Rebecca's Promise (10 page)

He doubted whether Emma wanted the driveway cleared before he looked at the cattle, so he headed toward the pastures, pushing snow out of his way as he went. Cattle met him at the gate behind the house, their heads dusted with snow. He shooed them away before opening the gate. After driving through, he hopped back out to shut the gate behind him. Heading to the nearest shelter where the hay was stored, he chased more cattle away.

Emma kept beef cattle on each of her three farms, preferring that to milking, which was the preference of most of the Amish farmers in the area. Luke’s father was no exception, of which he was glad. Milking held no attraction for him.

“Less work,” Emma had once told him, “yet it still brings in a nice income.”

That it did, he supposed, if you had three farms. She paid him well enough though, and he was not about to complain. At Emma’s other two farms, she maintained renters who took care of the cattle for a reduced rent.

Luke was aware that requests were periodically made to Emma to sell her farms, because she had told him. He also knew that she always refused, but she had never told him the reason for her refusals.

Opening the gates surrounding a long row of round hay bales, he then cut another notch back on their plastic coverings, picking up a bale with the forks and driving outside. The cattle paid scant attention to him as he dropped it beside the partly eaten bale that was already there. They were well-fed, these cattle, at Emma’s insistence. This came as much from her principles as from a desire for fat cattle, he supposed. Too much hay allowed the cattle to trample it under their feet, but that bothered Emma less than cattle without hay at their beck and call.

An hour later, after checking two more pastures, he headed back toward the house and parked the New Holland in the front yard. Knocking on the back door, he waited.

“Come on in,” Emma called, his signal to enter.

Emma was in the living room, seated at her little roll-top desk, a legal tablet open in front of her. This was how she appeared to him when he thought of her because she was often here when he came into the house, businesslike, perched at her desk. A gas lantern was lit and hung from a hook just behind the desk, even at this time of the day. The usual Amish frugality required that lights be turned off as soon as the sun came up, but Emma was different.

This morning he was struck again by her commanding figure. Her hair, done up in the usual Amish head covering, did little to dilute the effect of her presence.

She turned to him, her eyes characteristically serious, and said, “Good morning, Luke.”

“Good morning,” he replied, waiting just under the arched opening between the dining room and kitchen. Built by the English in the early 1930s, the house had features not normally seen in Amish homes, including the elaborate stone fireplaces in both the living room and the master bedroom. Not that Luke had been in the bedroom recently, but he remembered it from his childhood visits.

“Cattle looking okay?” she asked him, nodding her head toward the falling snowflakes drifting past the window.

“Okay,” he answered, staying by the opening. “They don’t seem to mind.”

“Shelter and hay should keep them,” she said, “unless the weather turns worse. Let me know if anything looks unusual. I’ll want to go out myself and look.”

He nodded.

She swung her chair around to face him, strands of gray hair from beneath the head covering hanging loose on her forehead. “I need this envelope dropped off at the post office today. Do you think you can run it into town on your way home? There’s not much to do around here with the snow still coming down.”

“Does it take special postage?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but that’s not the reason I want you to drop it off. It needs to be mailed today. With the snow I doubt the mailman will make his rounds. I have extra stamps here and could take a guess at it, but if you’re in town anyway, you could get the exact postage.”

“Sure,” he agreed, extending his hand to take the large brown envelope.

She gave it to him, along with five dollars. “That should cover postage. Have it sent first class.”

He nodded again, closing his fingers around the envelope.

“Before you leave, I want you to clear the driveway,” she said. “If it needs it again this afternoon, I’ll do it myself.”

That she was capable of it, he well knew and turned to leave. Then he remembered his mother’s concerns and cleared his throat. “Was there trouble with the cattle prices the other day?”

She looked at him sharply. “Why do you ask that?”

“Oh,” he said offhandedly, as if it were of no great matter, “it’s just that I noticed a big car in front of the house last week.”

“No,” she said, “it had nothing to do with the cattle. The markets are good right now. We hope they stay so. Your father probably knows that too.” She looked questioningly at him before continuing. “It was just someone I asked to come out.”

“I see,” he said.

“You’ll see that the envelope gets right in,” she reminded him, turning her chair back toward the desk again.

Knowing he was dismissed, he turned to leave. Walking out to his buggy, he placed the envelope on the front seat, shaking off the snow from the brown paper before setting it down.

It was then that the address caught his eye. Carefully he gave the envelope a half turn to get a better look. Reading out loud, he sounded out the words, “Bridgeway & Broadmount, Attorneys at Law, 1058 Bridge Street, Suite A, Anderson, Indiana.”

For the first time, a twinge of fear ran up his spine.
Maybe Mom was right. But what could it mean? It was a lawyer’s office alright, and Emma must have real business with them. Yes,
he told himself, the snow swirling around his head through the buggy door,
she no doubt did. Surely it was nothing serious.

Then why go to Anderson for an attorney?
There were good lawyers in Ridgeway and even one in Milroy. It would have to be left for his mother to figure out, he supposed. His job was to deliver the letter for Emma safely to the post office. That was what she paid him to do.

