The Forgiven Read online

  It had been a dream, nothing more. Jacob was gone, true, but he would come home. Someday this terrible war would be over, and they’d surely let the boys come home.

  The hairpins secured her kapp in place. Anna took her sweater from its peg on the wall and stood at the window to put it on. The eastern sky was beginning to brighten. Daad would want the boys up and dressed to help with the milking while she and Mamm prepared breakfast.

  Maybe today she’d finally get another letter from Jacob. May had mellowed into June, the days growing warmer and the corn sprouting in the fields. Jacob had been gone a month, and she’d had only one letter from him.

  She’d read it so many times that she had it memorized.

  . . . keeping us very busy here at the camp in Maryland. The barracks are in bad shape, but the boys are all handy enough with tools to make improvements.

  Had they made the place livable? She had visions sometimes of Jacob sleeping where a respectable Amish farmer wouldn’t keep his pigs, with the roof leaking and rain dripping down his neck.

  Ach, that idea was foolishness. Jacob would fix any leaking roof—that was certain-sure.

  At least Jacob had been able to send her his address, so she could write to him. Each day she added a little more to the letter, recounting all the little things that made up her life, so he would remember and think about his true life here.

  On Friday she had mailed the letter. Today, she prayed silently. Let me get another letter from him today.

  She went quickly to the boys’ room, not bothering to tiptoe. It was time everyone was up. Seth was usually an early riser, so he was probably almost ready.

  But she opened the door to darkness. Frowning, she fumbled her way to the gas lamp and lit it. “Do you boys think it’s a holiday? Komm, schnell. Get up.”

  She turned as she spoke, smiling at the row of three single beds. Eli pushed himself up on one elbow, but Peter, the youngest, pulled the pillow over his head. Her gaze went to the bed by the window, and she felt as if someone had hit her in the stomach.

  The bed was empty, still made, with the nine-patch quilt drawn up over the pillow. On it rested a single sheet of paper, folded in half.

  Anna forced herself to walk toward the bed. The reluctance that dragged at her was like her dream, except that this was real. And she knew what she would find before she picked up the paper.

  “What is it, Anna?” Eli slid from his bed and padded barefoot to her side. “Where’s Seth?”

  “Hush a minute.” The paper had her name scribbled across the outside. Anna sank down on the quilt. With stiff fingers she unfolded the paper.

  I have gone to join up. I know what you will say—what everyone will say—but I have to. It can’t be right to stand back when innocent people are being killed.

  Try to break it gently to Mamm and Daad. I know you will look after everyone.

  I love you all. I hope you can forgive me.

  “Anna, what happened to Seth?” Peter, drawn by the hint of trouble, joined them, pressing close to her side. “What does it say?”

  She brushed the fringe of blond hair back from his eyes. “I don’t—”

  The door opened to reveal Daad, with Mammi right behind him.

  “What is going on?” Daadi’s voice seemed loud in the quiet room.

  Mammi’s step caused a board to creak. Her startled gaze took in Anna and the two boys. And the empty bed. She gasped, reaching out to grab Daadi’s arm.

  “Anna?” Daadi looked at her, and she saw the knowledge dawn in his eyes even before she could speak.

  “I’m sorry.” Her throat was so tight she had to force the words out. She gestured with the note. “Seth is gone. He says he’s sorry, but he must. He’s joined the army.”

  “No. No.” Mammi shook her head. “He can’t, not Seth. Not my baby.” She clutched at Daadi’s arm. “You must stop him. Go after him. Make him come home.”

  Anna had never seen her father look as he did now. The skin seemed drawn tight against the bones, his eyes dark with pain.

  “It’s no use.” He sounded defeated, the words dragging. “We can’t keep him if he’s determined to go.”

  Mammi broke into sobs that shook her whole body. Peter, frightened even if he didn’t understand, began to cry as well. Anna cradled him close and put her arm around Eli, who stood as stiff as a board, his face working with the effort to hold back tears.

