Ten

David and Lawrence took apples to Commerce periodically when they had enough to warrant the trip. In late September they delivered a nice load of Yateses and Terries and returned talking jubilantly about all the activity in that market town.

Aden and Rebekah had supper with the Mayfields that Friday night. Aden, David, Lawrence, and Freddie all went out on the porch while the women and girls cleared the table and washed up. Rebekah heard a rumble of thunder and wondered whether Aden would think they needed to put Jake and Jolly in the Mayfields’ barn. Then she forgot about the horses as Rosemary described dramatically how Luke Stoker had looked as he swaggered into school in full Indian dress that day.

“He’s so proud of being an Indian that he wants everyone to know. Some people, Jack Tulley for one, think Luke’s plum weird. But I think—well, it’s really romantic.”

“Especially since Luke is so, so handsome!” said Lucy, laughing as she swiped a towel against Rosemary’s back.

Suddenly Aden’s tall figure filled the doorway. “Storm’s coming, Rebekah. We need to batten down. Wouldn’t want our little wagon to blow away,” he said with a chuckle to Betsy Mayfield.

“Well, we don’t want you two to blow away either,” said David Mayfield, limping as he followed Aden inside. “Now we’ve got plenty of room. You go bring your horses, wagon, and all to the barn, and then come spread out in the parlor. It’s all yours. If our children rob you of your privacy, I’ll rob them of an ear or two.”

“Oh, no, we’ll be fine. It’s only going to be a quick blow and then over,” said Aden. Then he looked at Rebekah. “Of course if you’d rather stay here—”

“No, I’ll go help,” she said quickly. “Let’s go! Thank you for the delicious supper,” she called as they crossed the porch.

The rain came in deluges before they even got to the wagon. Aden shouted at Rebekah to get in the wagon, and she didn’t bother to say she wouldn’t. But while he tied ropes to the wagon wheels and secured them around nearby oak saplings, she rounded up Jake and Jolly and tethered them close by. She got in the wagon and was mopping water out of her eyes and drying her hair on a towel when Aden tumbled in.

The wagon shook as if a giant had it in his fist, shaking it to hear it rattle. Thunder blasted behind burst after crackling streak of lightning. Rebekah tossed her damp towel to the dark shape of Aden.

He caught the towel neatly. “Guess we’re kind of in for it,” he said.

“Not for the first time,” she reminded him.

There was no chance to talk after that. The storm was too terrific. Rebekah knew Aden was praying, and now she could pray, too. What was it he’d said before? God was showing off—that was it. She tried to relax and enjoy the show, but she wished she could be more of a spectator and less involved in the storm’s anger and fury. She kept thinking the canvas must be ripped off and several times reached out to touch it to be sure it was still there.

Suddenly she felt Aden’s hand close around hers. He gripped her hand so hard, the bones were crushed against each other. She held onto him as if he were the only plank on a stormy sea. She couldn’t help but think, too, how nice and warm his big, hard hand was. They were still clinging to each other when the torrent suddenly lightened to abrupt bursts and abatements, as if the Mayfield girls were throwing buckets of water against them but couldn’t keep up.

Aden let go of her hand and crawled to the opening. Even in its calmer state, the storm drowned out anything they tried to say. Aden peered out from time to time, and Rebekah was sure he was worrying about the horses. Finally she felt the wagon pitch as he jumped to the ground. She pulled a blanket close around her shoulders and sighed from relief that all was well. They should really have been up at the Mayfields’, but there hadn’t been time, and as it was, she wasn’t sorry she’d stayed with Aden. She laid her hand against her cheek and whispered to herself, “If only we could start over.”

Aden’s shout shook her out of her reverie. What could be wrong now? It must be Jake or Jolly. As soon as she looked out of the opening, she knew it wasn’t the horses. Fire! The Mayfields’ house?

“I can’t tell whether it’s the house or the barn!” yelled Aden, running toward the fence.

Without any consideration whatsoever, she ran after him.