Then the thought occurred to him,
Open the envelope. See what’s in it.

I can’t,
he told himself,
it’s not honest. Emma trusts me, and I won’t break that.

But what about what your mother wants? There might be money involved in it for you too,
the voice whispered.

I don’t know that,
he told himself. The word “money” kept going through his head, an image of green bills slowly growing with each passing second. In moments he saw pockets full of it, then buildings full of it, money hanging out of the windows and doors.

He shook his head to make the vision go away. The falling snowflakes came back into focus, and he took a deep breath. “I have to clean the driveway,” he told himself out loud, pushing the sight of the envelope from his mind and turning to move his eyes away from it.

He climbed down from the buggy and walked over to the New Holland, turned the key, waited for the warm-up to complete, and then finished turning the key. The machine roared to life, shutting out any thoughts of money and the envelope.

A
fter the breakfast dishes were cleaned up and the house was put in order for the day, Rebecca knew what she had to do. She headed upstairs to her room, shut the door, and turned the lock. There was no one home, but she wanted her privacy. She had to think this thing through. There simply had to be some way of coming to terms with the fear that had come upon her yesterday before John proposed.

Walking to the window, she drew the blind. For some reason the darkness of the room made her feel safer. Then she lay gently on the bed and began to think—and remember.

It had been no more than a schoolgirl crush.
That’s what she had decided it was.
Why then couldn’t I just let it go? Surely Atlee wouldn’t really expect me to keep my promise.
She had John now. She
loved
John.

Then it came to her.
It was the love for John that had brought back feelings I had thought I had forgotten—a schoolgirl’s desires, first hopes, longings that Atlee had satisfied. Perhaps Atlee had been only a simple schoolgirl’s first love, but those feelings had run deep. And now they were being replaced. My heart has become my enemy. Those feelings for Atlee must not remain while I love John.

Looking at the ceiling, she remembered Atlee’s face, the freckles on his chin, his utter joy in living. With him she too had found utter joy.

With John was she leaving that behind? Did she want to forsake Atlee’s memory? No, she did not. And yet, for John she had to.

On impulse, Rebecca let her feet slide down the side of the bed
until her knees hit the floor. It was then that the tears began. And the prayer.

Oh, God,
she groaned,
You have to help me. I know I am an evil person, just like Your book says, but I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong. I was just a child when I liked Atlee, but we were not meant for each other. Help me, please.

She looked at the ceiling, imploring the heavens, but there was only silence. Outside a gust of wind hit the window, moving the drapes she had drawn. What if someone saw them drawn at this time of the day, knowing she was usually not in her room?

A fresh wave of fear swept over her.
Oh, please, God. You have to help me. I don’t know what to do. Is loving a sin? I know I promised Atlee…but he’s surely not coming back, and I can’t destroy what I have with John for someone who is gone forever. Yet my heart doesn’t want to let go.

Swaying silently from side to side on her knees, she reached for her pillow to bury her face in. She continued praying,
I love John. I never have met anyone I liked more. It’s different, though, than with Atlee. Is my promise to Atlee going to destroy that?

Lifting her head and opening her eyes, she saw nothing but the white painted wall in front of her. Staring at it, her eyes lost their focus, and the wall became a door, a door that opened into her memories. She saw Atlee running in front of her, waving, his face lifted skyward in his joy at Rebecca’s promise.

And there…over by the schoolhouse…another image…Emma standing by the door watching, shaking her head.

Then she saw herself, as if from a distance, follow Atlee. There was grass beneath her feet, its leathery softness between her toes. The trees along the road stood out, green branches bending down, reaching as if to hold her back, but she kept going.

Her body trembled at the memory. And then the wall became normal again. She let go of the pillow and clutched the sides of the bed. Beads of sweat misted her face.

“What can I do?” she asked aloud.
Why not just go and tell Mother
first, and then tell John what happened? Tell them how I had felt about Atlee.

Surely they would understand. Understand that it had been long ago and that feelings change. Yet deep down, she wondered if her feelings really
had
changed. And that made her afraid. The whole jumble of memories ran together in her head—Atlee, the school, Emma, the ring, and the bridge. And the promise.

Getting to her feet, Rebecca walked to the dresser and opened the third drawer. This might be a good place to start. With a glance first toward the door, she dug into the clothing. From underneath she pulled out the ring and held it up to the little light available in the room. She would have to tell John about the ring of course.

Even in the darkened room, the ring’s one stone, set atop the gold circle, gave off deep colored light, as if it were alive and communicating Atlee’s love down through the years.

She ran her finger gently over the stone, the smooth surface slid effortlessly beneath her touch. The wonder of it moved her deeply, just as it had the first time she saw it.

Was this what she was afraid of, to have this taken away from her? It was forbidden, she knew, at least to wear it. Turning the ring, its colors changed. She searched her mind for the answer and decided that no, it wasn’t the ring. It wasn’t the source of her fear.

Yes, it was beautiful and lovely, but even in Milroy, she hadn’t thought of it much, other than to keep it hidden and in a safe place. It simply did not mean enough to be causing her this fear.