The Forgiven Read online

  His throat was tight, and he had to force himself to speak. “Rebecca . . . Well, maybe Rebecca is still too wrapped up in Paul to get close to anyone else.”

  Sadie didn’t speak for a moment. Then she startled him by patting his arm.

  “Don’t give up,” she said. “There’s always a chance, ain’t so?”

  He’d like to believe it, but he couldn’t. “Not this time.”

  Lancaster County, October 1943

  Sometimes it seemed the war had been going on forever. Anna trudged down the road toward the neighbor’s house, the basket she carried heavy on her arm. Not even the bright golden colors of the hedgerows could lift the weight on her heart today.

  So many boys had been lost from the county—it seemed every week there was another. The early optimism, the thought that the fighting would be over by Christmas, by spring, by summer, had faded into a dull endurance for Englisch and Amish alike. Nobody talked any more about when it would be over.

  People—all people, no matter their beliefs—struggled with grief that was not made any more bearable because others suffered, too.

  This time the pain had struck close to home. Neil Cochran, son of their closest Englisch neighbors, had been reported killed, dying in the fighting in a place so far-off that no one had ever heard of it. Not even his body had come home for his family to grieve over.

  Anna’s basket held a heavy casserole dish filled with chicken potpie and two loaves of bread. She and Mamm had started cooking at dawn. They wouldn’t attend the memorial service for Neil, held in the small white church down the road, but at least they would send food.

  She followed the power lines that led along the lane to the house. When the electric had come out this way a few years ago, the Cochrans had been among the first to hook up. The Amish didn’t, and a number of the older Englisch farmers had eyed it with suspicion.

  A year ago Anna might have been worried about her welcome as she neared the house. But shared hardships had seemed to dissolve some of the early antagonism against the Amish, at least among neighbors. She prayed that this fresh loss wouldn’t renew it for the Cochran family.

  She went, as always, to the back door, threading her way past a few parked automobiles. The Englisch didn’t drive as much as they used to, what with the shortages of everything, including fuel.

  Balancing the basket against her hip, she knocked on the door, hearing the muted sound of voices from beyond it. In a moment it swung open. Mr. Cochran stood staring at her, his eyes red-rimmed with tears, his face haggard and suddenly old. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak. If he turned her away . . . She remembered that long-ago day before the war when she and Seth had come by with the apples.

  “Anna.” His voice rasped with pain, and he pressed his lips together as if he couldn’t say anything else. He gestured her in, touching her sleeve lightly in mute welcome.

  “We are so sorry.” Her own eyes filled with tears on the words. That Neil would be gone—his laughing eyes and freckled face stilled forever—seemed impossible.

  Mr. Cochran nodded, his face working, and turned away.

  Anna carried the basket to the kitchen counter, nodding and exchanging soft greetings with the women who’d gathered there. They wore their Sunday print dresses and flowered hats, and their faces were uniformly solemn.

  The radio around the corner in the dining room was turned on, and someone was singing a mournful song. I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places . . . She shivered at the words. No one would be seeing Neil.

  A woman she recognized as Neil’s aunt took the basket, peeking inside. “So kind of you to bring this. Please tell your mother how much it’s appreciated.” She took Anna’s arm. “Come into the living room. Mary will want to speak to you.”

  They passed through the doorway, leaving behind the kitchen with its muted bustle. Mary Cochran sat on the sofa, the coffee table in front of her covered with photograph albums. A framed picture of Neil, proud and smiling in his uniform, stood on the mantel.

  “Mary, here is Anna Esch come to see you. She brought a nice hot casserole. Maybe you can eat a bite after a while.”

  Mrs. Cochran, her plump cheeks sunken and her eyes swollen with crying, ignored the well-meant comment about eating. She caught Anna’s hand and drew her down on the couch next to her.

  “I’m glad you came. Neil would have liked it. You children were all such good friends when you were little, weren’t you?”

