The Saddle Maker's Son (8 page)

Rebekah stood at the bedroom's only window, staring out, her hand kneading the tattered white curtain. Seeing nothing. Waiting. Dusk had fallen hard and the sun had lain itself to rest behind a flat, barren horizon, its rays fading into oblivion as they did each night with reassuring regularity. Still, the room sweltered with heat and humidity that spoke of the impending arrival of summer. Sweat beaded on her face and traced a route from her temples down her cheeks and onto her neck.

Whatever she'd done, she'd done it for the right reason. Mordecai, at least, would see it that way. Unlike Will, who had deep scars on his heart because of Leila, Mordecai would have the capacity to be fair about this, as he was fair in all things.

With each year that passed, Rebekah remembered less about her own father. When she tried to picture his face, Mordecai's black, curly hair and skin-stretching grin appeared in her mind along with a million jokes, short stories, and pieces of useless information. Mordecai would urge Jeremiah to let him speak to her, counsel her for her disobedience, and he would prevail. If not, it didn't matter. She wasn't sorry. The situation with Lupe
and Diego had made it much more important that she do it. Even if it meant going against Mudder and Mordecai's wishes.

Gott, forgive me for my rebellious heart.

And Tobias. How dare he? How dare he pass judgment? She wanted to say that. Rebekah wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't. He'd done what was right and honorable. On the other hand, she'd asked him to lie for her. Almost a complete stranger. What he must think of her. Shame coursed through her, leaving an ugly, bitter taste in her mouth.

She should leave here. Start fresh. Where would she go? Missouri? She could stay with Frannie and Rocky in Jamesport. She ached to tell her cousin of her latest misstep. Frannie, always in trouble herself until she married her Englisch-man-turned-Plain-man, would understand. Jamesport had several Plain districts. Lots of Plain men. Not like Bee County. Maybe she could stay with them.

Nee, Mudder would never allow it.

“How is she?”

Rebekah closed her eyes for a brief moment and let her dreams of escaping seep away. She could never leave Mudder and Hazel and Caleb and Deborah. She wasn't like Leila. She took a quick swipe at her face with the back of her sleeve, then turned and faced her mudder. “Good. She's good. Gracie, your granddaughter, is a sweet baby. And there's another on the way this summer.”

A faint smile appeared. As quickly, it fled. “How long have you been meeting her?”

“It's the only time. I wouldn't lie about that. What she did has caused me nothing but trouble.” Rebekah wrapped damp fingers around her apron, willing them to cease trembling. “Still, I couldn't say no to the chance to see the bopli. Leila would like
you to see her, too, and Deborah and Hazel and Caleb. The whole family.”

“I can't. Neither can you and you know it.”

“They were never baptized in our church. We can see them and talk to them. It's not wrong.”

“You needn't remind me. I pray for them every night and every day.” Mudder eased onto the bed Rebekah shared with Hazel, the box springs squeaking under her slight weight. “And seeing them and having them go away would be too hard. It's too hard. We have to keep our distance until they understand the error of their ways.”

“They never will. That's the thing. They'll never see what they're doing as wrong. They were baptized, and Jesse is a lay preacher. He brings folks to the church through his preaching. He brings people closer to Gott.”

“Stop.” Mudder picked up a book—a prairie mail-bride story that had made Rebekah smile until now—from atop the thin blanket. She ran a hand over it, but her expression said she didn't really see it. “They belong here in their community. Not out there in the world. Jesse could've waited. He could've drawn the lot. If it was Gott's will, he could be speaking the Word to his own people.”

“I know, but is it so wrong—?”

Mudder pointed her index finger at Rebekah. “It's wrong. Trust me.”

“You don't trust me.”

“How can we when you're having secret visits with a sister who has abandoned her family and her faith?”

“One visit. Only one. I did it because I wanted to help Lupe and Diego. Besides, Leila hasn't abandoned Gott. He hasn't abandoned her. She's happy and she has her mann and her bopli.” Rebekah
hated the tone of her own voice. Like a little girl who didn't get her way. She hated feeling this way. “Much more than I have. How can that be punishment for her for going against Gott's will?”

“It's a slippery slope.”

Not for Rebekah. “They can help Lupe and Diego get placed in homes. They work with a group.” She struggled to translate the words Leila had spoken into something Mudder would understand. “The Englisch churches are working together.”

“You're sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong. It's for the men to decide.”

“I found them. I feel responsible for them.”

“You're a girl.”

“I'm not. I'm a woman.”

“Who should remember her place.”

“How can I forget? You remind me every day. I'm not Leila, but you're so afraid I'll do what she did, you're driving me away. I might as well go. In your mind, I will. Sooner or later.”

There. She'd said it.

How could she be so mean, so ugly, so hurtful? She swallowed against tears, wanting the words back before they left her tongue.