Realizing as soon as she crested the hill that it was actually the barn on fire, Rebekah allowed herself to slow up momentarily, then plowed on again, her wet skirts clinging to her legs, her feet heavy in soggy grass. How could a barn burn down in a pouring rain? Hearing Cerise screaming, Rebekah forced her feet to go faster through the sodden grass. Now she heard horses neighing and David yelling to his boys not to run in, that he’d do it himself. As Rebekah arrived finally in the barnyard, the first person she noticed was Betsy with her hair all down and flying about her red face as she threw futile buckets of water into the flames. Everything shone garishly, lit by an orange holocaust. Nothing seemed real. Rebekah staggered against a sturdy hitching post to catch her breath. Out of the shadows Cerise came flying to her, her long nightgown wadded up around her knees so she could run.

“Aden’s in there!” she cried, pointing at what appeared to be nothing but flaming walls.

Rebekah lunged forward, but Lucy was suddenly there wrapping thin arms around her. “No, Rebekah!” she yelled in her ear. “You can’t go, too!”

Out of the hungry flames thundered the horses, crazy with fear. Their neighs were more like screams as they ran blindly away from the fire. Betsy threw down her bucket and snatched Cerise to her as one of the mules with nostrils flared reared up momentarily, then crashed away into the rainy darkness. One horse’s mane was on fire, but it ran around wildly in a tight circle, and no one could get hold of it. At last, David ripped his own wet shirt off and managed after a couple of tries to throw it over the horse’s head. He and Lawrence together smothered the flame, and the smell of scorched hair made Cerise gag. But Rebekah hardly noticed, because she was straining to see Aden come out, now that the horses were free. What had happened to him? Why didn’t he come on?

“Go in and pull Aden out! Pull him out!” screamed Rebekah, but she barely heard her own voice because of the roar of the flames and the confusion of horses and people.

Then she felt strong arms come around her from behind. Just as she tried to break free, she heard Aden’s voice next to her ear and turned to collapse against his smoky body.

“It’s all right, Rebekah,” he repeated in a soothing voice as she wept against his neck.

“But I didn’t know where you were,” she babbled.

“Well, I hardly did either,” he said, tucking strands of wet hair behind her ear. “But God knew where I was. I found an opening at the back and ran out there after I released the horses. There now, we’re all going to be all right.”

“Thank God!” she whispered into his collar.

“Aden, help!” cried Lawrence. “There’s a horse down over here behind the woodshed. I think her leg’s broken!”

Rebekah felt him squeeze her tightly then set her aside. She clung to him unreasonably, but he pushed her out of the way so he could respond to Lawrence’s call. She felt suddenly bereft and couldn’t imagine why she was shaking so, she who always had taken farm tragedies in stride, whose father had depended on her never to panic in a crisis. What had gotten into her? What a fool she’d made of herself!

She shuddered, hugging herself in chill dampness, even as her cheeks burned from the fire’s intense heat. Cerise slipped up beside her, and she circled the child in her arms, wishing she knew what to say or do. She felt more than heard deep sobs of the child, and she squeezed her harder, holding her face against her chest so she wouldn’t have to see the horrible fire or the writhing horse surrounded by men, one with a rifle. But Cerise pulled away enough to swipe at her tears and then look again at the awesome sight of the barn’s skeleton in flames, falling one large piece at a time. At the gun’s explosion, the little girl piled into Rebekah again, and they wept together, their warm tears absorbed into the cold rain.

When the rain slowed to a drizzle and the wind quieted, the fire still burned. There was nothing to do but watch. In the end, some charred timbers were left, even a few upright studs, and one entire corner, the new storage room. David Mayfield said he wished it would every bit burn while it was about it, making the cleanup easier. Being new wood, it had not burned as completely as the rest but was certainly no longer useful. The smell of roasting apples mingled with those of scorching hay and wood smoke.

“Good thing we took as many apples as we did to market on Wednesday,” said David.

Someone asked how the barn could have burned in such a downpour.