  Beyond Daad and Mammi, Becky and Sarah appeared, drawn by the commotion, their faces white and frightened.

  Daadi’s gaze met Anna’s over her mother’s head. He seemed to try to focus, but he looked as dazed as if he’d been struck by a falling timber.

  “The cows must be milked, and . . .” He let that trail off and stared helplessly at Anna.

  He was relying on her. Anna struggled to swallow over the lump in her throat. Somehow, she had to be strong.

  “Becky, take Sarah and start fixing breakfast. I’ll help you when I can. Peter, stop that crying. You boys komm. We’ll tend to the milking.”

  The kinder seemed paralyzed, not moving.

  “Now,” she said sharply. “Schnell.”

  Becky nodded. Taking her little sister’s hand, she vanished toward the stairs. Eli and Peter began to scramble into their clothes.

  Daad patted Mammi’s back, his touch gentle. “I should help . . .”

  Anna shook her head. “You should stay with Mammi. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of everything.”

  Everything. But they couldn’t do the important thing. They couldn’t change what had happened and undo what Seth had done.

  Daadi nodded. He reached out to grasp Anna’s shoulder in a rare embrace. “You are a gut girl, Anna.”

  Chasing her brothers ahead of her, Anna headed for the door. Daadi was wrong about one thing. Her time of being a girl was over. It had been ended abruptly by forces none of them could control or understand. Now she must be a woman, and she must somehow find the strength that would be needed in the dark days to come.

  • • •

  “You really don’t have to help make supper,” Rebecca protested as Barbie dropped potatoes into the pot. “You’ve done so much already.”

  By Saturday afternoon it seemed to Rebecca that Barbie had actually accomplished more than she had in making their guests feel welcome and comfortable.

  “I want to,” Barbie said. “You’ve been doing all the work, ain’t so?”

  “Me?” Rebecca paused, rolling pin in hand, to stare at her cousin. “It’s you who’ve been doing everything. You’ve been keeping them all busy and happy all day long. You must be exhausted.”

  Barbie’s dimples appeared. “But that’s just playing for me. You’ve been making beds and cooking meals for all these people and ensuring they’re comfortable. That’s the work part.”

  Rebecca felt a giggle bubbling up inside her. “You have a funny idea of what’s hard to do. I could never do what you’ve been doing, but I love cooking and dishing up and seeing folks enjoy the food I prepare.”

  Barbie shook her head, grinning. “Now, that would be work to me. I’m wonderful glad we want to do different things.”

  Had Grossmammi seen from the beginning how their talents would mesh? Probably so. She seemed to see most things better than anyone else Rebecca knew.

  “So you’re happy with helping me?” She asked the question on impulse, but realized she really wanted to hear Barbie’s answer.

  “For sure.” Barbie studied a potato thoughtfully before dropping it into the water. “I guess it’s because I feel as if what I do is important to the success of the business.” She made a face. “I certain-sure can’t say that about the bakery. Anybody could help out there. You could probably train a cat to do it if you had enough time.”

  “Now, I’d like to see that for myself.” Rebecca was amused, but at the same time she
felt a little qualm. Did she want Barbie to claim so much of a share in their success? But that was a selfish attitude.

  “What each of us does is important,” she said firmly.

  Barbie nodded. “Even the kinder are feeling that way, I think, especially Katie. She’s been so helpful in keeping the Englisch children occupied.”

  “She has, hasn’t she?” A glow of maternal pride filled Rebecca.

  Life with Katie had been easier lately, and not just because she was occupied with their guests. The bond that had formed when they’d cried together over Paul seemed stronger each day, and it humbled Rebecca to think she might have missed that if she’d gone on trying to protect the kinder from her own pain.

  “Simon was having a fine time with the grandfather today,” Barbie observed. “It seems the old man lived on a farm when he was young, and he asked for nothing more than to get his hands dirty again.”

