Peter’s voice was harsh in the early morning light. “You invited me back and here I am, though I wish you had allowed me to speak last night.”
His mouth was a hard line as he stared at Rebekah from beneath his hat. The scar above his eye gave him a fierce look, but she wasn’t afraid, despite the presence of the pistols on his hips.
Curious, she’d decided last night beneath the moonlight. But not afraid.
Joseph appeared at her side. “Breakfast is on the table. Won’t you come in and join us?”
Peter huffed. “I ought to have known you’d be here.” Slowly, he removed his hat. “Yes, I believe I will.” Stepping between them, he walked with confidence to the table.
Elnora and Samuel rose politely.
“You can sit here,” Rebekah whispered. She touched the back of a chair. Peter nodded.
Easing around the table, she took the seat next to Joseph and across from Peter. An uneasy silence blanketed the table that, moments before, had been bustling.
Samuel spoke first. “We’ve already blessed this meal, Peter, so you are welcome to help yourself.”
Peter ran a hand through his blond mane. “Much obliged.” He picked up the plate Rebekah had set for him and pointed to a tin which sat just out of reach. “Biscuit, please.”
Careful to keep her face expressionless, she passed the biscuits. Joseph even ignored the special cinnamon rolls she’d made especially for him. Still, no one spoke.
After dumping two ladles of gravy over the fluffy pastries, Peter finally sighed. “I reckon I’ll simply say what I’ve come to say.”
He focused his burning stare on Rebekah. “I came before ʼcause I heard tell it might be true and I had to see for myself. Now, I know that it is.”
Rebekah cut her eyes to Joseph, who sat nearer to her than usual. The warmth radiating from his body was comforting, as though he would protect her no matter what important piece of news Peter had brought.
He glanced back at her and their eyes locked for a brief moment.
Thank goodness we are in this together.
“Two decades ago, a family came across the Pike in a covered wagon. They left their home in Philadelphia, packed what they could, and headed west.”
Elnora dropped her fork. It met her breakfast plate in a clatter. Rebekah looked at her, but her mother didn’t retrieve the fork. Samuel reached across and laid a hand on his wife’s arm.
Ma is trembling.
Peter waited until everyone was quiet before he continued.
“A woman named Sara and her husband Wesley were driving the wagon. In the back was the older brother, and Hannah, the baby. Not too far from this place right here, there was an accident.”
Rebekah leaned forward, her eyebrows knitted together.
“Sara and Wesley were killed. It seems they collided with a runaway wagon. Those folks were killed, too.”
Rebekah was powerless to stem her curiosity. “What about the children?”
Peter laced his fingers over his plate. He continued his recitation as though he’d practiced it for years.
Or decades.
“The boy lived. He was about seven years of age and by some miracle, a passing wagon picked him up as he was running back east. That wagon was headed to Pennsylvania, so they took the boy in.”
“And the girl?” Rebekah’s voice was a whisper.
“It was thought that she was killed, too. But one day, when the boy was all grown up, he came looking for his sister. See…” Peter ran his hand through his hair again. “Those folks who took the boy east were old. They died when he was still only a spud, so that sister is the only family he’s got in the world.”
Elnora still hadn’t looked up. Even the throng of boys was quiet.
“I figured the first place to start looking was the scene of the accident. A youngster by the name of Elijah, I believe, sure had a belly-load of answers for all my questions. He’s the one pointed me this way.”
Joseph’s fist clenched and unclenched in his lap.
Rebekah leaned back in her chair. “So, what are you saying, Peter?”
The man glanced at the faces around the breakfast table. “Well, what I’m saying is—”
Elnora’s voice was so quiet it would have gone unheard if not for the deafening stillness of the room. “It was an Indian attack that killed those folks. Not a runaway wagon.”
Peter sucked in a deep breath and nodded.
Samuel pushed his chair back from the table, making everyone jump in unison.
Peter paid him no mind and shifted his gaze to Rebekah. “I’m that boy.”
Rebekah kept her face expressionless as her father rose from his seat. Following suit, Joseph rose, too.