  Anna nodded, remembering those times that seemed so long ago now. “He and Seth used to go fishing together. They always complained I scared the fish if I went along.”

  Mrs. Cochran’s pain seemed to ease a little with the happy memory. “Such good times those were. But tell me, what do you hear from Seth? Is he safe?”

  “He’s fine. Somewhere in the Pacific is all we know.”

  Luckily by the time Seth’s friend Patty had left the area to work in a defense plant somewhere in Virginia, Daad had come around to letting Anna write to Seth openly. He pretended not to listen when she read his letters aloud, but when she carefully left them open on the table, she knew he devoured every word.

  “We’ll pray he stays safe.” Mary patted her hand.

  Were they more acceptable to their Englisch neighbors because Seth had abandoned their ways and gone to fight? Anna suspected she’d never know the truth of it.

  “Thank you. Your prayers are appreciated.” She sought for something else to say and glanced at the picture albums.

  Mrs. Cochran saw the movement and pulled one onto her lap. “Poor Frank can’t stand to look at these pictures of our boy, but it comforts me. I like to see the happy faces and remember. Look at this one.”

  Anna obeyed, and her heart seemed to stop. Neil, barefoot and grinning, stood holding a string of fish. Next to him was Seth.

  Anna touched the faded black-and-white picture lightly. “I’ve never seen a picture of Seth before.” Her heart seemed to cramp. He’d probably been about twelve in the picture, his hair as fine as corn silk under his summer straw hat, his face caught between childhood and maturity, his grin an echo of Neil’s.

  “I’d forgotten you don’t believe in taking pictures.” Mary’s face clouded. “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have these.”

  “I’m glad you do.” If Seth never came home, they would have to rely on their memories of him. How long would it be before his image blurred and faded? Or would it always stay young and strong in their minds, like Neil in these photographs?

  A movement in the doorway caught her eye, and she realized Neil’s aunt stood there with another visitor, probably waiting for her to relinquish her place. Anna rose, bending to press her cheek against Mary’s for an instant. “May God be with you.” Blinking back tears, she headed for the door.

  Neil’s aunt linked arms with her. “It was good for her to see you, Anna. Will you stay and have something to eat?”

  She shook her head, just as relieved that she had a reason to go and didn’t have to linger in the house of sorrow. “Denke, but I must get home to help my daad and the boys with the chores.”

  “Let me get your basket, then.” She disappeared into the group of women arranging food on the counter and reappeared with the empty basket in her hand.

  “I’ll walk out with Anna.” Mr. Cochran took the basket. “I could use a breath of air.”

  Together they slipped out the back door. He stopped on the porch, holding on to the basket for a moment when she took it. “Your family . . . are they well?”

  She nodded. “Ja, fine.” Or as fine as they could be, working harder than ever and worrying over Seth.

  “Good, good. And your young man? He’s in one of the camps, isn’t he?”

  She hadn’t realized he would know about Jacob, hadn’t expected the question, and had to compose her face before she could answer.


  “He’s in a camp in Maryland right now. He’s been working on a nearby farm over the summer, and they have classes in the evenings.”

  Jacob was busy. That was why he didn’t write so often anymore, she told herself. That only made sense.

  “I’m glad he’s safe. I know you miss him.”

  She nodded. “There’s talk some of them might be sent out west to fight forest fires. He has volunteered to go.” Jacob hadn’t asked what she thought about it. He’d just volunteered to go even farther away. “They might be jumping out of airplanes to fight the fires—smoke jumpers, they call it.”

  “That would be a big change for an Amish boy, wouldn’t it? Still, I guess it’s natural a young man wants to see a little bit of the world. Even when the war ends . . .” He stopped, seeming to fight for control when he thought of that eventuality. “Well, things won’t ever be the same as they were before.”

  “No. I suppose they won’t.”

  She turned away quickly, before he could read too much in her face. Their world wouldn’t be the same. How many of those who’d left would come back from the army or the defense plants or wherever this war had taken them?

