Rebekah drew in a long, cool breath. It felt good. Peter’s words were like salve to her hurt soul. “I think I might miss her.”
“Of course, you do. She’s your ma.” Peter came back over and sat beside her. “Elnora is a mighty fine woman and a very good mother. But—”
Rebekah interrupted him. “What did she look like?”
Peter gazed off, lost in thought. “Well, a lot like you, really. Her hair was long and blonde. And her eyes, sparkling green eyes…”
It was her. It was my ma who came to see me in my dream when I was so close to death having Lil’ Bit.
From out of nowhere, Peter sniffled. Rebekah glanced at him and was shocked to see that moisture had pooled in his eyes.
She reached over and patted his knee. “I understand. You do not need to say more.”
He took out a hanky and dabbed at his eyes. “I was going to say I think that Elnora was an answer to Ma’s prayer.”
“Danki, bruder.” She took in a deep breath of sweet, fresh air. “How long did Ma have the bopplin blues? If you remember?”
“Ma is probably not the best example to go off of. She passed away while she still had them.” Peter looked thoughtful. “Katie got over them without having to wait too entirely long.”
She sniffled. “Of course, it did not take long for Katie.”
Peter looked over at his schwester. “Oh, come now. I thought the old feud was over when we left New York?”
“I thought so, too.” Rebekah shrugged. “Just that when she and Joseph started up their correspondence…” She looked hard at her bruder. “Does that not bother you, Peter? Them writing back and forth? Knowing full well how Katie used to feel about Joseph?”
Peter looked taken aback. They sat in stunned silence for a moment.
My bruder came all this way, excited to see my bopplin, offering nothing but love and understanding to me, and look at me now. I have single-handedly crushed his heart. She didn’t dare speak. She had said enough.
Finally, Peter opened his mouth. Rebekah leaned forward, ready to fling apologies his way. Ready to try and heal the hurt that she had caused with her words. However, before any word could pass either of their lips, the bopplin began to screech.
Peter looked strangely relieved. “Goodness, Lil’ Bit.” He plucked up his nephew. “I promised to take care of this little sprout so you could rest, didn’t I, Sis. I had best start now.”
Without offering her so much as another look, he stepped out the door and pulled it shut behind him.
Still tear-stained and stuffy, Rebekah laid down on her bed as the sound of her crying infant grew fainter with each of Peter’s footfalls. She tried to relax, but relaxation was as far from her as a hawk from the moon. She flipped and flopped, twisted and turned. She got under the covers, then laid on top of them.
“It is no use. I cannot rest.” Rebekah stood and stepped to the window. Her fingers fell into the minuscule indentions where they always fell when she looked out the window, something she had done so much of during the last several months. She studied the scene laid out before her. The scene of her world, passing her easily by, with no need of her actual participation in it to make it work.
Thomas and his kitten brushed out the buggy horses beside the barn, while Buttercup the rooster strutted about fiercely, his flock nearby. Peter had taken Lil’ Bit outside and he lounged against the tree with Lil’ Bit in one arm and his bottle in the other. Lil’ Bit looked to be taking it eagerly. The river rushed along mightily in the background, giving the entire scene a musical feel that she could hear plainly, thanks to Peter having opened her window a crack.
There was no sign of her parents, Katie, or Joseph, or Peter’s folks, for that matter. I thought I saw them…that is right. They plucked up bopplin Ruth and disappeared out the front door. Sneaky Grossmammi and Grossdaddi that they are.
Rebekah’s mind flitted back to Katie. Her stomach fluttered with butterflies of distrust, but she tried to calm them.
If Peter isn’t worried about Katie and Joseph’s writing habit, perhaps I should not be worried about it either. Rebekah smoothed her dress and started down the stairs. Did Peter say Katie was helping Joseph with dinner? Maybe I can go lend a hand.
The thought did not sit well as she descended into the living room.
You must have faith, Rebekah. Stop worrying so. Joseph would never…
She pushed open the door to hers and Joseph’s kitchen and she sucked in a breath at what she saw. Right there, where she had cooked so many meals for her mann, in her very kitchen, was her nightmare, playing out in horrifically slow motion. Her long-held insecurities and greatest fears were confirmed at last.
Joseph’s back was to her and all she could see of Katie were her arms, wrapped about his waist tightly.
Rebekah gasped. Silently she was glad that she could not see his face as she backed out of the room without a word.
“Joseph, my mann. Why did you even choose me? Why make a mockery of my love, my trust, and our marriage?” The words were a whisper on her lips intended for nobody’s ears save Gotte’s alone. They were too humiliating to utter to Peter or her parents. Before, she would have gone to her best friend Annie when feelings so strong threatened to get the better of her. But Annie had gone on to Old Amarillo to be nearer to her twin, Katie, who was the cause of all this discontentment. She could have gone to Joseph, but not now.
Rebekah stomped back up the stairs and into her room and, for the first time in her life, she slammed the door. Rebekah grimaced at the feeling the sudden outburst of anger left not only inside her but also hanging about her room.
Red.
Dirty.
Fiery.
Unforgivable.
Exactly as she had felt since the beginning of the pregnancy, only now it was a tangible anger. A slamming and stomping anger. Somehow, it was still not tangible enough to make it go away.
Chest heaving, she looked around the room as her hands balled into shaking fists. There was nothing to unleash her anger upon. Until her gaze fell on the cradle.
The cradle that her bopplin couldn’t even properly use.
The cradle that reminded her that she was a failure as a mater.
And a failure as a fraa.