  “Not so his son-in-law.” Rebecca peeked through the kitchen window. Sure enough, the man was leaning against his car in what he’d declared was the best spot for cell phone reception. He tapped away at the tiny keyboard.

  “I thought he was going to walk out when you told him there was no electricity to recharge his little phone.” Barbie giggled. “I could have suggested he use the generator in your daad’s barn, but I figured it was more fun to let him figure it out on his own.”

  “His wife said she wanted to get him away from business for the weekend, and that’s one reason they came here.” Rebecca rolled out the potpie dough and tested the thickness with her fingers. It should be just a little thinner. “I don’t think her plan is working.”

  Barbie shook her head. “You’re not going to make everyone happy,” she said. She was silent for a moment, and then she shot a mischievous glance at Rebecca. “Matt certainly was great, especially with the little boy, Parker. He managed to keep him interested until he’d finished his birdhouse, and I’d say that’s pretty good for that kid. He’s as lively as a grasshopper.”

  “Schnicklefritz,” Rebecca said, using the word for a mischievous child.

  “Don’t you think Matthew was great with him?” Barbie prompted.

  “Ja.” Rebecca concentrated on the dough. “He’s very gut at what he does.”

  “Gut at other things, too, I’d guess.” When that didn’t get a reaction, Barbie poked Rebecca in the back with a wooden spoon. “Come on, admit it. You like him.”

  “He’s a gut friend,” Rebecca said. It was probably impossible to repress Barbie, but she could try.

  “He doesn’t look at you the way you look at a friend,” Barbie declared.

  Rebecca met her gaze involuntarily. “He doesn’t?”

  “No, Miss Innocent, he doesn’t. And that’s not how you look at him, either.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

  Barbie made a sound of exasperation. “Why shouldn’t you be interested in each other? You’re both free.”

  Maybe so, but it wasn’t that simple. And if she was growing to care for Matt, she would have to be cautious.

  “All right.” Barbie sounded resigned. “I won’t tease you anymore. Let’s talk about something else.” She paused for a moment, as if trying to think of something. “Are you still reading that diary you were telling me about?”

  Rebecca nodded. “I can’t resist it, even though the part I’m reading now is so sad. The boy she loves has been drafted and sent away to a camp for conscientious objectors in another state, and she hardly hears from him.”

  “She should have married him before he left,” Barbie said quickly. “That’s what I would do.”

  “She tried to get him to agree, but he insisted it wasn’t right to marry all in a rush.”

  “I’d have convinced him.” Barbie didn’t seem to doubt her ability to get anyone to do what she wanted. “Or if he wouldn’t, I’d go to where the camp was and settle in the nearest town. At least then I’d get to see him.”

  Rebecca had to smile at her cousin’s resolute tone. “I don’t think it was as easy as all that then. And I doubt Anna was like you.” In fact, Anna was more like herself, she realized. Maybe that’s why she was so attracted by Anna’s story. “I think—”

  Her words were cut off by a clatter on the back porch. In an instant the bell began to toll, loud and fast, shocking in its strident demand.

  Rebecca’s heart jumped, and she pressed her hand against her chest. Then she tore across the kitchen and out onto the back porch.

  Ten-year-old Parker had climbed onto the porch railing where he could reach the bell. He clanged it so hard it seemed it must fly off its bracket, ignoring Katie’s pleas that he stop and his mother’s ineffectual suggestions that he find something else to do.

  Rebecca grasped his arm. “Stop. Now.”

  Her tone was the one she used when she expected instant obedience from her kinder. Apparently it also worked on Englisch children. His hand dropped from the bellpull. He slid down off the railing.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fisher,” the mother declared. “I just can’t do a thing with Parker some days.”

  Since the woman hadn’t so much as stirred from her chair or dropped her magazine, it was difficult to think she had tried very hard.

  “I want to ring the bell,” Parker said, reaching for the rope again.

