Rebecca's Choice (4 page)

R
ebecca went out to meet the buggy and could hardly believe her eyes. The old driving horse limped as it came in the driveway, but Mattie seemed not to notice. Through the storm front, Rebecca could see her mother’s firm grip on the reins, her face grim, her hands extended in front of her.

Something awful must have happened, Rebecca figured, as stabs of fear ran through her. Memories of last winter’s bad news flashed through her mind.
Has John been injured again?

Mattie brought the old horse to a stop, slid the buggy door open, and turned the wheels slightly so she could climb down the step.

“Mom,” Rebecca managed.

“I know it’s limping,” Mattie said, stepping down from the buggy. “I had to get home quickly. The horse will be okay. Its leg’s just sprained a little. Elmer looked after it at the sewing. You have to get ready to leave tomorrow morning—early.”

“What’s wrong?” Rebecca still stood frozen in place.

“Emma passed away. Last night sometime. Sudden, I think. The funeral’s the day after tomorrow. I thought you would want to go. The van load leaves early tomorrow morning. They’ll pick you up at Edna’s at five.”

“Emma.” Rebecca felt a flood of relief and then shame because she counted John more important than anyone else.

“I know it’s startling news,” Mattie said, “but not totally unexpected. Emma has a history of heart trouble.”

“I thought you brought news—about John—another accident.”

“No, you two have had your time, I suppose.”

“Leona mentioned Emma’s failing health when I was in Milroy before Christmas.” Rebecca walked to the other side of the horse, as her mother began to unhitch the buggy.

“John might go too. He’s related. Cousins somehow. I thought maybe you’d want to talk with him before morning. There might be two loads going. Who knows with all the planning going on. The women were still talking when I left. At least you wouldn’t be in different vans.”

“Maybe.” Rebecca loosened the tugs on her side, and Mattie led the horse forward. “Matthew isn’t choring tonight?”

“No. He has to help Edna with her chores. That’s why the rush. I thought you might want to drive over and talk to him before chores. Afterward would be quite late. You’ll have to drive the young horse because this one is lame.”

Rebecca nodded and ran through the time frame in her mind. Though using the young horse to drive over to see John didn’t terrorize her like it did Mattie, it could put her home quite late. No matter the time, her mother had a point, and she had better talk this over with John.

Last year she had not spoken with John about Atlee soon enough, and look where that had gotten her. She had resolved then not to let it happen again. Even if this was just about attending Emma’s funeral, she wanted to let John know of her plans.

“I think I’ll go after chores,” she said, making up her mind. “John’s probably not going, but I’ll let him know anyway. Driving after dark isn’t too bad.”

“Then you can pack before supper.” Mattie led the horse toward the barn.

Rebecca nodded. “I can help with supper too.”

“We’ll see if there’s time,” Mattie said, before disappearing into the barn.

Rebecca walked to the house, went upstairs, and pulled her suitcase down from the top shelf of the closet. Laid out on the bed, the shiny black suitcase brought back the memory of her winter trip to Milroy. She had gone to help aunt Leona with the birth of baby Jonathan.

Emma had seemed fine, despite the rumors of her health problems, when Rebecca saw her briefly in church and during a visit at her house. How quickly, she thought, things change. Rebecca wished now she had personally asked Emma how she was doing.

Perhaps it was the relationship they used to have, that of teacher and student, which squelched such questions and made the asking seem inappropriate. Now Emma was gone. At least she had been able to have one last personal visit and receive the usual good advise Emma always gave.

Rebecca’s black dress went into the suitcase first, followed by travel clothes for the days she estimated the trip would take. It struck her that this was the first time she would wear funeral clothing since her mother’s father had passed away two years ago.

There were times last winter when she had felt death would come sooner for someone else—John had been injured so badly in his accident. Now it was Emma. In the order and will of the Lord, who knew what was best.

Grandpa’s funeral had the feeling of the inevitable about it. He had spent his days here on earth, the preacher had said, a full life lived and now had joined his Maker and those loved ones who passed over before him.

Rebecca wondered if Emma’s day would be like that. Emma had never married, and for what reason Rebecca never heard. Such things usually got around, passed by the grapevine produced by close knit societies. But with Emma the vine had never produced any information. She was just an old maid, a schoolteacher, well loved by students and parents alike. That always seemed sufficient and as far as it went.

Had Emma ever loved a man as she loved John? The question presented itself just like that—out of the clear blue and just as suddenly. Rebecca laughed. That was hard to imagine. Emma had always been kind to her, thoughtful, helpful, a motherly figure, but in love? Rebecca chuckled again. She figured her reaction was answer enough.

Emma was just Emma. She always seemed to be enough in and of herself. Rebecca had even thought once that such a life might be the right one for her. Emma’s life had seemed so clean, so uncluttered by the emotions she often had. Not that she would exchange what she felt for John, but the pain and trouble John and she had already been through was enough to make one wonder if it was worth it.

Of course it was, Rebecca assured herself. A sudden thought flashed in her mind. Would there be a past boyfriend at the funeral—someone Emma used to see but parted ways with? Wouldn’t that be something. Rebecca folded her dresses carefully into the suitcase.

Who would know though? If this was true, why would such a person make the relationship known? Perhaps he was now old himself, maybe widowed. What if he had lost touch over the years and would never find out Emma had passed away?

Rebecca chuckled. “You are a silly one,” she told herself. She remembered that Emma would have no immediate family in attendance. Emma was the youngest in her family, and all her brothers and sisters had already died. She had nieces and nephews but no one closer than that.

“I loved her,” she whispered to the room, tears stinging her eyes. “A lot.”

