The Forgiven Page 15

  “You are feeling bad about your first guests,” Grossmammi said. “Everyone can see it, even though you haven’t said a thing about it. Now, it’s time you talked.”

  “No, I . . .”

  “Rebecca Lapp Fisher.” Grossmammi grasped her shoulder, forcing Rebecca to look at her. “You are fooling no one. Now, tell me what you are brooding about. Was it Simon? Did he do something wrong?”

  “No, no, Simon was fine.”

  “Then what?” Her grandmother was gently persistent, her soft, wrinkled face filled with loving concern. “What is the problem? No one can help you to fix it if we don’t know what it is.”

  “I was the problem.” The words came out even though Rebecca tried to hold them back. “It was my fault the weekend didn’t go as it should. I just can’t do what Paul did so well. I couldn’t relax and talk and tell stories the way he did.” She wiped away a tear with the back of her gardening glove. “I keep thinking it should get easier to go on alone, but it doesn’t.”

  Grossmammi patted her cheek. “Ach, Rebecca, I know. Do you think I didn’t feel the same after your grossdaadi passed?”

  “At least you didn’t let anyone else down. It’s been well over a year. I should be doing better.”

  “Nobody can put a time on how long it takes to grieve.” Grossmammi gestured to the plants Rebecca had already set out. “Those will wilt at first from the shock of being transplanted, ain’t so? But in a day or two they will come back and start to grow again. People take much longer to put down new roots, and you can’t rush it.”

  Rebecca nodded, absently pressing the warm soil down around the basil plant she’d just put in. As Grossmammi said, its bright green leaves were drooping, but they would come back quickly with a little water and a little time.

  “I have Katie and Joshua to raise. I can’t wait until the season of grieving is past. I have to do better for them.”

  “You will. You know you always let Paul take the lead.” Grossmammi patted Rebecca again, the way she did when Rebecca was a small child who’d taken a tumble. “That’s not wrong, but . . .” She paused, as if trying to find the right words. “You would not put that tiny basil plant right next to the dill, because if you did, it wouldn’t grow strong. The dill would shade it out, ain’t so?”

  Rebecca wanted to protest at the comparison, but she understood what her grandmother was saying. “I always followed Paul and relied on his strength. I know.”

  “That’s true, but it’s not all I mean.” She hesitated, as if she was going to say something Rebecca might not want to hear. “Dill and basil are both gut, useful plants, but they grow better if they’re not too close together. Leaning on Paul might have kept you from growing as strong as you could have.”

  “If so, it wasn’t Paul’s fault. He loved me and wanted to protect me.” Surely Grossmammi wasn’t saying that Paul had been wrong to love and care for her.

  “Of course he did.” Her grandmother frowned slightly. “But sometimes when we love someone, we protect them too much. Sometimes each of us has to try things and succeed or fail on our own.”

  She wanted to argue, but unfortunately she could see the sense of what Grossmammi was saying. If she’d protected her children from falling, they’d never have learned to walk.

  “If you want your Katie to grow into a strong woman, you must give her an example of it.” Grossmammi seemed to be reading her thoughts.

  Rebecca sat back on her heels, looking up at her grandmother. “I know. I’m just afraid that I’m going to fail with the farm-stay, and then what will I do?”

  “This was Paul’s dream, ain’t so? It doesn’t have to be yours. But if you want to do it, then maybe you should find someone to help. Even with Simon doing the outside work, you’re still taking on everything else Paul did, besides all the cooking and cleaning for the guests.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She hadn’t realized until she’d tried it just how big the job was. “But that would mean someone who could be there whenever the guests are, who can talk easily to the Englisch and make them feel at ease, even make them laugh the way Paul did. I don’t know—”

  “Your cousin Barbara,” Grossmammi exclaimed. “She would be perfect at it.”

  “Barbara?” Rebecca couldn’t conceal her dismay. “Barbie wouldn’t be right. She’s too young, for one thing. And she’s too frivolous, not responsible enough . . .” She ran out of steam, but surely Grossmammi couldn’t be serious.

