New York City
“How do the women in this town walk around, looking like their feet don’t hurt, in those giant, tall shoes?” The trip, coupled with exhaustion and a bit of impatience, had brought out Rebekah’s candor.
“Judging, Miss Stoll?” Joseph’s jocular tone irked her.
“No.” She held her quilting bag close as she trailed along behind Peter and Joseph in the early morning sunlight. Something told her to keep it near, keep it safe. “Just an observation from a fellow girl whose feet are crying and begging for mercy. And I made these shoes, with Ma’s help, to fit my feet special. I can’t imagine walking in those.”
Peter checked the docks just prior to sunrise, and was satisfied that Katie was not there. “I asked a sailor, though,” he assured them. “And he said most ships set sail in the late morning. English certainly aren’t efficient users of time. They could get so much more done if they just got up and got started earlier.”
Joseph’s eyes sparkled as they walked away from the gray sea. “Like brother, like sister. Both of you show your English side when you’re tired and impatient.”
Rebekah’s mouth fell open. “Joseph, how dare—”
“You could have done better, you know.”
Rebekah ignored the fact that Joseph interrupted her as they picked their way down the cloddy street to the tune of clanking horse hooves. “Better? At what?”
“At the apple pie at the diner.” Mischief played at the corners of his mouth. “Come on, I know you were thinking it. I saw you wrinkle your nose when you took your first bite.”
“Oh no.” Rebekah covered her lips with her fingers. “I hope I didn’t appear rude, I didn’t even realize.”
“Natural reaction.” Joseph shrugged. “Nobody noticed but me, I’m sure.”
“Did the crust taste funny to you?” Rebekah remembered the terrible bite that she’d all but choked down then passed off to Noah, who accepted it wholeheartedly. “And something in the apples themselves?”
“You mean the undercooked chunks of bruised apple that tasted like they were taken off the tree, sat in a barrel until they were almost bad, then cut with uncaring hands and thrown into a crust where the cook misread the directions?”
Rebekah’s lower lip trembled until she couldn’t help but laugh. “Joseph, if traveling into the English world makes me cranky and impatient, it makes you sound like some sort of English poet with a better accent.”
As they shared a laugh, Joseph reached to tuck a wayward lock of hair into her bonnet. “You’re still beautiful. Even if you are cranky and impatient.”
His words quieted her laughter and replaced the happy feeling with one of longing. Longing for their wedding day. His touch against her cheek left a burning trail that took its time to fizzle out.
“I am excited to become your wife, Joseph Graber,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I have a distrustful and doubtful nature lately. It’s just Katie...”
Joseph tucked his hands into his pockets and listened. “I understand. She is a pretty girl too, but she knows it.”
“You think she’s pretty then?”
“By looks alone, yes.” Joseph stared at the ground. “Don’t you?”
Rebekah shrugged. “I suppose. She’s different than me. Everything I’m not.”
“She’s also missing everything I want.”
“And what is it you want?”
“You.”
Rebekah stopped walking. “What do you mean?”
Joseph stopped with her. “I mean, it’s like God made us to be one. I found what I was looking for in you, Rebekah, before I was even old enough to look for it.”
Her heart quickened to a gallop in her chest.
“It’s like this. We see life the same. You with one eye and me with the other.”
Rebekah, a moment ago feeling so romantic and close to Joseph, burst out laughing. “That’s a sight, Joseph Graber.”
Joseph pointed beside one of his eyes. “My eye says, ‘Wow, look at that building. How many Amish men would it take to raise that in a day?’” He put another finger at his other eye, pointing the other direction. “Joseph look at that horse,” he said in his best, terrible impression of Rebekah’s voice. “Who did they task with cleaning up after their horses? If the English are going to have horses, they should have an Amish person teach them how to take care of them properly.”
Tears streamed down Rebekah’s face, as they usually did when Joseph got on a giddy streak. “I—I don’t sound like that,” she managed, eyes squinted shut. She dropped her voice low. “Do I sound like that now?”
He laughed with her.
This is it. This is what love feels like.
In that instant, Rebekah vowed to let go of thoughts of Katie and Joseph. Joseph was an ocean, deep and mysterious, and somehow, always finding the humor in situations, even less than stellar ones. Even dire ones. He always found the funny bone. She was a deep ocean too. She’d always thought that. Or at least a moderately-sized lake. Rebekah chewed her lip and fought the smile that grew there.
Katie was a shallow stream, frothy and bubbling and moving. Discontent, passionate, hardheaded. She was a lot like Peter. The two of them reminded Rebekah of two streams, bubbling and tumbling along, until they collide with each other. Then, after many rapids and maybe even waterfalls, they join together and make a mightier river.
Her mother’s voice was quiet in her ears. Silly to worry.
“We’re going to find her,” Rebekah said, never more sure of anything in her life. “And she’s going to come home with us.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Peter’s charged voice interrupted them. “There you two are,” he huffed. His face fairly glowed red, making his lightning like scar shine all the more. It appeared as though he’d been crying. “We’re apt to lose her. I just know it. We have to hurry!”
“No.” Rebekah, calm in knowing they were going to find Katie and everything was going to be okay, crossed her arms. “Hurrying is the work of the devil and you know that.”
Peter stood in front of her, his chest heaving. One suspender had fallen off his shoulder and he looked on the outside how he looked to feel on the inside. Disheveled. Unkept. Terrified and unsure.
