The Saddle Maker's Son (9 page)

Buying Englisch clothes made Rebekah's head hurt. She rubbed her temple, inhaling the scent of clothes soap, bleach, and dust. The Goodwill store had too many choices. She glanced out the long plate-glass window. Mordecai and the buggy had disappeared. Surprising, since Mudder had insisted he bring Lupe and Rebekah into town. Mudder surely didn't want her going anywhere on her own right now. Not after the visit with Leila.

What did she expect? At least she'd been allowed to come after much conversation between Mudder and Mordecai. Martha had her hands full setting up the Byler household, and Rebekah spoke the most Spanish.

Besides, Lupe seemed to trust her more. She had been reluctant to leave the house, murmuring about hombres malos. The entire ride into town she'd cast anxious glances behind them and hid her face every time a car passed them. In the store she ducked her face behind Rebekah whenever another customer wandered too close.

Mordecai probably slipped off to the library, knowing him. He'd be back in two shakes. She fingered the pants. Boy's or girl's?
The fancy embroidery on the pockets said girl. She held them up to Lupe, trying to see if the legs would be long enough. The girl was so skinny and her legs extra long. Lupe shook her head and backed away.

“What? Why not?” They'd been through half the clothes on the sales table. Lupe seemed determined to hang on to the stained green pants and dark-blue blouse she'd worn since bolting from the shed at the school. Martha couldn't keep washing them over and over again. “Would you rather have a dress?
Vestido
?”

A vigorous shake of the head answered that question.

So far Jeremiah hadn't said a word about what the other bishops thought of their situation. Not a word. So here Rebekah was, finding Englisch clothes for a little girl from El Salvador who spoke only a smattering of English, flinched every time Tobias or Mordecai or any man came within touching distance, and cried herself to sleep at night.

Stop it. Gott's will. Gott's plan.

The Goodwill only sold clean, gently worn clothes and the prices were affordable, but Lupe really needed to try them on. “What's the matter? No one will notice you.”

No one noticed the Plain folks anymore. For that Rebekah was grateful to God. Mordecai said the novelty had worn off when people in Beeville realized their neighbors weren't interested in making a big to-do about their honey, produce, and baked goods. Just selling them like anyone would. Occasionally people from farther north stopped at the store, like the man writing a cookbook who made a video outside the store, but that was the exception to the rule. Even Mordecai's buggy parked on the lot next door would draw only a cursory glance or two. A little girl with brown skin and hair wouldn't stand out in this part of
the country where many folks were descendants of people born in Mexico.

“
Esta
. This.” Lupe's face broke into a beautiful smile. She held up a boy's green T-shirt. It sported a large picture of Mickey Mouse on the front. “Diego like.”

“Yes, Diego would like very much. Doesn't look much like Pedro, though.” Rebekah grinned back. She examined the T-shirt for stains or tears. None. Seventy-five cents. They could swing that. And the size looked right. A little big, but Diego would grow, God willing. She added it to the small stack of pants, shoes, and socks she'd amassed for him. “Now something for Lupe.”

“No.”

“Sí.” She pointed to Lupe's stained shirt. “You can't keep wearing the same clothes day after day.”

“I no need.”

Rebekah held up a pink blouse with strawberries embroidered on the collar. “This is nice. It would look nice on you.”

Lupe's cheeks turned the same pink color. “No
dinero
.”

“We have money for the clothes. Mordecai gave it to me. You saw him.”

“No take money from you.”

“Gift. Present. Friend to friend.” Rebekah patted her chest and then Lupe's arm.
“Amigas.”

A shy smile spread across the girl's face. “Amigas?”

“Wunderbarr.”

“Wunderbarr.”

The Deutch word sounded so funny coming from Lupe's lips, Rebekah chortled. The saleslady, who looked like she ate one piece of pie too many at lunchtime, looked up. So did a bald elderly man with a pipe stuck in his mouth, examining an old
lamp shade. Rebekah slapped a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, Lupe. You are a smart girl. You'll speak three languages before you know it.”