“Don't say that.” Mudder's stricken face broke Rebekah's heart. “I'm not trying to drive you away. I couldn't bear it. I know Gott's will is Gott's will, but I can't stand to lose another of my girls.”

“Then trust me. Let me live my life so I can find the happiness you have found here. Don't hold me back.”

“How can I when you have secret meetings with your sister? What else are you doing?”

“Nothing. That's the whole point. No one . . .” Courting was private. She couldn't tell her mother how she longed for that man to come into her life who would share his innermost heart's
desire with her and her with him. She turned back to the window, longing for a breath of cool, fresh air where none existed. “There's no one here to do anything with.”

“In Gott's time there will be.” Mudder came to stand next to Rebekah at the window. She smelled of homemade dish soap and the onions she'd fried with potatoes for supper. “Patience, child.”

“I'm not a child anymore.”

“I know.”

“Gracie has my eyes.”

Mudder sighed, a soft sound so sad it made unshed tears ache in Rebekah's throat. “She has Jesse's hair, but Leila's smile.”

The second sigh was even softer, sadder.

“They're moving to Dallas by the end of summer. Jesse is going to college there. And seminary.”

Mudder made a sound like she'd bitten her tongue. She turned and trudged across the room. At the door she paused, her back to Rebekah. “Mordecai will want a word with you now. He's at the kitchen table. He'll tell you that there'll be no more visits. It's best.”

So he had convinced Jeremiah not to punish her. “He spoke to Jeremiah.”

“He did. You're blessed to be so forgiven. Remember that.”

Rebekah cleared her throat. “What about Diego and Lupe?”

“Jeremiah has decided to call another bishop he trusts. A friend in Jamesport. For his opinion. He's a wise man. You best remember that. You're only a young girl. Remember who you are and what you are.”

How could she? They never let her. “Jah, Mudder.”

Mudder paused again, one hand on the door. “Do you really think Mordecai and Jeremiah and Will are so hard-hearted they
would send two small children away with little or no thought? Do you think that of Mordecai?”

Shame coursed through Rebekah. She was far too prideful. She thought she knew better than someone like Mordecai. “Nee. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Tell Mordecai, not me. It's his heart you hurt.”

“And yours because you never want to see him hurt.”

“Or you. Understand that, child.”

“I do.”

“Lesson learned, then.”

Some lessons were far harder to learn than others.

Nothing like hard work to make food smell good. Tobias's stomach rumbled. He'd spent all day unloading boxes and arranging his tools in the shop. It was beginning to look like his home away from home. He'd been so busy he'd forgotten to eat his sack lunch. Being busy was a good thing. It helped him forget about homesickness. And wrong roads taken. Not to mention a certain wayward woman who lived down the road here in Bee County who might never forgive him for doing the right thing.

He
had
done the right thing, so why did he feel so guilty for telling Susan about Rebekah's secret? She'd only been trying to help Diego and Lupe. He understood the desire to do that. But a person couldn't ignore the rules. They existed for a reason.

He sounded like his father. Sighing, he tossed his hat on the counter. So much for not thinking about things.
Shake it off.
That's what Daed would say. He did the right thing and now he had to stand by it.

If Tobias's big snout was correct, Martha had made his favorite spaghetti casserole for supper. It was his sister's sixteenth
birthday and she'd spent it working hard. And without saying a word. Likely she thought they'd forgotten. It was an important milestone for a Plain boy or girl. The beginning of
rumspringa
.

He poured more water in the tub and stuck his dirty hands in it, thinking of his own time. Up north he'd grown up with a pack of friends, mostly the same age. They'd done their share of exploring the Englisch ways, pasture parties, kegs of beer, cars. He'd experimented but then had come home at night, glad to be there. What he hadn't done was find a special friend.

Until Serena.

He shook his head. He must look addled, shaking his head for no apparent reason. He dried his hands, focusing on the rough feel of the towel on his fingers. Looking back again. It was a habit that needed to be broken. No need to look backward, only forward. The plot for the vegetable garden was ready for planting. All the boxes had been unpacked. The furniture at the house arranged with much discussion from the girls about where the sofa and rocking chairs belonged. A man could lose a lot of time in the field waiting for them to make up their minds.

“La ce-na
.
”
Diego trotted into the kitchen, Nyla at his side. “Ce-na.”

“Ce-na,” Nyla repeated. “Supper.”

“Su-per.”

Nyla giggled and shook her head. “Nee. Supper.”

“Sa-purr.” Diego grinned and squeezed into the space next to Tobias. “Nee? No?”

“
Nee
is a German word.” Tobias tousled the boy's long locks. “Talk about getting confusing. Two languages are surely enough. And you need a haircut.”