“Now, we need to talk to God, Peter.”
“What in the world are you talking about Rebekah?” His charged voice erupted with a boom. “We can’t stop now...”
She turned her back on Peter, her heart pounding. “Come on Joseph.”
“Where are we going?” Joseph sounded exasperated.
“In there.”
“What is that place?”
“Rebekah, what are you...”
Without answering either one of them, she strode up the giant stone steps and into the double wood doors beneath the words Church of Our Lady of the Scapular of Mount Caramel.
A church service was going on, and all the people were standing when the three of them walked inside. Rebekah slid into a pew on the back row. Joseph and Peter followed.
Peter looked defeated as he looked down at his sister. His shoulders hung low and his bottom lip protruded, like a tot in a tantrum.
Oblivious to those around them and what they were doing, standing up, kneeling, sitting down, Rebekah clasped her hands together and began to pray in whispering tones. “God, you brought us safely this far. You showed my heart the truth and you’ve helped me in more ways than I can count on this trip. Not helped, blessed.”
Rebekah peeked at the boys. Both had their eyes shut fast and hands clasped before them too. The door in the back opened, urging Rebekah to peek over her shoulder. A man in a brown robe, with what looked to be a rope at the middle, shuffled outside.
Plain, Rebekah thought. Like us.
She turned back and continued her prayer. “You calmed my heart God, with the assurance that we would find Katie and that she would return with us and all would be well. I trust in your assurance, Father, but somehow know that our work here is not done yet. You brought us, and Katie, here for a reason. Help us do Your will, Father, and spread your love around this town, that so sorely needs it. In Jesus’s Name...”
Peter coughed. “And help us, Father, to leave this place better than we found it.”
“Amen,” the three of them said together.
The door to the church opened and closed again, but Rebekah didn’t bother to look back.
“There’s a lot of activity going on during their church service, with people coming and going,” she mused. “Including us, I guess.”
“Nobody really seems to mind,” Joseph observed. “Nobody even looked up.”
The three of them sat in reverent silence, staring at the wall in front of them. Before it, was a giant wooden cross with a life-sized man hanging there. A crown of thorns on his head, his long hair plastered to his bloodied face. Nails through his hands and feet held him there, and a gash in his side looked gruesomely real.
“Jesus Christ,” Peter whispered.
“He loved us that much,” Joseph said.
“He taught us how to love; we have to show that love to others,” Rebekah agreed. “It feels like we are so close, so close to Katie. Are you ready to go find her?”
“Let’s sit just a moment longer.” Peter sniffled, staring at the Lord. “Just a moment longer.”
***
When they walked out of the church and into the sunlight, Rebekah felt as though something inside her had healed. Something she didn’t know had been in need of healing. That made the feeling all the more special.
“This way, back toward the docks,” Peter said. “The old sailor said they usually get going about midday, so it won’t hurt to get there early.”
“That’s an odd clock,” Joseph mused. “Can you read it, Rebekah?”
“No.”
“I can,” Peter said. “Nine thirty in the morning.” He started walking the direction from which they’d come. “This way, I’m sure of it.”
Rebekah and Joseph started after him. She had to stretch her steps to keep up. “That church was really something.” Rebekah sucked in a breath.
“It was,” Joseph agreed. “A world away from our Amish church meetings back home.”
Rebekah craned her neck to get one more look at the church. “I wish we could have stayed another moment, or even longer—”
“Oomph!”
Rebekah stumbled away from the man she crashed into. She dropped her quilting bag and stumbled to pick it up. As she stood, she shielded her eyes from the sun. A man in front of her came into clear focus. “Excuse me—hey, I saw you a moment ago! In the church!”
A man stood before her in a brown robe, tied at the middle with a rope, just as plain as any Amish, though with a distinct air of poverty above the plainness. She smiled as though she expected him to recognize her too. “I’m Rebekah. Rebekah Stoll.”
“Good morning, Rebekah.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Father Plant.”
“That there is Joseph, my intended. And my brother Peter.”
Peter and Joseph stood behind her.
“Your accents are very distinct,” Father Plant said. “I’m hearing it a lot this morning.”
“How so?” Peter’s voice was hard in the morning light.
“I wonder, are you looking for a girl by the name of Katie?”
Rebekah was afraid Peter was going to grab Father Plant by his cloak.
“Yes,” Peter said. “Where is she?”
“I left her in the church there, the one you obviously just came from.”
Peter’s mouth fell open.
“Katie, a girl so ready to get out of her English clothes she literally donned one of our habits of poverty.” He gestured to his dress. “So look for a girl dressed like me.”
Rebekah’s heart slapped against the inside of her chest. “She must have walked out right after you, right as we sat in the pew!”
“Then she shan’t be far,” Father Plant said, his face gentle. “I heard Katie say the name, Augusta Victoria, to the famous, or infamous, Nellie Bly.”
Joseph grabbed Peter by the braces. “Augusta Victoria! We saw that ship last night!”
“Thank you, sir,” Peter said. Then, he turned and took off at a run toward the docks. “Come on you two! She’s here somewhere!”
Rebekah smiled at the man, then looked up to the sky. “Thank you, Father, and thank you, God.”
“Go, child,” he urged. “Go with God.”
Rebekah clutched her bag close and turned to run. “Amen,” she cried. “A-men!”