  Her grandmother just smiled. “You think about it. Those are all things Barbie will outgrow, ain’t so?”

  “I guess.” She hoped so, certainly.

  “You’d be surprised at how long people can keep growing in ways you don’t imagine. And Barbie is outgoing enough to do what you need done, that’s certain-sure.”

  At Rebecca’s expression, Grossmammi chuckled softly and patted Rebecca’s cheek. “People keep on growing even when you’re as old as I am. Chust think about it. All right?”

  All Rebecca could do was nod.

  • • •

  Matt ran his hand along the edge of a drawer. If it didn’t slide smoothly, it would be a reflection on his work. He’d come straight into the workshop when he’d arrived, not so much as letting himself glance toward the farmhouse. But his restraint didn’t seem to be doing him any good. The feelings he’d discovered he had for Rebecca were growing stronger without any encouragement at all.

  Any relationship with Rebecca was out of the question. She was still mourning Paul, who’d quite clearly been the only man in the world for her.

  As for him . . . well, he knew how tenuous a grasp he had on being truly Amish in his heart. His reckless temper was still likely to flare up just when he thought he’d beaten it down. The last man Rebecca needed was someone like him.

  He tossed aside the cloth he’d picked up to rub down the finish on the chest, wincing at the word his mind had chosen to describe his battles with his temper. Beaten. Even in his thoughts, he used images that were not Amish. If a man did not embrace nonviolence in his heart, how could he live in peace? And if he did not live in peace, how could he call himself Amish?

  Feeling the dark memories rise, he stalked to the doorway and stood looking out at the late-afternoon sun. The time he’d spent in jail had given him a need to feel the breeze on his skin frequently. If that experience hadn’t taught him the need to conquer his impulses, what would?

  He’d fled back to the Amish community afterward, seeking refuge where violence had no place. He’d found a commitment he hadn’t known when he was a restless teenager, eager to taste all the world had to offer. But until he could be sure, beyond a doubt, he couldn’t—

  A sound cut off his fruitless train of thought, and he frowned. Maybe the kinder shouting while they were playing? He took a step or two clear of the stable so that he could look back toward the house and the fields beyond.

  No one was in view but Rebecca’s daad, James Lapp, heading toward the house. Even as Matt began to turn away, he registered something odd about the man’s pace. He looked almost as if he were stumbling. Then, slowly, the lean figure crumpled to the ground.

  Matt ran toward him, heart thumping, shouting for Rebecca. Where was Simon? He usually worked with his daad . . . either Simon or the next younger boy, Johnny. Matt shouted again and then saved his breath for running.

  Matt skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees beside the figure. James’s fingers dug into the grass, and he seemed to be trying to raise himself.

  “Easy. Just lie still. Let me help you.” Matt put his arms around James’s shoulders, raising him just enough to see the man’s face.

  Concern tightened its grasp. James’s lean face was ashen above his beard, the skin seeming drawn against the bones. His eyes flickered open and then closed again.

  The door of the house slammed, and Matt heard Rebecca’s running footsteps.<
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  “Daadi!” She fell to her knees next to Matt, reaching for her father. “What’s happened?”

  “He’s fainted, I think.” Matt put his hand against James’s skin, finding it clammy. Cold perspiration was soaking his hair. Apprehension growing, Matt felt for a pulse. It was weak, fluttering under his fingertips. “We’d better call for an ambulance.”

  He’d barely gotten the words out when Simon joined them, his face white. “What did you do?”

  Matt’s muscles tightened. Even in a crisis, Simon was determined to blame him.

  “He might be having a heart attack,” Matt said bluntly, and heard Rebecca’s quick, indrawn breath. “Simon, go to the phone shanty. Call nine-one-one. Ask for the emergency squad to come immediately. Understand?”

  The instant antagonism faded from Simon’s face, and he looked very young and frightened. He nodded, then turned and sprinted away.

  “What can we do?” Rebecca took her father’s lax hand in both of hers. “There must be something.”