Lupe giggled. She draped the blouse and a pair of tan pants over her arm, covering its fine dark hair.
“Gracías.”

“You're welcome. We'll find a couple more. It's either that or I make you dresses like this one.” She pointed to her own long skirt. “You want?”

Lupe shook her head so hard her long braid flopped, her lips drawn down in a mock frown. “No like vestidos.”

“Fine.” In short order Rebekah found three pairs of pants that looked about the right size, along with two more blouses, and dispatched the girl to the dressing room. She took a seat on a spindly chair with wobbly legs in the small, dimly lit hallway and waited. Each time Lupe sauntered from the dressing room, her cheeks now cherry red with embarrassment, Rebekah examined the clothes with a critical eye for stains, rips, or other defects and then pronounced them “wunderbarr,” just to hear Lupe giggle and respond with her own garbled version of the word before she scurried back into the dressing room.

The girl had a sweet sense of humor and she was smart. How many more words would she pick up before she had to go to the immigration detention center or on to family in San Antonio? Rebekah wanted to know more about El Salvador and Mexico before Lupe and Diego left. She paid for their purchases, still thinking of how she'd like to know three languages. For what? She'd never been farther than the Rio Grande. She'd never even been to Dallas.

Dallas with its seminary. Where Gracie would grow older and speak English, not Deutsch. Go to school with girls who didn't
like to wear dresses and aprons. Maybe even play sports or be a cheerleader in a skimpy skirt that showed her legs from thigh to ankle. Life would be different for Gracie Glick. And Rebekah would not be there to see it.

She sighed.

“Bekah sad?” Lupe tugged on her arm, her face reflecting the emotions welling in Rebekah. “Too much dinero?”

“Nee. No. It's not about the money.” Rebekah summoned a smile. “I'll miss you when you go to be with your family in San Antonio.”

Frowning, Lupe ducked her head and studied her bare feet, the earlier light of laughter extinguished. “I hope.”

“You hope to find your family?”

The girl shrugged. “No
familia
. Only
Papi
.”

Papi. “Daddy?”

“Sí. Papi. No see in long time. Mi
abuela
say he's here. No
aquí
.” She waved her hands around. “But in San Antonio,
Tejas
.”

That would be a start. They could help find Lupe and Diego's father in San Antonio. The city was only two hours away by car. “Do you know where to find him? Address?”

Lupe shook her head. “
Muchos años
no more letters.”

No letters for many years. “Then we'll just have to look hard for him.” If the bishop would only let them. Mordecai was smart. He would figure out something, if they had to walk the streets of San Antonio until their shoes were worn out. “That reminds me. We didn't look at shoes!”

“No need
zapatos.
”

“Yes, zapatos.” She patted Lupe's shoulder. “If you're going to a big city like San Antonio to look for your daddy, you'll need shoes. Right?”

Lupe smiled. “Daddy will like. We go fish.”

Fish? Lupe didn't understand about San Antonio. It had a lot of big buildings and long streets and honking cars. Not a lot of fish. No need to burst her bubble. “Let's find shoes first.”

Another ten minutes and they had a pair of red Converse sneakers in the bag along with a pair of flip-flops Lupe referred to as
chanclas
. Her face seemed a little less haunted by worry. The way it should be. Rebekah plastered a smile on her face. Lupe couldn't know how impossible it seemed to find one man in a big city like San Antonio. Somehow, they would help her find her family.

Outside, Mordecai sat slouched in the buggy, his straw hat tugged down over his eyes. Snoozing. The man could sleep anywhere.

“We're done.”

He popped up and slid the hat back. “Gut. I got the groceries we needed so we can hightail it home before supper gets cold.”

Lupe climbed into the backseat as far from Mordecai as possible. Rebekah took the spot next to Mordecai. A book separated them. A book about El Salvador. “You've been to the library.”

“You're a sharp one, you are.”

“Did you learn anything?” She opened the book and perused the pages. History, customs, traditions, current political turmoil. El Salvador was pretty, but like most places, it had its problems. “Besides how to be a smarty-pants.”