  Now it would take Jacob out west, to a place she couldn’t imagine and a job that seemed terrifying and impossible. And he wanted to go.

  That was the hardest thing. Jacob wanted to go. His latest letter was tucked inside her dress, and when she put her hand over her heart she could feel the thin paper.

  Jacob had written it—his handwriting was perfectly familiar. But nothing else about the letter was familiar. He didn’t sound like the Jacob she had fallen in love with at all. It seemed he’d turned into another person . . . a man who no longer mentioned the future they’d dreamed of.

  She had been fighting against the conviction that grew steadily in her heart, but she was losing. It must have been another world in which she’d sat at her desk, writing in her diary while she waited to hear the bobwhite call that told her Jacob was there. Wherever Jacob was now and wherever he went, she feared he would never come back to her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Rebecca knelt at the edge of the strawberry bed. A few berries had ripened already, enough, anyway, for a little treat after supper. If the warm, sunny days continued, the patch would be overflowing in a week.

  She held a ripe berry in her fingers, lifting it to inhale its aroma for an instant before dropping it in the small berry basket. It would be nice if the only thing that clouded her thoughts was wondering what to do with this year’s crop of strawberries.

  The sound of voices interrupted her before her worries could climb back onto the same familiar track. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Barbie and Simon stood talking in the backyard—teasing each other, by the look of it. Cousins so close in age were really more like brother and sister, and Barbie was always one to tease.

  Simon walked off toward the barn, grinning, and Barbie came to join her.

  “The beds are made up, and the rooms are clean and ready for the next batch of guests.” Barbie bent, picked a ripe berry, and popped it in her mouth.

  It was on the tip of Rebecca’s tongue to say there wouldn’t be any more guests. Cancelling the season would be easy enough—she didn’t have that many reservations. Maybe it was time to give up and admit that she couldn’t run this business.

  “What’s going on with Simon?” Barbie asked, dropping a few berries in Rebecca’s basket.

  “Going on?” Rebecca blinked, a flock of new worries presenting themselves. “What did he say? Did he have trouble with the guests?”

  “No, nothing like that at all.” Barbie’s smooth forehead wrinkled in thought. “We were just joking around, the way we always do. And all of a sudden he comes out with asking me how sure a person should be before deciding to get married.”

  “Goodness.” Rebecca would have been dumbfounded if he’d said it to her.

  Barbie’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe he’s having second thoughts about Mary Ann. Wouldn’t that be a shocker for her and her mother!”

  “Barbie, you shouldn’t. Maybe . . . maybe they are having problems, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to break up.”

  “You know something.” Barbie seized her arm. “Tell me, schnell.”

  “You’re going to spill the berries.” Rebecca removed Barbie’s hand from her arm. “I don’t know anything. I just thought . . . Well, Simon has been spending so much time helping Daadi and working on the farm-stay that he hasn’t had much left for Mary Ann.”

  “Has she been complaining? No, don’t bother to deny it—I’m sure she has. Don’t forget we’re about the same age. What you don’t know about somebody after going through eight grades of school with them isn’t worth knowing. Mary Ann always complains.”

  “It’s natural that she’d be jealous . . . I mean, that she’d want more of Simon’s time. I shouldn’t expect so much of him.” And there she was, right back at another reason why she should give up the farm-stay.

  “Rubbish,” Barbie declared. “Only a girl who was totally self-centered would give a man a hard time for helping his family when they need him. She ought to realize that if he’d let them down, he’d let her down, too, sooner or later.”

  Rebecca sat back on her heels in the warm grass, staring at Barbie. The girl was constantly surprising her. Who would expect such wisdom from her?

  “Mary Ann’s not so bad.” She felt obliged to defend Simon’s choice. After all, Mary Ann might well become her sister-in-law.