Samuel’s normally melodic voice was flat. “I think you’d better leave now.”
The visitor pushed back from the table and looked first at Joseph, then at Samuel. “You boys gonna throw me out then?” He smiled. “It’d take a whole lot more of you than this.”
Slowly, he stood.
Joseph’s face was contorted in planes Rebekah had never seen before. “No, we’re not throwing you out. You’re leaving on your own. Now come on.”
The two men moved around opposite sides of the table and herded Peter to the front door.
Jamming his hat on his head, he waved his hands in mock defeat. “You boys win.”
Rebekah stood. Peter locked eyes with her over Joseph’s shoulder. “You’re not Rebekah. Your name is Hannah and you’re my sister.”
Joseph slammed the door, but it was too late.
The men hovered near the door as Rebekah searched for someone to help her make sense of the Peter’s strange tale.
“Is it true, Ma?”
Elnora, who hadn’t looked up from her lap since she’d dropped her fork, sniffled. The sobs, which had been quiet, now came long and loud. They tore from her mother like screams from a laboring woman.
Slowly, Rebekah turned. “Pa?”
She searched his face as the tears welled in her eyes. Hating her weakness, she swiped at them with the back of her hand. “Is it true, Pa? Am I not even your daughter?”
“Rebekah, we never meant to—”
The tears she’d willed not to fall spilled over and hung in her lashes until they dropped onto her cheeks. Anger flashed within her as she turned her face toward the ceiling. “Never meant to what? Lie to me? Never meant to correct me when I called you Father and Mother?”
Thomas released a sob. “Stop it, sissy, you’re scaring me.”
She ignored him and flickered her hot stare to Joseph. “You knew about this all along, didn’t you?”
He recoiled as though she’d slapped him.
“That’s enough.” Elnora dabbed her face with a hanky and silenced her sobs. “The Grabers knew about this. Everyone did.” Her voice was serious. “But Joseph was only a baby when your pa and I found you, naked and hungry, under a bush.”
Rebekah drew in a shuddering breath. “Everyone knows about this? Everyone but me?” The anger threatened to flare again.
“Rebekah, you’ll take your seat, or you’ll leave this table. Understood?”
She dropped her gaze coolly to meet Elnora’s. “This isn’t my table.”
Rebekah left her breakfast dishes untouched and stalked across the sitting area. When she reached the door, she stopped. Samuel stepped aside. Glimmering tears flecked his eyelashes. Joseph had already gone.
She kept her voice low so that only Samuel could hear. “I’ll be— I’ll be—” She blew out a haughty breath and grasped the doorknob. “Oh, I don’t know where I’ll be.” She marched out the door and let it slam behind her.
***
“There is not one person I can turn to right now.” Tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks. The weight of Peter’s words grew heavier by the moment, and if Rebekah didn’t confide in someone soon, she feared she might explode.
She lifted her skirt and ran until she heard it. The soft sounds of someone who would understand. Someone who didn’t already know the whole sordid story. Someone who hadn’t kept it from her.
She flung herself into the sweet-smelling hay and wrapped her arms around Buttermilk’s neck. Burying her face in the calf’s warm hide, she sobbed until there were no more tears left to cry. With those out of the way, she could finally talk.
“Oh, Buttermilk, why did this have to happen? And now of all times?”
The tiny calf craned her neck to look at her. “Blehhhh.”
“They lied to me all these years, Buttermilk. They lied.”
A twig popped. Her already pounding heart skipped a beat. “They didn’t lie, Rebekah. They merely never told you.”
Joseph ambled over, a sprig of grass in his teeth.
She swiped at her face. It felt puffy and a bit soggy. “Did you know, Joseph? And please don’t lie.”
He squatted and looked her squarely in the eye. “No. I didn’t know.”
Rebekah flicked a potato bug off her dress. The calf leaned to investigate it. “If you had known, would you have told me?”
“Of course.”
She shoved her hand under a scattering of hay. “Really?”
“Really. I have never kept anything from you, Rebekah, and I never will.”