“I already knew about that.” He snapped the reins and Brownie took off at a smart trot. “I found some recipes you might like to try.”

“Recipes?”

“Wouldn't it be nice to feed our guests some of their favorite foods from back home?”

“You are such a wise man.”

He grinned. “So I'm told.”

Slapping away a cloud of gnats, she let the breeze cool her warm face for a few minutes.

“Whatever it is, just ask.”

“What?”

“You're chewing on something that's about to choke you, child. Just ask.”

Rebekah glanced at the backseat. Lupe's gaze seemed fastened to the horizon. Probably wondering what her family was doing, if they were all right, where she would live now, and when she would be truly home. “Haven't you ever wanted to see the world? Don't you want to know what's going on around the next bend or on the other side of the ocean?”

“Most of the time I'm satisfied to get as far as the kitchen and my next cup of kaffi.” Mordecai guffawed in that way that reminded Rebekah of her daed. “I like to stay close to my own kind.”

“Then why did you check out this book?” Rebekah held it up. “Reading about it is enough for you?”

“I like to know things.” He slapped away a horsefly. “I like to make people feel at home. Especially kinner. I like to understand why things are the way they are.”

“Can you explain to me why things are the way they are?”

“Because we're only human and we make a lot of mistakes.” Mordecai's tone was so kind, Rebekah wanted to hug the man. He was the one man she knew who would understand such an overt offer of affection. “But we can do so much to help each other get past those mistakes.”

“So it was a mistake for Lupe and Diego to come here to the
United States, but we're helping them because they need help getting past their mistake.”

“I don't claim to understand the whys and wherefores of their situation or the world.” Mordecai glanced back at Lupe, who'd curled up on the seat and closed her eyes. “But wouldn't it be nice if they remembered us as those kind people Gott put in their path to help them on their way? Shelter in the storm. A safe harbor. Good Samaritans who didn't walk on by and ignore their suffering.”

“It would. What about Leila? Did she make a mistake when she followed her heart and went with Jesse? Is Gracie a mistake?”

“
Boplin
are never a mistake.” Mordecai's fierce gaze flicked to Rebekah's face, then back to the street, filled with cars that slowed then stopped in the wake of the slow-moving buggy. No one honked. One guy waved. Mordecai waved back, but his gaze returned to Rebekah. “Gott will judge us all. Leila and Jesse did as they saw fit, not only for reasons of the heart, but reasons of faith that I cannot, will not, judge.”

“How does a person know when to follow her heart?”

“You'll know. But I can tell you this: You're not missing anything. Everything important is right here at home. The things you were meant to do. They're here.”

“How do you know?”

“My heart tells me so.”

“Or Mudder.”

“Jah, my fraa is a force to be reckoned with.” Mordecai chuckled, the ferocity gone, his good-natured smile back. “But I am right. You have things to do here. Now.”

“Like what?”

“Like read up on Salvadoran food. You know what a
pupusa
is?”

His pronunciation of the word made Rebekah think of Lupe and
wunderbarr
. She stifled a giggle. “Nee.”

“Me neither, but I reckon you're gonna learn and I'm going to eat one and like it.”

Rebekah shuffled through the pages, looking for the section on food. “So that's what the cabbage is for?”

“Nee, it's for something else that I can't pronounce.”

“You're a gut person, Mordecai.”

“Average to middlin'.”

Far better than that. He set the bar high when it came to following the example of their Lord Jesus Christ. Rebekah picked up the book and began to read.

The Byler kitchen smelled like home. With Mordecai's library book and a tattered paperback English-Spanish dictionary stuck under her arm and the bag of groceries in the other, Rebekah peeked into the kitchen. Martha had Lupe peeling potatoes. She wore her new T-shirt with a kitty on the front of it and pale-blue jeans only a little worn in the knees. Flip-flops had been abandoned under the prep table. She seemed at home in the kitchen. Maybe she'd helped her mother with cooking in El Salvador. Maybe she missed cooking.