“It was a tinderbox, a grip of splinters ready to be torched,” explained David calmly. “My father built this barn in 1835, built it first, before the house, and made it proud and sturdy of heart pine. He bragged many a time on that barn, said it was his aim to give his animals a palace, just what they deserved for all their hard work.” David grinned at the memory, then stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me, boys, trying to replace that old barn.”

Betsy eased up beside her man, and he looped an arm around her neck, drawing her close. “We can do it, can’t we, Betsy girl?” he asked as he tried to wipe smut from her nose and only added more to it.

“We’ll build it even better,” she answered. “Maybe even have a neat corner for my quilting frame.”

“Oh dear, now she’s gone to meddlin’,” said David, giving her a little shake.

Rebekah glanced furtively at Aden standing alone several feet away. He hadn’t come back to her after dealing with the horse. Would she have pushed him away if he had? She really didn’t know. It was a strange night, and comfort was so important. He had held her hand in the storm and had hugged her during the fire. But it was just part of his generous, protective nature. That was all. She watched him now, standing with his feet apart as if ready to spring into action, his hands fisted at his sides. What was he thinking? She could see only his profile in the flickering yellow light.

The rain had all but stopped, and there was no more thunder, though streaks of lightning still snapped ragged rips in the sky. Freddie commented with some sort of joy that Lucy looked like a drowned rat who’d been digging in a coal bin. Carol took up for Lucy by accusing Freddie of having “near ’bout” half his hair singed off. Betsy shushed them and declared she was going to put on a big pot of coffee. As she bustled away, she threw orders over her shoulder: for Rosemary to stop moping and come serve some apple pie; for Carol to stack the buckets up and put them back by the well; for Cerise to stop pulling on Rebekah’s braid and make herself useful in the kitchen.

Cerise looked up at Rebekah as if she expected some sort of defense. Rebekah nudged the little girl forward and said she’d help, too.

A number of neighbors had arrived at various stages and now happily took part in Betsy’s refreshments, almost as if it were a party. Mrs. Banks had brought a pot of coffee herself, sure that the men would need to watch all night. And Mrs. Carey brought half a pound cake, apologizing that if she’d known they’d have this fire, she wouldn’t have let the family devour the first half at supper.

It was after midnight when Betsy insisted that Rebekah come on to bed with her girls since it was obvious Aden was not going to leave the scene.

As they walked toward the house, Betsy told Rebekah in a consoling tone that men believed they had to fix whatever happened—it was part of their makeup—and that, anyway, not a one of them would want to leave until the rest did, something of a competition thing. “And, of course, your Aden was a wonder tonight saving our horses. We’ll always remember that.”

“He was a hero,” said Rosemary dreamily, holding the door for Rebekah.

The memories of that night would always bring forth scents of acrid smoke and then the overpowering pleasantness of Betsy’s smooth sage soap as Rebekah bathed the greasy blackness from her face and hands.

Rosemary and Rebekah shared a bed with Carol and Lucy, who both went to sleep promptly. The night reminded Rebekah somehow of times months ago at the Sharps’. It rained so much then, too, and she bunked up with their children. But at that time she was so glad she didn’t have to share the wagon with Aden. And now she missed him, wished she could talk to him. The two younger girls, after some arguing, had agreed that Rebekah and Rosemary should have the coveted outside spots in the overfull bed. Now, out of the darkness on the other side of the bed, Rosemary spoke in a whisper, “You have such a handsome husband. Even when he’s covered with grime and grit he’s so very—” She left her sentence hanging, obviously unable to think of a word that would adequately express her admiration.

Rebekah turned her face toward her, considered what to reply, but never got it out before she was sure Rosemary was asleep. He was handsome and good and a hero, all those things. But he wasn’t really her husband.

