Three weeks had passed since Caleb had ironed everything out with his father. Three weeks since he’d realized that he was destined to join the church and take his place in the family. Three weeks since the Lord had led him to a new understanding.
Ever since the decision had been made, a new tranquility had descended on his family. Instead of being torn that he didn’t want to follow in either his father’s or his brother Joshua’s footsteps, the opposite had happened. Now jokes were made about Caleb being “his grandfather’s son.” The new title felt good.
For all the conversations and decisions that had been made, much of his life stayed the same. He finished up his punishment chores, and gladly gave Anson back his duties—much to his brother’s dismay. He still worked at the store a few days a week. But this time he resented it less because he knew it wasn’t his destiny.
Every now and then, Caleb also took some time for himself. One of his favorite places was still Mrs. Miller’s home. He’d gotten lucky one afternoon when he’d stopped by; she’d greeted him with a fresh-made batch of pumpkin cookies.
“Here you go, Caleb,” she said as she placed a plate in front of them. “They’re still so warm, the cream cheese icing is practically dripping off of them. I got you a nice mug of hot chocolate, too.”
From other ladies, he might have struggled with feeling like he was being babied. From Mrs. Miller, though, he always enjoyed her fussing.
“They smell wonderful. Danke.” After a brief—very brief—prayer of thanks, he took a hearty bite.
Closing his eyes in pleasure, he was happy to realize that they were, indeed, as good as they looked. “You make the best cookies.”
“I like to bake, that’s all,” she said modestly. But even her humble words couldn’t hide her glow of happiness at receiving his compliment. “Now, I’ve heard about how you’re not going to go live with the English family. And, how you aren’t all that anxious to hang out with those English boys around town, either. What are you planning to do?”
Even the small reminder of his scary afternoon at the police station made Caleb shudder. “I visited the brickyard. Though they can’t promise me anything, the manager said there was a good chance I could work for him as soon as I turn eighteen.”
“Are you all right with that? Eighteen is still two years away.”
“I think I am.” He shrugged. “Now that I don’t feel like I’m being pushed into a future not of my choosing, I seem to be able to breathe easier.”
“That’s always a gut feeling, I think. And friends?”
“I have some. Enough.”
“I’ve often found that it’s the quality of friends that count, far more than the quantity,” she mused.
“I’m finding that to be true.” Lately, he had been leaning toward “quality” friends, friends who he knew were likely to be there for him through thick or thin. He’d been writing to Eric Leonard, and he had promised to visit one day soon. He’d also renewed ties with some of his childhood friends from the Amish school.
They’d accepted him after minor misgivings and were proving to be extremely close. Those boys all had the same background as he did. They also felt the same as he about their faith. He’d been such a fool to push them all away when he’d been so sure he belonged among the English.
He’d been so centered on only his wants and needs that he’d neglected to realize that so many of the other boys his age were going through the same things that he was.
“I’m happy for you. And relieved.” Mrs. Miller set a cookie on the napkin in front of her. “I would have been happy to help you with whatever you wanted to do, but honestly, some of the paths you were researching were scary ones. I’ve heard that even adults have a difficult time if they leave the order and move away.”
“I’m happy I’m not fighting with my parents as much anymore, too.” Actually, he didn’t think he could put into words how relieved he was to be able to have regular conversations with them. The constant thread of tension had been exhausting.
Eyes brightening, Mrs. Miller murmured, “And Anson? How’s he doing?”
In spite of himself, Caleb grinned. His brother was a favorite of most everybody’s. “Anson? Oh, he’s the same. He’s still a pain, but Judith and I finally talked to Mamm and Daed about how we felt about Anson and Carrie not picking up enough slack. Once we started giving examples, they believed us and came round to our way of thinking. So he and Carrie are doing lots more.”
He’d just taken a sip from the hot chocolate when the back door opened and a girl scampered in.
“Mrs. Miller, I’m so sorry I’m late. I ended up having to help carry some vegetables to my parents’ stand, and you know how that goes.”
Mrs. Miller stood up. “That’s quite all right, Rebecca.” She looked Caleb’s way. “Heavens! I didn’t mean to be rude. Do you two know each other?”
Slowly the girl turned around. Just as Caleb got to his feet, and gaped. “Rebecca Yoder?”
A dimple appeared as she smiled hesitantly. “Hi, Caleb.”
Mrs. Miller clasped her hands together. “Oh, so you two do know each other!”
“A little bit,” Rebecca allowed.
Unable to look away from that smile, he murmured, “You moved, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “Two years ago.” Turning to Mrs. Miller, she explained. “We moved to the other side of Sugarcreek when my father inherited his parents’ farm.”
“It’s good to see you again,” he said weakly. Then flushed. How could he sound so dumb?
Rebecca played with a fold in her apron. “Why don’t you come to any of the singings?”
“I…I was thinking I just might start.”
Her golden eyes sparkled. “There’s one this Sunday night. It’s at our home. You should come. I mean…if you want.”
“I’ll probably go.” Then, afraid he looked too eager, he said more slowly, “I mean, I will if I don’t have anything else to do.”
Her cheeks turned pink. Then, looking as flustered as he felt, she turned away. “Mrs. Miller, what would you like me to do today?”
“Dust the bookshelves in the library, please. Then, if you have time, I’d like you to mop the floors upstairs.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Before turning to go, she darted a quick glance his way. But before he could think of anything to say, she turned away.
Caleb couldn’t resist following her movements as she gracefully walked out of the room and down the hall to the library.
Mrs. Miller noticed. “She’s a nice girl, that Rebecca.”
“Yes. I mean, she seems nice.”
“So, you two were in school together when you were young?”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised you two never mentioned each other.”
“We didn’t know each other back then. She looked different. And shy.”
“I think she’s mighty pretty,” said Mrs. Miller.
Oh, she was. She was terribly pretty. And there was something about her eyes that made him curious to know what she was thinking.
But he felt funny saying any of that. So he took another bite of cookie instead.