Rebekah always felt safe in the kitchen with a pot of stew on the stove and bread in the oven. The smells alone gave a person comfort. Lupe hadn't said much more about San Antonio and her father, but Rebekah often saw her watching as if waiting for something. As if ready to run at the drop of a stranger's hat. How much longer would she wait before slipping away to find a father she hadn't seen in years?

Rebekah would like to be content as well. Instead she paced about the schoolroom all day until Susan told her to go outside and run around until she burned off the excess energy. As if that
were possible. At least it was Saturday. Another week gone. She had to stop living for the weekends. If she were to be a schoolteacher, she needed to embrace it.

She glanced back. Deborah grinned at her and hoisted little Melinda on her hip. Timothy toddled behind, gnawing on one fist, no doubt trying to assuage gum pain from teething. Susan was on her way with Mudder and Hazel in tow. They were bringing fresh tomatoes, cilantro, and jalapeños from the garden. Naomi had a tortilla press she'd used to make tortillas from scratch. Esther had two heads of cabbage to go with the one Mordecai had provided on the trip into town to the Goodwill store. Tonight, the menfolk would come in from the fields and the apiaries and eat food from a land far away prepared by the womenfolk who knew how to make children feel welcome in a strange new land.

A group effort as all frolics should be. Lupe would experience the true meaning of extended family here in Bee County, far from her own family. The girl handled a paring knife with ease, but worry creased her brow and made her look older than she was. Someone—probably her mother—had taught her to peel potatoes, it seemed. If only language weren't a barrier, Rebekah could reach across the divide and make the girl feel more at ease somehow. She slipped into the kitchen and took a whiff of the peanut butter cookies still on the sheet, fresh from the oven. “Mmmm.”

Martha grinned and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “You're here! Lupe and I are making fried potatoes for supper. I figure they go with everything—even things we can't pronounce. I didn't tell her you were coming. I reckoned it would be a good surprise.”

“Where is Diego?” What she really wanted to know was the whereabouts of Tobias. She hadn't run into him since that day with Leila. For which she was eternally grateful. He had done
what he
thought
was right. What was right? She'd been in the wrong and she asked him to lie about it. It couldn't be undone now. “I thought he might like the food too.”

“Daed and Tobias took Liam and Diego to the shop this morning. They can help clean and sweep the floor. Muck out the stalls in the barn. Daed will put them to good work. They should be back for the noon meal, though.”

Which meant there would be no avoiding Tobias. It was a small district. She would run into him sooner or later. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as if he might walk in the door any minute. “They're in for a big surprise then.”

Lupe paused, the knife in the air. Her long, almost-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had a patch of flour on her forehead just above a big mosquito bite. “Surprise?”

“Sorpresa.”
Rebekah waved a hand toward Deborah and the kinner. “Mi
hermana
Deborah and her babies, Melinda and Timothy.”

Lupe nodded and held out her wet hand. Looking very serious, Deborah shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Lupe.”

“Igualmente.”

“I think that means the same.” At Deborah's puzzled look, Rebekah shrugged. It would be a long afternoon at this rate. “It doesn't matter, though. We can communicate through food. That's the universal language.”

Rebekah laid the books on the counter and slipped two cookies from the sheet, careful not to singe her fingertips. She gave one to Timothy, who plopped down on the floor and crowed before taking a bite. She held out the other one to Lupe. “For you.”

Lupe dropped the knife and accepted the gift. “Mmmm.” She nibbled at the edge.
“Caliente.”

“Jah. Yes, hot. Do you cook in El Salvador?” Rebekah pantomimed stirring with a ladle. “Comida?”

Lupe gave a vigorous nod. She touched the large head of cabbage sticking from the top of the bag on the table. “We make
curtido
with
repollo
.”

The other word from the book that Mordecai couldn't pronounce. “Cabbage?”

“Cabbage.” Lupe pronounced the word with care. “For curtido
. Ensalada.
”

“Salad?” Salad made with cabbage. Rebekah wasn't a big fan of salad, but she generally preferred lettuce to cabbage when she did eat it. She grabbed the dictionary and slid into the chair at the prep table. “What else?”