She sighed. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Joseph folded his lanky frame into the straw beside her. “Are you asking me or Buttermilk?”
Her heart was too heavy to smile at his gentle joke. “You.”
He picked up a long stick of straw and commenced doodling in the dirt. “Well, since you asked, I’ll tell you. First thing you need to do is talk to God. Then, you need to apologize to your parents for the way you treated them. After that, talk to your brothers, especially Thomas. They love you so and are innocent in all of this.”
Content with his speech, Joseph dropped the straw.
Rebekah couldn’t fathom an answer. The emptiness was too much. She simply watched the dust motes drift their twirly dance in the bright sunrays in the barn’s door. “Can we go for a walk?”
Joseph stood and offered her his hand. “Of course. You should tell your parents we are going, though. No doubt they’re worried.”
Lacing her fingers together, she stared at them. “Perhaps you could tell them for me?”
He nodded and turned toward the house. Her house. Where she’d lived, made memories, made mistakes, and been loved. Her house, where she’d delivered the newest Stoll baby. Where she’d prayed, quilted, and worshipped. Fresh feelings of stabbing pain filled her chest. With her eyes closed, Rebekah started toward the lake.
A moment later, Joseph caught up. It didn’t take long with his lengthy strides in comparison to her shorter, unfocused ones. “Your parents send a message. They asked me to tell you that when you’re ready to talk, they’ll be there.”
She turned her face up to him. “Thank you. I will, when I have the right words.”
He nodded. There was no evidence of any sort of smile on his handsome face. “They also said to tell you that they love you. And that the decision to go back and live English or stay here with us is yours and yours alone. They’ll respect it, either way.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets.
Even if his hand had brushed hers, as it had last night, she wouldn’t have felt up to holding it anyway. She eased herself down on the bank and hugged her knees to her chest.
Before long, the honey-like scent of the tulip tree, the one he’d used to carve their fishing poles, filled the air.
That seems like a lifetime ago now.
A couple of birds chittered back and forth in perfect singsong time, but Rebekah didn’t try to pick out what kind they were. Her heart was simply too heavy.
“Rebekah, there is something—” Joseph fidgeted in his pockets and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We were about to speak of it last night when Peter came, but I really feel I need to say it now, if you’ll let me.”
She stared out over the glistening water. A fish jumped and sent a splashing ripple across the lake. “Okay, Joseph.”
None of the enthusiasm from the previous night could be found in her words.
His gaze burned on the exposed skin of her neck as he sat carefully beside her. Still, she didn’t meet his eyes. “I have feelings for you, Rebekah. You and only you.”
Rebekah’s heart thudded in her chest. She wanted to be excited to hear these words from the lips of the man who’d stolen her heart so long ago, but there was too much new information to process to even allow the moment to be enjoyable. Tears pricked her eyes as Joseph proceeded to unburden his heart of all the right words at the completely wrong time.
“The more I’ve prayed about them—and about you—the stronger these feelings have grown.” Still, his stare burned on her skin.
He is willing me to look up.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
“They’ve been building for years, Rebekah.” Slowly, he placed his hand on hers.
Please, don’t continue.
Rebekah kept her hand immovable beneath his. “Joseph—” She pressed her hand deeper into the soft dirt.
This particular spot would be perfect for worm hunting if we were here to fish.
Not one to be deterred, Joseph stroked her fingers with his. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you, Rebekah.”
His words echoed over the water and hung there between them in the still spring air.
A lone tear slid down her cheek. “Joseph, Samuel and Elnora have always told all us kids what love was. They said people make it more difficult but that a real, lasting love is really simple.” She pulled both her hands into her lap and left Joseph’s alone in the dirt. She didn’t bother to wipe away the tear before she finally turned to face him. “Love is understanding.”
Joseph bobbed his head. “My parents have said the same thing.”
Rebekah could see the uncertainty in his eyes and having to say words that would cause him pain burned at the raw ends of her already broken heart. “I can’t love you if I don’t love myself…not the kind of love you deserve.”