Diego cocked his head, his expression perplexed.
“¿Cómo?”

Tobias grabbed a handful of his dark hair and made chopping motions with the fingers on his other hand. “Haircut. Chop, chop.”

“Nee. Nee.” Diego scampered away, dirty hands flopping.
“Pelo mío.”

Tobias had no idea what that meant, but he swiped a pair of scissors from the prep table and stomped after his guest. “Sí, sí.”
Yes
was a Spanish word he did know.

Shrieking with laughter, Diego ducked under the table, Nyla right behind him. “Hide, hide,” Nyla yelled. “My bruder is terrible with the scissors. You'll look like Rueben did.”

She told the truth. Tobias had once taken it upon himself to cut the boys' hair. Never again. It was, apparently, a job more suited to women. The more Tobias had tried to fix his handiwork, the more hair ended up on the floor below his brother's bare feet. Poor Rueben had looked like a shorn sheep for a few months until it grew out.

Laughing, he knelt and stuck his head under the table. “Fine. I'll let Martha do the honors.” He leaned closer to Nyla and dropped his voice. “Did you wrap Martha's present for me?”

“Jah.” Nyla's delight at being in on the secret shone on her thin face. She looked like a miniature of their mudder. They were blessed to have a living memory. “I hid it under my bed with Ida and me's presents.”

She patted Diego's arm. “Show Tobias what you made for Martha.”

“Diego made a present for Martha?” Intrigued, Tobias settled down cross-legged, his head ducked so it didn't bang on the table. “Let me see.”

“Birt-day?” Diego plopped down, knees spread, legs and feet behind him, in that loose-hipped way kinner had. “For Marta.”

He dug through the pockets of his dirty pants and produced
a small barrel-shaped piece of wood with the bottom hollowed out and connected by a string to a wooden handle that looked like a stick they'd found on the ground by the trees out front. He'd painted it in red and blue stripes. He held it in the palm of a hand that needed a good washing.
“Capirotada.”

Glancing at Nyla, Tobias let Diego place the gift in his hand. “What is it?”

A flood of Spanish words spewed from Diego's mouth.

“Whoa, whoa!”

“It's like a top. Rueben helped us carve it out.” Nyla snatched it from Tobias and began to twirl the toy in her hand. After a few expert twists, the ball landed on the stick. “See, easy peasy! All the kinner in El Salvador have them. Now Martha will have one too. And Diego says he can make more for us. It's fun doing what they do in another country.”

Indeed it was. International relations right here in Nowhere, Bee County, USA. “Let me try.” He gave it a whirl. The ball knocked against his fingers and dangled from the stick. “I might need to practice. What other games do you play in El Salvador?”

Diego cocked his head and frowned.
“Fútbol.”

That one Tobias recognized and he didn't do a half bad job in his younger days. “Maybe we'll play some soccer after the birthday celebration.” He touched the wooden toy in Nyla's hand. “Can you make me one?”

Diego grinned and nodded his head so hard it was a wonder it didn't fall off.

“Martha will love it.” Tobias unfolded his legs, knees popping and cracking, and edged his way out from under the table. “You better go get the other presents and put them by her plate at the table.”

Nyla crawled from under the table and turned to tug on Diego's arm. “Come. We don't want Martha to see her present yet.”

Diego followed her, taking a wide berth around Tobias as if still worried about the haircut. “Birt-day!”

Nyla began to sing the birthday song.

They raced from the room, still chattering in the universal way kinner had. Language barriers seemed to fall away at that age. Too bad the same couldn't be said of adults who hung on to differences as if they were badges of honor.

“What are you doing on the floor?”

He looked up. Martha stood in the doorway, a basket of towels in her arms. His little sister was growing up. Sixteen. On the cusp of adulthood. She had the deep-blue eyes of their mother but the tall, thin build of their father. He dragged himself upright. “Happy birthday, schweschder.”

“It is happy.” She set the basket on the table and began to fold the towels. “New house, new place, new friends. They're all like birthday presents.”

“That's a good way of looking at it.”

She held up a towel with a big hole in the middle. “I guess this one can become a rag.”

“They have singings here, just like we did back home, only smaller, I reckon.”

She kept folding, her expression noncommittal. “I'm sure they do, but there's too much work to be done right now. Maybe later.”

He'd suspected as much. “This is your time.”

“For what?”

“To start thinking ahead.”

“I don't have time to think ahead. We have to plant the garden. We're already behind. Liam is shooting up like a weed. He
needs new pants and his shirts are stained. The boy doesn't know how to hit his mouth with a spoon. Nyla's dresses are too short. We need to get some canning done or we won't—”

“You're not their mudder.”

She dropped an unfolded towel back into the basket and frowned. “That's a mean thing to say.”

“It's not intended to be mean.”

