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!”
Chapter Ten
The house was dark when Rebekah sprinted into the familiar clearing. The moon, high and bright, gave plenty of light to find her way home. Rebekah crept through the back door.
Please don’t let me wake anybody up.