Rebekah stood and stepped toward the lake, unable to watch while she didn’t return his profession of the world’s most precious sentiment. “And I don’t understand anything right now, especially not myself.”
He was silent.
“I’m sorry, Joseph. I can’t love and understand you if I don’t love and understand myself.”
With a tear-streaked face, she finally turned away from the water. Joseph, though, was no longer there.
Rebekah sank to the ground and folded her arms across her knees. Broken sobs tore from her throat, resonating from the depths of her very soul. Her shoulders shook, and the tears were never ending.
I forced Joseph away, my oldest friend in the world. Now, I’m truly all alone.
The sun had already begun its daily rush toward the western horizon by the time Rebekah felt able to head back to the Stoll homestead. With steps as painfully slow as she could muster, Rebekah trudged across a field of wheat that bordered the English road that led to Montgomery. Never before had she ever dared walk this close to the road and never alone.
Before she got halfway across the waving wheat field, an English wagon came into view. The sounds of laughing children in the wagon bed tinkled through the air, much like the happy sound of water trickling in a creek.
Rebekah’s pulse thudded in her ears.
Should I run or should I hide here in the wheat?
Before she could decide, a movement from the opposite end of the road caught her eye. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized it was an Amish buggy.
She studied the buggy for a moment.
That’s Katie and Annie’s buggy. A wide grin parted her lips and for a moment, she thought about waving. The girls were nowhere in sight. Only their father sat in the driver’s box.
Mr. Knepp must be heading back to Gasthof Village from selling his hand-hewn chairs in Montgomery.
A thought burst into Rebekah’s mind so quickly, she sprinted forward a few steps.
Maybe he can give me a ride home.
Before she could wave or call out, the horse pulling the Knepp buggy stumbled and fell.
Adrenaline surged as a sickening knot formed in her throat, then sank to the pit of her stomach. The smile that had been on her lips melted into a frown.
Slowing politely, the English wagon crept past the Amish buggy.
Oh, not Mr. Knepp. God, why? Why would tragedy befall him, a man of the gentlest sort?
Heat burned in Rebekah’s cheeks and neck. “I cannot be one of them! They didn’t even stop to help.” Her angry rant through clenched teeth trailed off into the Indiana breeze as the English wagon ground to a halt in the road.
Curiosity cooled her burst of fear and Rebekah watched as the driver got down and trotted back to inspect Mr. Knepp’s horse.
“She’s lame,” the Englishman called out. His words were laced with a strange accent. The musical laughter of the English children ceased as the man’s wife climbed down and unhooked one of their horses from the wagon.
Rebekah’s jaw dropped as the Englishman, whistling a jolly tune that carried on the breeze, proceeded to help Mr. Knepp’s old mare up and tied her to the back of the Amish buggy before he hooked his own horse up carefully to the front.
When he’d finished, he stuck out his hand to Mr. Knepp. The pair nodded at each other before the Englishman rejoined his family in his wagon and continued on his way.
Or perhaps I could.
A lone tear trickled down her cheek.
She glanced at the horizon where the sun sank lower still.
Tonight, by moonlight, I will take the long way home.
***
An owl, no doubt hunting for a meal, hooted as she passed beneath a low-hanging branch. Rebekah clutched her cape tighter about her shoulders. Normally, such an unexpected sound under the cover of darkness would have frightened her, but not tonight. Tonight, she was on her own.
A skunk, mostly white and unlike those she’d seen, skittered along the bank of the stream. “Good evening, little skunk.”
She watched as the smallish creature ran, her coat gleaming in the moon’s rays. “You look so soft.”
The skunk paused to sniff at a clump of reeds.
“You’ve always known who you are, what you are, and where you come from.” She watched as the animal disappeared into the understory. “Not like me.”
A voice came to her, as soft and gentle as the night’s breeze. You love me and I love you. I will always be with you, and always love you, no matter what name you choose to go by.
Rebekah felt the words in her heart as much as she heard them in her mind.