❧

It took several days for the piles of burned tin and other rubble to cool enough for safe removal. But when David Mayfield put the word out that he was clearing the charred barn, getting ready to build again, Aden was there to help the very next day. Rebekah never knew whether he contacted Mr. Moffatt to cancel that day’s appointments or just what he did. She stayed busy helping cook for all the workers, including other neighbors who came to help. But when she crawled into her bed in the wagon, her mind foggy with weariness, she had time to wonder at what was going on in her heart. For instance, why had Aden become so quiet, and why did he no longer try to talk to her? Why had he hugged her so tenderly the night of the fire but now had nothing to say? Had he finally given up? And if he had, wasn’t that just what she’d wanted all these months? So why did she have such a dull heartsick feeling in the pit of her stomach?

They still had apples to pick, too. Every apple she picked, Rebekah felt, was a gift saved from the fire. She found that aside from cooking for the workers, she could do little to help with the barn. And often Aden insisted he didn’t need her to assist him if all he had scheduled were tooth pullings. So she picked apples.

It was while Rebekah was picking small, hard Terry apples one day that she got to thinking about all that money saved up for buying a piece of Thornapple. It wasn’t hers. How had she dared to steal from a man who had rescued her from becoming a charity case? Oh, he said it was because her name was Rebekah, but that couldn’t possibly be it, of course. And now that she had a clearer perspective on it all, now that she was looking at all that had happened with eyes Jesus had opened, she saw that Isaac Aden Robards had simply not been able to walk away without helping her. And he had made it clear that he was intending to marry her for keeps. It was she who had insisted on a marriage of convenience. And how had she thanked him? By robbing him over and over again! She felt a wave of nausea and gripped the top of her ladder for support.

“You okay up there, Rebekah?” called Carol from the next tree.

“I’m fine. Just got a bit hot, I guess,” she said.

“Maybe you better get some water. There’s plenty in a jug at the end of the next row. Some cold biscuits and jam, too. Mama believes in keeping her slaves well fed.”

“Did someone say biscuits and jam?” yelled Lucy, emptying her bulging apple sack into a crate.

“Oh, Lucy, you eat almost as much as Lawrence! How can you possibly stay so skinny?” asked Carol, adjusting her ladder so she could reach more apples.

“I am not skinny!” declared Lucy. “I’m simply trim.”

This brought a derisive hoot from all the girls near enough to hear her. The rest of the morning they burst out from time to time with “She’s simply trim!” followed by high giggles.

In spite of Carol’s suggestion, Rebekah gave herself a little shake and continued working. She wanted to fill her sack before she went for a drink.

She couldn’t keep the money. She knew that now. But how was she going to give it back? How could she return several hundred dollars without admitting her guilt? At one time she’d been brazen enough that the thought of being caught only bothered her because she would lose the money she intended to use for Thornapple. Now—what bothered her now was that she’d done wrong. She wanted to make it right. But then Aden would know. Aden would know, and he would hate her. There would be no hope. Hope of what? Well, maybe it was silly. Maybe she’d talked to Betsy so much, she’d caught her romantic enthusiasm and could believe almost anything good. But she had begun to dream, at first unconsciously but now more and more consciously, that she and Aden could be really married. She didn’t know how it could happen, but she felt in her soul that it wasn’t a bad dream to foster, that Jesus was pleased with dreams such as these. But if Aden discovered her burglary—well, it would be all over then.

Aden had held her hand hard in the storm; he had always been so careful to make her comfortable, had arranged for her to stay inside at the Sharps’, and had tried to cover for her so she’d not be embarrassed. Even when she’d been as ornery as she knew how, she’d noticed him taking extra pains to be pleasant, as in shaving his dark whiskers almost every day. Aden had provided her a horse, paid her utter respect as they worked side by side, had said very seriously that what she thought mattered. But over and over again she had rebuffed him. Now—now she knew that what he thought mattered—so very much!

She hadn’t told Aden yet what had happened in her life, that she had committed her allegiance to Jesus Christ. She wanted to be sure to tell him when he would wholeheartedly believe her, not think she was trying to please him or butter him up. And she hoped that maybe he would notice the difference. But he hardly seemed to notice her at all anymore, much less see a change in her.