Thirty minutes later she went downstairs, helped with supper, and then walked out to the barn at five for chores. Rebecca planned to skip supper, but her father insisted she eat, though it would delay her drive to see John until much later.

Matthew helped her hitch up the young driving horse.

“Be careful,” he lectured, when she got into the buggy. Already Matthew felt his brotherly superiority, even though he was much younger than she was. “John isn’t worth landing in the ditch for.”

“Yes he is,” she told him, risking the draw of one of his arguments. Matthew could be an irritation at times. He was, she had to admit, a smart looking fellow, even if he was her brother.

“Good someone thinks so.” He chuckled wickedly and let go of the bridle as the young horse took off with a snap of the tugs.

Rebecca hung onto the reins. She knew from past experience the horse would calm down once it was on the open road. True to her expectation, it took the turn at the bridge a little slower and then trotted along nicely by the time they rattled across the Harshville covered bridge.

In the climb out of the little settlement, on the grade toward Unity, the young horse calmed down even more. So much that once in town, she had to slap the reins to hurry it up. Shaking its head in protest, it increased its speed.

Rebecca liked the horse except for its habit of shying away from things, which required her to keep a sharp eye out. Being alert to the unexpected was a good idea in any case, she figured. At the Miller’s lane, she pulled left and tied up by the barn.

Because no one was around and a light was on in the house, she assumed Isaac and Miriam would be in the living room. John was probably upstairs in his room because their supper would be over by this time too.

When she knocked on the door, Miriam opened it. Taking a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, she recognized Rebecca and opened the door wide.

“Oh, it’s Rebecca,” she said. “Do come in. John is upstairs.”

“You out alone?” Isaac hollered from his rocker, as Rebecca stepped inside. Isaac’s chest length beard was fully white, his face beamed with good cheer.

“It’s not too late,” she told him with a smile. “I have a good horse.”

“Mattie’s was lame today,” Miriam commented. “I think someone looked after it at the sewing.”

“Yes, they did,” Rebecca nodded and glanced toward the stair door. She didn’t really want to go to John’s room. They went there on Sunday afternoons sometimes, but after dark seemed another matter.

“You want to talk with John?” Miriam asked, which really didn’t help much.

“Thought I’d see if he was going to Emma’s funeral,” Rebecca offered.

“Call the boy,” Isaac said from his rocker, for which Rebecca was deeply grateful. “Tell him to get his tail down here.”

As if he heard, the stair door opened and John stuck his head out. “Oh,” he said sheepishly, “so this is what the fuss is all about. I thought I heard someone drive in.”

“Worth making a fuss over, isn’t it?” Isaac asked.

Rebecca laughed at the remark and at John, whose shirttail was untucked and suspenders hung down nearly to his bare toes.

“I suppose so.” John’s smile was broad. It warmed her heart. “Always is,” he added and walked over to the kitchen table. He pulled a chair out for her, then sat down himself.

Rebecca took it. Miriam returned to the living room, and Isaac lifted his magazine and continued reading.

“Emma’s funeral,” she said meeting his eyes. “You going?”

“No,” he said shaking his head, “Mom and Dad are. Aden needs help at the store. Sharon might go along.”

“Thought we could ride in the same van, if you were,” she said as explanation. “I’m definitely going.”

He nodded. “I could have sent word too. Would have, if I were going.”

“I figured,” she said and met his eyes again. “I just wanted to let you know I was going.”

“I’m that special?” he teased. “You come all the way over here for that?”

“Shhh…” she whispered. “Yes, of course you are.”

“You wouldn’t have had to,” he said soberly. “It’s sweet, though.”

“Rebecca hoped her cheeks didn’t start burning, but neither Miriam nor Isaac seemed to be looking her way.

“What horse are you driving?” John asked, getting up from his chair.

“The younger one.”

“Little skittish, no?”

“He’s okay,” she told him. But John wasn’t convinced—she could tell.

“Better get you on the road again before it gets too late,” he said. His firm words made her feel cared for and warm inside.

“I’ll be going, then.” She stood and pushed her chair back under the table.

Without a further word, John followed her to the front door, tucked his shirt in, put his boots and coat on, and stepped outside. Together they walked toward the barn. John filled her side vision, his hands in his coat pockets.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, when they got to the buggy. He loosened the tie rope as she got in. “Sorry about Emma.”

“Good night,” she told him, as he let go of the bridle. The young horse made his usual dashing takeoff. When she turned right at the blacktop, she saw him standing by the barn, watching her leave, his form barely visible in the darkness.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

T
he late Emma Miller, beloved schoolteacher and spinster, lay in the master bedroom, enclosed in a plain pine box coffin. Behind her rose the massive stone fireplace of her residence. For hours now relatives and family had gathered, each in turn came into the bedroom, slowly moved past the coffin, and paid their respects to the departed.

Inside the front door, tables had been set up where hats and bonnets could be placed. Benches were placed in the living room. Later the overflow spilled into the dining room. The activity in the house had the feel of an informal church service.

Men and women, after going into the bedroom, found their way back out and took their seats on separate sides of the room. Even here—when death had come to call—the rigid forms of male and female separation were not broken.

Supper had been prepared and served already, the dishes cleared away. Any latecomers had to go without food. The protocol was simple and plain, as they believed the Lord God desired.

Rachel had persuaded Reuben to arrive earlier than normal. Luke would come when he wanted to. Reuben had complained, saying his goats needed his attention yet. That had not surprised Rachel because Reuben’s goats were lately the most important thing on his mind. Reuben paid more attention to them then he did to her. Not that she cared, Rachel told herself, but it was just one more reason to hate the ugly things.