A beaver eased into the water from his slide on the riverbank. A pair of night birds chittered overhead. There, amid some of God’s most innocent creatures, Rebekah began to pray aloud.
“Thank you, Father. I know you will always remain faithful, as will I. But what should I do? I am not who I thought I was. I chose not to live with the English on Rumspringa and yet I am English.”
You are Rebekah Stoll, loved by Elnora and Samuel. And Joseph.
“But Father, they lied—”
And Peter. You are loved by Peter, too.
Rebekah considered this and quickened her steps. “Is it all right to love Joseph back?”
Nothing has changed. You are still you, Joseph is still him. He gave his heart to you with my blessing and after much prayer.
“Oh, Father, but I’ve pushed all my family away, the only family I’ve ever known.” Rebekah lifted her skirt and began to jog. “I wish I had taken the short way home.” She swept along the path, breathing in the air that had taken on a chill. Her covering strings flounced about. “Please forgive me, Father. I am sorry for having acted selfishly.”
She slowed her running and dropped to her knees. Clasping her hands together at her chin, Rebekah closed her eyes. “I ask for forgiveness in Jesus’ name. Please give me the words to apologize to my parents. I love them so and never meant to hurt them. And to Joseph. Amen.”
The peaceful voice was there again. Never forget who you are, Rebekah Stoll. Go forth and show my love in your actions, in your words, and in your thoughts.
Tears of humble gratitude shimmered on her lashes. “Thank you, Father.”
Rebekah rose and hurried along the path, but a foreign sound distracted her. In the understory, something was struggled, shaking the leaves on a low shrub. Whatever it was whimpered.
Rebekah knelt and pulled back a limber branch with one hand. There, with a snare around its paw, stood a large porcupine. She released the branch and scurried backward.
“Pa says not to go near porcupine,” she told the stuck creature from the safety of the other side of the leaves. “Those quills will hurt.”
It whimpered again, soft and helpless.
Two little shadows emerged from under the bush.
“Oh!” Rebekah let her eyes adjust to the falling darkness. “Are these your babies?”
Two tiny quilled creatures milled about and didn’t stray far from their mother. The porcupine whimpered again.
“The English must have set snares, though I can’t figure why. Pa mentioned people called trappers once, but I’ve never seen one.” Gingerly, she pulled the branch back again. The animal tugged at the snare. She succeeded only in making it tighter.
Show my love in your actions to all my creatures.
Rebekah crouched and held the branch back with her body, while taking care not to squash any baby porcupines. “All right, mama, I’m talk to you while I set you free from that snare.”
The large porcupine stood motionless, her dark eyes studying Rebekah’s every move.
God, help me.
She eased her hands forward. “Now, mama, I’ll lift you up so I can loosen that snare. Don’t be scared, though. I’m scared enough for both of us.”
Cautiously, she slid her hands beneath the prickly animal.
“Good job, mama.” Shifting her weight, she held the hefty animal against her side with one hand and worked the snare free from her paw with the other. “Now, we’re almost done, and you’ll be free to go on your way with your family.”
Family.
Rebekah ignored the sheen of sweat that had formed on her neck and eased the heavy animal back to the ground. “All done.”
The mother porcupine’s large nostrils flared as she breathed in the human’s scent. Her babies still meandered around, oblivious to the goings on. Pressing her flat face against Rebekah’s hand, the animal made a whuff before she turned away.
She sucked in her lower lip, waiting for any quills to fly. They didn’t. The large porcupine, who weighed about as much as Beanie, lumbered into the woods with her babies trailing behind her.
Through me, all things are possible.
“Even coming back from this mess is possible,” Rebekah reasoned aloud. “If I can free a wild animal from a trap, I can get over being human.”
Enthusiasm filled her mind, replacing the emptiness, fear, and resentment that had threatened to consume her. Suddenly eager to get home, Rebekah jerked the snare from the ground and stuffed it into her dress pocket. Two more sat nearby, undisturbed. She snatched those free, too.
“Thank you, Father,” she prayed aloud. Her steps quickened to a run. “Thank you!”