  “No.” Rebecca gave him the look that most children, at least most Amish children, knew meant business.

  “Why not?” He pouted. “It’s there. Why can’t I ring it?”

  “Because that’s not what it’s for.” Because it’s a precious memory of my husband and I don’t want you to touch it.

  “What’s it for, then?” Parker didn’t seem to understand what the word no meant.

  “It is a dinner bell. When it’s rung the way you were ringing it, people will think there’s something wrong.” She grasped his shoulders and turned him. “See? There is Matt coming out of his workshop because he thinks there’s an emergency.” She waved to him, to let him know it was all right. “And there’s my brother and your grandfather coming out of the barn.” Again she turned him. “I think you should go and tell them there’s nothing wrong, don’t you?”

  He got a faintly mulish expression that wilted when she stared at him. “I guess. Will you let me ring it when it’s time for supper?”

  We don’t ring it. That was what she wanted to say. But why not? Wasn’t that what Paul had intended, that it should call his kinder in for supper? How foolish she was, to deny them the pleasure of building memories around it, the way their father had.

  “Katie will be in charge of the dinner bell tonight,” she said firmly. “She may let you help her, ain’t so, Katie?”

  Gratified, Katie nodded. “I might.” She tugged at Parker’s sleeve. “Let’s go tell your grandfather and my onkel Simon everything is okay.” Together they ran toward the barn.

  Rebecca leaned against the porch post, feeling as if she had been running as well. Or maybe as if she’d finished a race.

  • • •

  Matt’s trip to the library to use the computer had netted some surprising results, and he was still considering them as he released the mare from the hitching rail and climbed into the buggy. The library was new since his time—a sprawling modern edifice of brick and glass with a large parking lot and a hitching rail for the convenience of the Amish. The librarian had shown no surprise at seeing him using the computer. Many Amish were great readers and frequent visitors to the library, and if they had need of the computer—well, using one in the public library wasn’t like having one in your home.

  He clucked to the mare. He’d been taken aback to find several websites whose purpose was to encourage Amish youth to leave the church. And a couple of the sites seemed to represent groups that offered help to those who’d decided to jump the fence.

  Such a thing hadn’t exis
ted back when he’d jumped the fence. It bothered him a bit, to tell the truth, but most likely a young person wouldn’t find the sites unless they went looking, and they’d only be looking if they were already thinking of leaving. Probably the people who ran the sites thought they were doing work that needed to be done.

  It was true that the average young Amish male who jumped the fence had few of the skills he’d need to succeed in the modern world. The Amish philosophy had always been to train their young through eighth grade in the information and skills they’d need to live Amish, not Englisch.

  Matt had jotted down the particulars of one group that seemed most likely to appeal to Isaiah if he’d been looking for help to run. It was in Holmes County, Ohio, not all that far from central Pennsylvania, and it offered help in terms of advice, housing, and finding jobs.

  The information given was a bit vague about exactly where it was located, probably deliberately. The person running it would want to know that the one asking was genuine before giving out specifics.

  Matt understood, but it presented him with difficulties. If he had to go out to Holmes County in search of Isaiah it would mean hiring a car and driver, possibly for several days, and he’d rather be sure he had a more accurate location first.

  He’d had a driver’s license when he’d been living Englisch, of course. But there was something inherently wrong in attempting to persuade his cousin to come back to the faith while breaking one of that faith’s traditions himself.

  Well, he was on his way to find Carl Richards, the Englisch friend Simon had thought might know something about where Isaiah had gone. Asking around had netted the information that Richards worked at a local garage owned by his girlfriend’s father, and it wasn’t far from the library.

  By the time Matt had reached the garage, he’d hammered out an approach to Richards. The best possibility seemed the simple truth. Isaiah’s mother was ill, and she’d been made worse by not hearing anything from him. Matt wanted to find Isaiah to tell him about his mother, so that he’d write to her. If he could get Isaiah to come home, he would, but there was no point in telling Richards so.