  “Maybe a blanket.” Matt frowned, trying to remember what he’d heard about heart attacks. He didn’t want to do the wrong thing, but it couldn’t be a mistake to keep him warm.

  “Right away.” Rebecca scrambled to her feet and ran to the house. No sooner had she gone than the kinder appeared from the barn. They came running and stopped a few feet from their grandfather, faces white, looking very alike in their fear.

  “Grossdaadi.” Katie’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked to Matt as if begging for assurance.

  “He’s sick,” Matt said quickly, not knowing what else to say. “Katie, do you think you could run to his house and get your grandmother?”

  She seemed able to fight back tears at the prospect of helping. “I’ll get her.” She took off running, the strings of her kapp flying behind her.

  “Can’t I help?” Josh stepped cautiously around his grandfather and squatted next to Matt. “Please?”

  “Mammi went to get a blanket. Can you run and tell her to bring a pillow, too?” It was better for the boy to be doing anything other than staying here and staring at his grossdaadi’s ashen face.

  Josh nodded. He touched his grandfather’s hand with a quick, light movement and then raced off.

  “Hang on, James.” Matt felt again for a pulse. Weak, but there.

  “They are on their way.” Simon, breathing heavily, slumped down next to his father. “It’s not far—only about five miles. They’ll get here soon. They’ll be in time.”

  Simon was trying to convince himself, Matt knew.

  “That’s certain-sure.” He looked up as Rebecca reappeared, arms filled with a blanket. Behind her Joshua scurried along, carrying a pillow snatched from someone’s bed.

  “Help me lift him a little to get the blanket under him. No use his lying on the damp ground.”

  Simon nodded, sliding strong young arms under his father. Together they raised James enough that Rebecca could slip the blanket underneath. They eased him back down, and she wrapped it snugly around his body, tucking it in as if she were tucking one of her kinder in for the night.

  “Here’s the pillow.” Joshua, his eyes wide in a pale face, passed it over, and his uncle pushed it into place.

  Rebecca tore her attention away from her father long enough to glance around. “Where’s Katie?”

  “I sent her for your mother.” He hesitated. Rebecca probably thought he was taking too much on himself, telling everyone what to do. “She wanted to help.”

  “That’s gut.” Rebecca’s gaze clouded. “Poor Mammi. She’ll be so worried. If only Daadi could say something . . .” Her voice broke.

  “He’s going to be all right.” Matt tried to put some confidence in his voice. They were the words people always said at moments like this, expressing the thought that was surely the last thing they could guarantee.

  Rebecca nodded. She took her father’s hand again, her head bowing, and Matt thought she was praying.

  It seemed like hours, but it was only minutes before they heard the wail of the siren. Rebecca’s mother arrived at the same time as the paramedics. She was shaken, but in control of herself.

  “Your grossmammi is at the house, so I asked Katie to stay with her,” she said in answer to a questioning glance from Rebecca. “I thought it best for both of them.”

  Rebecca nodded. Grossmammi probably wanted to be with her son, but the stress wouldn’t be good for her. And Mammi had no doubt persuaded both Grossmammi and Katie that they needed to take care of the other one.

  The paramedics took over, moving everyone else away, conversing in low voices and using phrases that made little sense to anyone else. Matt took a step or two away from the family, feeling he was out of place and yet not wanting to leave in case he could be of some help.

  The EMTs talked with the hospital. An Englisch neighbor pulled in, drawn by the siren, eager to drive anyone wherever needed. Finally James seemed to be communicating, answering something the paramedic asked. Matt, looking on, discovered that Joshua was clutching his leg.

  He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “They’re taking good care of him.” It was impossible to say “Don’t worry,” since this was a child who’d lost his father already.

  Josh nodded, pressing closer, as if he was comforted by Matt’s touch.

  Finally the paramedics prepared to load James into their van. Rebecca hurried over to Matt. “Mamm is going with Daad in the ambulance. Mrs. Johnson has said she’ll drive me and Simon.” Her gaze touched Joshua, and she tried to smile. “Maybe Josh can go—”

  “Let Josh stay with me.” The offer came quickly, without thought. “We can work on a project together until you get back.”