Lupe took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. A blissful look spread across her face. She closed her eyes and smiled a beautiful smile.
“Me gustan las galletas.”

“Galletas.” Rebekah thumbed through the dictionary. This would take years. “Cookies, crackers. I like them too.”

Lupe squeezed into a chair across from Rebekah. She rolled the cabbage around in front of her as if contemplating tossing it to Rebekah.
“Pupusas.”

Bingo. Just as Mordecai had said. The book explained that pupusas were a Salvadoran dish like corn tortillas, only thicker and stuffed with cheese, beans, or meat. Sold hot at small restaurants called
pupuserías
. They always came with a cabbage salad called curtido and a spicy tomato sauce called
salsa roja
.

What fun it would be to visit a faraway place like El Salvador and eat food with strange names in restaurants with even stranger names. With red sauce that burned the tongue. She sighed.

“Sad?”

“Jah, schweschder, sad?” Deborah's eyes narrowed. She picked up a cookie and held it out. “One for you too. Cookies make everything better.”

Rebekah took the cookie and tasted it. Delicious. Life was good when a person had family and hot cookies from the oven. No sense in being a spoiled brat about it. “Life is gut. Gott is good.”

She had to learn to curb her discontent. Mordecai was right. She had work to do here. For whatever reason, God had planted her in this place at this time and she had to be a good friend to Lupe and Diego. That was her job right now. Tomorrow night she would go to a singing. She would rest in the assurance that Gott would bring her a mann in His time. She would believe.

Melinda began to fuss, her loud squall blotting out any attempt at conversation. “She's hungry.” Deborah swayed back and forth, rubbing the baby's back. “Keep an eye on Timothy for me? I'll sit in the rocking chair and feed her. Maybe she'll go down for a nap afterward.”

“Come back when she's down.” Rebekah cocked her head toward Timothy. “He's happy with his cookie now, but he'll be looking for you any second.”

She studied the recipe. Mordecai's bag held a bag of
masa
that looked like flour only coarser. “You made pupusas from scratch?”

Lupe looked perplexed. “With hands.” She slapped her palms back and forth.
“Así, así.”

Rebekah rummaged in the sack and produced the package of masa. “We'll make them. Pupusas and curtido. And salsa roja.” She pointed to Susan who bustled into the room, a basket with tomatoes, green peppers, and onions in her plump arms, followed by Mudder and Hazel. Esther trailed behind them. “We cook.”

Lupe understood. Her wide grin said so. She popped from
the chair and enveloped Rebekah in a quick, hard hug that ended before she could reciprocate. “Gracías. Diego, he like too.”

“No big deal.”

“Yes, big deal.” Lupe enunciated each word carefully. She patted the dictionary. “You nice.”

“I try.” The knot in Rebekah's throat grew, making it hard to form the words. “You deserve nice.”

She opened the book to the recipe and began to arrange the ingredients on the prep table.
Masa de harina.
They'd used it before to make tortillas from scratch. Tasty. Carrots, tomatoes, cabbage. Garlic. Onion. Cilantro. Serranos. Not a typical Plain recipe.

All the better. Seeing the world through the kitchen. That's what Mordecai had meant. He saw it through books. She could see it that way too. And live it. Smell and taste it. “I'll start the masa if you and Deborah want to work on the fillings. I think Ruth Anne might come, too, but she has been feeling poorly since she lost the baby.”

“Ach, poor thing. We'll take her some food tomorrow if she doesn't make it.” Martha studied the recipe. She was a sweet girl. She didn't even know Ruth Anne Stetler—yet. “We have the venison sausage we can use for the filling. And we have beans we can mash to make refried beans. There's some white cheese left from the enchiladas I made last night. Let's make a lot so you can take some home to Mordecai since it was his idea.”