“You're not my daed.”

“Nee, but I know better than anyone around here how you must feel.”

“You have Daed.”

“So do you.”

“It's different.” She shook out another towel and began to fold it. “For girls, I mean.”

Tobias gripped the back of a chair with both hands, letting his gaze flit to the floor and back to her. He was the last one on earth to talk about feelings with a little sister. “You wish you had someone to talk to and ask questions.”

She nodded, her cheeks suddenly bright pink. “There are things . . .”

“Things a girl can't ask her daed.”

“Jah.”

“I'm sorry it's hard. No one ever says much in appreciation.”

“They shouldn't. I only do what any girl would do. It's expected.” She picked up another towel and folded it with expert, economical motions, her expression pained. “No appreciation needed or wanted.”

“I know. But the kinner will grow up and where will you be? You'll want to have your own bopli one day.”

“One thing at a time.”

Plain folks didn't talk much about such things, less a brother to his sister. Tobias shifted his boots and searched for words in the wooden planks below the chair in front of him.

“It's okay. I know what you mean.” A trace of humor colored her words. “I'm happy doing what I'm doing right now.”

“Playing mudder to your schweschders and bruders?” Like Tobias played daed in those long, dark days when Daed disappeared into the shop and stayed until late at night, his expression forbidding questions. “Don't let Mudder's death keep you from having your life.”

“I'm doing what needs to be done—for now.”

“I don't want you to wake up one day and find you've missed out.”

“You, either.”

“I messed up my chance.” If he hadn't, Martha most likely wouldn't be here in Texas instead of back home with her childhood friends. He'd never given thought to whether she'd had her sights on someone there, just waiting to be old enough. “And you all have paid the price.”

“Gott gives many second chances, from what I've heard.”

A wise girl, his sister. “I hope you're right.”

“Right about what?” Daed tromped into the kitchen, a pan protruding from a brown paper bag in his hands. “Don't you know women think they're always right?”

“Because we are always right. What is that?” Martha reached for the sack. “Is it for me?”

Daed pushed her hand away. “A surprise for supper.”

Looking pleased and obviously trying hard not to be, Martha scooped up her basket and slipped from the room. “Supper is about ready,” she called over her shoulder. “Wash your hands.”

Tobias tugged at the sack and unveiled a pan of chocolate-frosted brownies. “That looks mighty fine.”

“Rebekah Lantz made them. She said a girl should have cake on her birthday and she shouldn't have to make it herself.”

“How did she know it was Martha's birthday?”

“A little birdie told her, I guess.” Daed sounded smug as he lowered the pan on the counter next to a basket of sweet rolls. “What did you get her?”

“Three of those Janette Oke books she likes to read. I saw them at a garage sale before we left home—Ohio.”

“Good idea. I don't know when she reads.”

“At night, after Liam stops getting out of bed every five minutes for a glass of water or to go to the bathroom.”

“Your mudder would say she turned out all right, I think.” Daed's face turned pensive. “She was a puny baby. Sickly. Your mudder nursed her every two hours or more those first few weeks, all night long, trying to get her strong. She was so afraid . . .” His voice trailed away and his Adam's apple bobbed.

“She turned out fine. Strong as an ox.” Tobias had to clear his throat. He couldn't remember the last time Daed had shown such emotion. Not even at the funeral. His stoicism had been the rock to which his children clung in those dark, uncertain days. “She's a stubborn one though. Says she doesn't have time for singings.”

Daed plunged his hands in the water and washed them. “She needs to make time.”

“That's what I told her.”

“You're one to give advice.” Daed didn't often resort to sarcasm, but Tobias heard a tinge of it in the words. “The blind leading the blind.”

“I tried—”

“We won't talk about how that turned out.” Daed splashed water on his face. It ran down his neck and darkened the blue of his shirt. Patting his skin with a ratty dish towel, he turned and faced Tobias. “I hope you'll take your own advice.”

“I'm too old for singings.”

“But not for finding yourself a fraa and settling down to make a proper family for yourself.”

“It's not that easy.”

“Nee, it's not.”

His daed should know. Six years had passed and he hadn't found his own way to a second chance. Tobias leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “You could think of it yourself.”

“Don't start with me now.” Daed dipped a finger in the dark chocolate frosting and lifted it to his lips, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. “That Rebekah makes a fine frosting. I reckon the brownies are good too. All her cooking, for that matter. Fraas should be able to cook. And clean. Among other things.”

With that he stalked from the room, leaving Tobias to wonder exactly how his daed had managed to turn the conversation around on him with such ease and agility.

He scooped a tiny thimble's worth of frosting onto his index finger. Just a little. No one would notice. He tasted it and licked his finger.

Rebekah did indeed make a fine frosting. If she ever gave him the time of day again, he would tell her so.