know exactly where he is?”

“Rebecca's father put me in touch with a retired Englisch teacher who likes to drive the Amish, a guy named Joe Davis.”

Sadie was nodding. “Everyone knows Joe. He's always driving the Leit when they need to make a trip.”

“Anyway, he doesn't mind driving me out and doing some wandering around to look for Isaiah. I explained that I couldn't be sure exactly where we'd have to go. I booked Joe for three days. We'll find a motel if we have to stay over. If I haven't learned anything in that time—” He stopped, not willing to face the idea of failing.

“Even if you find him . . .” Sadie paused, the muscles of her face working. “If you do, what do you think will happen?”

Her pain seemed to communicate itself to him, and he reached out to touch her hand. For an instant she clung to him, reminding him of the small cousin she'd been when he left Brook Hill.

“I don't know. It's probably too much to hope that he'd come home with me, but even if I can get him to stay in touch with the family, that would be better than what you have now. Maybe I can knock that much sense into Isaiah's thick head.” He tried to smile, but knew it for a failure. “At worst, at least I can tell Aunt Lovina I saw him. I'll give her a happy report of him even if it's a fairy tale.”

Sadie nodded. “Anything would be better than not knowing.” She took a deep breath, dropping his hand and straightening. “But what are you going to tell Mamm and Daad about going away?”

He shrugged. “As little as possible, I guess. I don't want to raise their hopes.”

“Ja, that's so.” Sadie picked up the shirt he'd crumpled, flipping it out and folding it properly. “We can't have you going around strangers looking like a rag bag, can we?”

“Denke, Sadie.” He leaned against the footboard, knowing she was finding relief in the simple physical action.

She tucked the shirt neatly into the bag. “What does Rebecca think about what you're doing?”

The name hit him like a blow. He'd actually managed not to think about Rebecca for a few minutes.

“Nothing. I mean, I didn't talk to her about it.”

Sadie eyed him. “That's funny. I thought you two were getting kind of close.”

His throat was tight, and he had to force himself to speak. “Rebecca . . . Well, maybe Rebecca is still too wrapped up in Paul to get close to anyone else.”

Sadie didn't speak for a moment. Then she startled him by patting his arm.

“Don't give up,” she said. “There's always a chance, ain't so?”

He'd like to believe it, but he couldn't. “Not this time.”

Lancaster County, October 1943

Sometimes it seemed the war had been going on forever. Anna trudged down the road toward the neighbor's house, the basket she carried heavy on her arm. Not even the bright golden colors of the hedgerows could lift the weight on her heart today.

So many boys had been lost from the county—it seemed every week there was another. The early optimism, the thought that the fighting would be over by Christmas, by spring, by summer, had faded into a dull endurance for Englisch and Amish alike. Nobody talked any more about when it would be over.

People—all people, no matter their beliefs—struggled with grief that was not made any more bearable because others suffered, too.

This time the pain had struck close to home. Neil Cochran, son of their closest Englisch neighbors, had been reported killed, dying in the fighting in a place so far-off that no one had ever heard of it. Not even his body had come home for his family to grieve over.

Anna's basket held a heavy casserole dish filled with chicken potpie and two loaves of bread. She and Mamm had started cooking at dawn. They wouldn't attend the memorial service for Neil, held in the small white church down the road, but at least they would send food.

She followed the power lines that led along the lane to the house. When the electric had come out this way a few years ago, the Cochrans had been among the first to hook up. The Amish didn't, and a number of the older Englisch farmers had eyed it with suspicion.

A year ago Anna might have been worried about her welcome as she neared the house. But shared hardships had seemed to dissolve some of the early antagonism against the Amish, at least among neighbors. She prayed that this fresh loss wouldn't renew it for the Cochran family.

She went, as always, to the back door, threading her way past a few parked automobiles. The Englisch didn't drive as much as they used to, what with the shortages of everything, including fuel.

Balancing the basket against her hip, she knocked on the door, hearing the muted sound of voices from beyond it. In a moment it swung open. Mr. Cochran stood staring at her, his eyes red-rimmed with tears, his face haggard and suddenly old. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak. If he turned her away . . . She remembered that long-ago day before the war when she and Seth had come by with the apples.

“Anna.” His voice rasped with pain, and he pressed his lips together as if he couldn't say anything else. He gestured her in, touching her sleeve lightly in mute welcome.

“We are so sorry.” Her own eyes filled with tears on the words. That Neil would be gone—his laughing eyes and freckled face stilled forever—seemed impossible.