Lupe knew what to do, and once she had the ingredients in front of her, there was no stopping her. She grinned and giggled and talked, although neither Rebekah nor the other women could understand her. She mixed the masa with water, rolled the dough into a long roll, then cut it into eight pieces. By then Naomi had
arrived with her tortilla press. The women gathered around and watched as the little girl pressed an indentation in each ball of dough, added the mixture of sausage, grated cheese, and refried beans that Martha and Esther had made, and enclosed the dough around it.

Lupe pressed the ball into the palm of her hand, forming a disc that trapped the filling. “Así, así.” She grinned, looking like the little girl she was. “¡Me gusta!”

“Now what?” Naomi pushed black-rimmed glasses up her wrinkled nose and crossed her arms over her skinny chest. “What's the tortilla press for?”

Her smile wide, Lupe slipped some plastic wrap over the metal press and added the ball of dough and filling. She pressed the two sides together, lifted the press, and displayed the neatly pressed dough. “Pupusa
revuelta
. Me like.”

“Me like too.” Hazel crowded between Esther and Mudder. “Me try.”

“You try.” Lupe presented her with a ball of dough. “You make pupusa.”

Hazel patted the dough with her chubby hands and plopped a pile of filling into it. The meat teetered on the edge and fell to the floor, where Dolly, the Bylers' crotchety old hund, always at the ready, ate it in one quick gulp. “Look, Dolly likes Salvadoran food too.” Hazel patted the dog's head, chortling with glee. “She probably speaks Spanish too.”

The women all laughed, talking at once. “Let me try.” Rebekah took a turn. Her pupusa was crooked. Bits of sausage and grated cheese stuck out on one side. She squeezed the dough together with her fingers, trying to capture it. “There must be a knack to this.” She held it up. “Help me, Lupe.”

A superior smile stretched across her face, Lupe took the poor pupusa and doctored it. “Is good?”

“Is good.”

A few minutes later a skillet greased with lard was set on a low flame and the pupusas were frying. The kitchen smelled heavenly of fresh tortilla and onion. The grease sputtered and the dough turned a golden brown with tiny blisters. Lupe handled the spatula with ease, flipping the pupusas and then turning them onto a plate. “Is done.”

“Looks like we got here at exactly the right time.” Tobias stalked into the room, his mud-caked boots thumping on the wood, Diego and Liam on his heels. Levi and Mordecai brought up the rear. “Something smells gut. We heard something special was being cooked up here today.”

He stood so tall. His eyes were so green. Rebekah edged toward the counter. His gaze landed on her. She forced herself not to look away. “It is special. Pupusas. Lupe showed us how.” To her everlasting delight, her voice didn't quiver. “Wash up. We're putting them on the table. Now.”

Lupe flung the spatula on the counter and dodged past Tobias. Her rapid-fire string of Spanish left Rebekah in the dust. Diego nodded. His cherubic cheeks split in a grin and he threw himself at Rebekah. “Gracías. Gracías.”

Those were the only two words she understood, but they were enough. She accepted his hug and returned it, her hands tight on his skinny back, feeling every bony rib. “You're welcome. Now wash your hands and sit. We're having a feast.”

“Looks like they're happy with you.” Tobias brushed past her, headed to the tub of water in the sink. “They know who their friends are.”

What was that supposed to mean? “I try.”

“You're a good friend.”

“Wait until you get to eat the cabbage salad.” Martha picked up the big bowl of curtido. “Yum, yum.”

Relieved at the change in subject, Rebekah took the bowl from her. “It has to sit and ferment at room temperature for a few hours.”

“Ach no, I was looking forward to it.” Tobias wiped his hands with a towel, his grin as wide as Diego's. “Mordecai told us all about it. Sounds like sauerkraut. I like sauerkraut.”

“Probably because it's sour like you,” Martha teased. “Go on, sit. You're in the way in the kitchen.”

Rebekah waited until he was seated on the other side of the room to sink onto the bench on the women's side. She was sure she wouldn't be able to eat a bite with him so close. All the same, the salsa roja, which Esther and Martha had handled, was delicious. The tangy, tomatoey taste with the fresh bite of cilantro was just the right flavor to complement the pupusa.