  Barbie shrugged. “She’d be all right if her mother would stay out of things, but she never will. Ada is such a busybody. And haven’t you ever noticed how often girls turn out just like their mothers?”

  “That’s what I’ve always thought, but I certain-sure wouldn’t say so to Simon.”

  “Maybe somebody should,” Barbie said. “Imagine waking up and finding you’ve married somebody like Ada King.”

  “You can’t tell Simon so. And anyway, that’s not necessarily true.”

  “It’s especially so with oldest daughters,” Barbie said, sounding sure of herself. “Look at you. You’re just like your mamm—always putting other people first, devoted to your family. And if Mary Ann turns out just like her mother . . .” She grinned. “Well, all I can say is that Simon better get out while he can.”

  Rebecca couldn’t stop her mouth from twitching in response. “You’re full of wisdom today, ain’t so?”

  “You didn’t expect it of me.” Barbie’s eyes twinkled. “Nobody gives me credit for having any brains.”

  “That’s not true. Look how well you’ve managed with the guests.” Rebecca frowned down at the berries. “Better than I do. Those people this weekend . . .” She hesitated. They’d made her feel like a failure. Worse, they’d convinced her.

  “A farm-stay vacation isn’t for everyone.” Barbie ruffled her fingers along the row of bright green leaves, looking for more ripe berries. “Those four didn’t know what to do with themselves when they didn’t have all their electronics. And they didn’t want to join in on any of the chores.” She made a face. “Did you hear that one woman complaining about ruining her manicure if she so much as patted a horse? It’s just too bad they didn’t realize a farm-stay wasn’t going to suit them before they came instead of afterward.”

  “There should have been something I could do.” Although the truth was that Rebecca couldn’t think of anything, which maybe just proved that she was in the wrong business.

  “Nothing would have helped with them,” Barbie said darkly. “By the way, is Matt going to be back before the next guests arrive? Because if he isn’t, we’ll have to think of something to take the place of visiting the workshop.”

  Rebecca’s heart jolted so at the sound of his name that it was a moment before the meaning of Barbie’s words sank in. “What do you mean, back?”

  Barb
ie blinked, her lips forming a silent O. “I assumed you knew. He’s gone away. You mean he didn’t mention it to you?”

  “No, he didn’t say anything.” Her heart hurt at the thought of the words they’d hurled at each other the last time she’d seen him. “Where did you hear he’d left?”

  “I ran into his cousin Sadie at the grocery store. She mentioned it.”

  “Did she say where he’s gone?” Rebecca hoped she didn’t sound too eager.

  “No.” Barbie frowned slightly. “Now that I think of it, she was rather vague about it. She didn’t say where, or why, or when he’d be coming back.”

  Or if, Rebecca thought.

  She shouldn’t jump to conclusions. After all, he’d been talking about trying to find Isaiah. Maybe he’d gone in search of his cousin. Maybe his leaving had nothing to do with her at all.

  Even so, she couldn’t see that it made much difference. Matt had left without a word to her about it. She shouldn’t be so surprised, after what had happened between them.

  She hadn’t thought it could hurt any more than it already did, but she’d been wrong.

  Matthew had put a wall between them. She’d seen it going up, brick by brick, with every hurtful word.

  Now he wasn’t only safely behind his protective walls. He was gone entirely, and with his leaving, she realized something. She loved him. She’d never intended to. Never even thought of it until it was too late.

  A chill went through her. Too late. Matthew was gone, and even if he returned, he wouldn’t be coming back to her.

  • • •

  Matt slid out of the car and stood for a moment, stretching. He’d rather put in a hard day’s work than sit in a car for hours. In contrast, Joe Davis seemed perfectly satisfied to stay behind the wheel. Even now, he unfolded a newspaper and leaned back in his seat instead of getting out and moving now that they were stopped.

  Matt bent down to speak through the open window. “You sure you’re okay to wait?”

  “Fine. Take your time.” He waved Matt away. “I’m in no hurry.”