  “I don’t know when it will be.” She seemed torn between acceptance and doubt.

  “It doesn’t matter. We’ll be fine.”

  Josh nodded. “I want to stay with Matt. We’ll be fine,” he echoed. “Take care of Grossdaadi, Mammi.”

  “I will.” She touched her son’s cheek, smiling. Then she looked at Matt, and the smile trembled a bit. “Denke, Matt. I . . . I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  All he could do was nod, and smile, and pretend her pain didn’t wrench his heart.

  • • •

  Rebecca felt as if they’d been sitting in the hospital’s emergency room waiting area for hours. She glanced at the large round clock on the wall above the uncomfortable plastic chairs, sure it must be later than the time it showed.

  Mamm sat next to her, her hands clasped together in her lap, her head lowered, while Simon paced to the window and back again. At a look from Rebecca he sat down, but almost immediately he stood up again. Rebecca recognized the symptoms. When a situation was out of his control, Simon could never be still.

  “Why don’t you go and get some coffee for us?” she suggested. “The snack bar is just down the hall.” She remembered it only too well from all the times she’d been at the hospital with Paul.

  Amy Johnson, who’d been waiting patiently all this time, grasped her handbag. “I’ll go along with Simon and help carry the coffees.”

  Simon nodded, obviously relieved to have an excuse to move. He set off so quickly Amy had to hurry to keep up.

  Rebecca put her hand over her mother’s clasped ones and found them icy. “Daad is strong, ain’t so?” She wanted to say he’d be all right, but she was almost afraid to use those words. How many times had she told herself that about Paul?

  Mamm nodded. “If only they’d let us stay with him. I could keep him from fretting if they had.”

  “I know.” They’d been allowed to stay with Daad for only a few minutes in the curtained cubicle before he’d been whisked off for tests. “But the ER doctor said he had to have the test results right away. And they sent for Dr. Cartwright. You’ll feel better when he’s here.”

&n
bsp; Their family doctor had seen them through so much. Many of his patients were Amish, and he understood them. Mamm needed that understanding now.

  They both looked up at the sound of a door opening. Bishop Jonah Stoltzfus came in, his white beard ruffled from the breeze, his kind, wise eyes searching for them. Behind him was Onkel William, her father’s brother, without the smile that always seemed to crinkle his eyes.

  Mamm rose to greet them, pressing her lips together as if she feared she’d cry if she spoke. Rebecca stood as well, clasping her mother’s arm.

  “I’m sehr glad you’re here.” Rebecca couldn’t manage a smile. “We don’t know anything yet,” she added quickly, knowing they’d ask. “Daad is having tests.”

  “Sit, sit.” Onkel William urged her mother back into her seat and sank down himself in the chair Simon had vacated, planting his hands on his knees. “Someone said it might be a heart attack.”

  Rebecca, pulling another chair over for Bishop Jonah, gave him a warning look. “We don’t know yet.”

  “How did it happen? Was he by himself?” Her uncle always wanted to know all the facts.

  “He’d been in the barn with the kinder, and for some reason he’d started toward the house without them. Maybe he was feeling ill and didn’t want them to know.” That would be like him. He’d understand how frightening it would be for them.

  “He didn’t say anything to you?”

  She shook her head. “Matt . . . Matthew Byler . . . had come out of the workshop just then and saw him fall.” She relived those awful moments when she’d heard Matt shouting for her. “If he hadn’t been there—” She stopped, not wanting to go on.

  “God puts all of us where He wants us,” Bishop Jonah said, his deep voice confident.

  “We sent for the paramedics at once, and they were there in minutes. That’s gut, ja?” She looked from Onkel William to the bishop, longing for reassurance.

  “That’s certain-sure.” Onkel William’s voice was an echo of its usual hearty tone. “The sooner the better, ain’t so?”

  “The good Lord put Matthew in the right place,” Bishop Jonah said again. He patted her hand, seeming to know how much she needed to be comforted. “All we can do now is pray and wait.”