Becoming Bea Read online

  © 2014 by Leslie Gould

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6474-9

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC

  Cover design by Jennifer Parker

  Author represented by MacGregor Literary, Inc.

  For Thao,

  Youngest daughter of mine,

  strong and beautiful,

  faithful and fun.

  Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk.

  Psalm 143:8 KJV

  Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

  William Shakespeare,

  Much Ado About Nothing, V.II.61

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Leslie Gould

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Chapter

  1

  I won the third-grade spelling bee with H-A-R-M-O-N-Y. It was a word I loved but was not a feeling I often experienced—except for this moment, sitting on the porch of our farmhouse with my Mamm.

  It was mid-October. Autumn. Such a beautiful word and my favorite time of the year. The bright blue sky sparkled above us. Sunflowers, the size of platters, lined the field. And woodsmoke from our neighbor’s chimney drifted across the road.

  I couldn’t explain the feeling that swept over me. Harmony, jah, but with a hint of A-N-T-I-C-I-P-A-T-I-O-N, the word that had won me the fourth-grade spelling bee. As if something good was about to happen. To me. And soon.

  Although I did my best to follow Scriptures, I was known more for my melancholy than my optimism. But for the moment, I relished the hopeful feeling.

  My R-E-V-E-R-I-E, the word Ben Rupp had beat me with in our fifth-grade bee, ended just as quickly as it came when I caught sight of my sister Molly trudging up the pathway, an empty flower bucket in each hand.

  “I’m not feeling well.” She stopped under the oak tree next to the sprawling pile of leaves that I needed to finish raking. Her skin was pale, all the way to her blond hairline. She was nearly as white as her Kapp, which was unusual for her, considering she spent every day working outside. She lowered the buckets to the grass and then leaned against the trunk of the tree.

  I clutched my journal in one hand and my Bible, which had belonged to my father, in the other.

  Mamm started down the steps. “Bea will go down and help.”

  “I will?”

  Molly lurched, probably at the surprise of Mamm’s volunteering me to help with the farmers’ market in our lower field.

  “Jah, you will,” Mamm called over her shoulder. “Go put your things away.”

  I detested the Youngie farmers’ market and did my best to avoid it, Saturday after Saturday. But I knew to obey my Mamm, even if I’d just turned twenty-one. She wouldn’t have assigned me the task if it didn’t need to be done.

  As Mamm hurried toward Molly, I headed into the house and up the stairs to my room, stashing my Bible, journal, and pencil in my bottom drawer, next to my dictionary and the book of poems I’d checked out from the library. I couldn’t afford to buy books of my own.

  I closed the drawer. I was always careful not to leave my personal things out for anyone to paw through. Especially not Molly. She’d snooped once, and I hadn’t been able to trust her since.

  When I stepped back onto the porch, Molly was sitting on the wicker settee beside Mamm. “You’ll just need to help load the wagon,” she said. “I decided to close early.”

  That wasn’t like her either, but I didn’t comment for fear she’d change her mind.

  “The sales have been low for everyone. Not many tourists out today,” she explained. “We’ve sold out of the pumpkins and asters, but that’s all.”

  Even I could have predicted the decrease in traffic. I hurried on down the steps.

  “Bea,” my sister called out.

  I turned toward her.

  “Denki,” she said.

  Mamm nodded in agreement.

  I waved my hand as if it were nothing, which they both knew wasn’t true. I hated crowds. And being around strangers.

  “It’s good to see her taking steps to stretch herself,” Mamm said as I continued on. I knew she didn’t intend for me to catch her words—she’d been talking louder than usual lately, perhaps because her hearing had deteriorated during her illness—but it pained me to know my sister and mother talked that way behind my back. Since Dat had died it was as if Molly had stepped into the role of parent. Something I was sure she relished.

  Molly most likely had a touch of the flu that had been going around our district. Even so, we’d been through enough tragedy that I couldn’t help but worry about her. Dat had died two years ago and then Mamm had a brain tumor—benign, thankfully—but still she’d gone through an operation and radiation.

  I hesitated for a moment on the other side of the oak tree. In the pasture below, the vendors packed their wares: baked goods, fall gourds, lap quilts, woven baskets, fresh herbs, fall flowers, hope chests, and kraut and sausages. An entire cornucopia of offerings. I had often observed the market while I did the wash on Saturday mornings, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells, thankful I didn’t have to interact with the people.

  I inhaled and kept marching.

  Our yellow lab, named Love, escorted me to the trail and then stopped and looked up at me with her dark brown eyes. I gave her a pat, even though I wasn’t much of a dog person, but I didn’t bother to tell her to stay. She knew not to follow me.

  Not nearly as surefooted as Molly, I confronted the steep slope, doing my best to keep my balance. I didn’t possess the level of comfort my sister had with every inch of our land. Although I couldn’t say I excelled at it, I spent much more time doing housework than I did outside chores, leaving the flower farming to Molly.

  But still I loved our home, land and all, and couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere else, although I wouldn’t mind if Molly and her husband, Leon, moved away—close enough
to do the work but not in the same house as Mamm and me. I was ready for a break from my sister.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t love her. I did, with all my heart. But with Molly, her way was the only way. We were sisters, true, but as different as night and day, starting with my dark hair and brown eyes. Mamm said when I was born she’d expected I’d be just like Molly. But she said it was obvious from day one I wouldn’t be the go-getter my sister was.

  All my life I’d lived in Molly’s shadow.

  I stumbled over a rock as I reached the pasture, my arms flailing as I regained my balance.

  I swiped at a trickle of sweat by my temple. It had been overcast and drizzly for several days, but the weather had turned warm again. Maybe we would have a streak of Indian summer before winter came.

  The savory smell of bratwurst made my mouth water as I approached the market. A few Englisch customers bought up the grilled items and pastries, reaping a good sale price.

  I kept my head down, hoping none of the vendors expected a conversation from me. My strategy worked—no one even called out a hello—although a stranger, an Amish man I didn’t recognize, turned toward me and stared as I passed him. He was tall, broad, and handsome, and wore a thick, short beard. I could feel his eyes still on me as I hurried along.

  When I reached our flower booth, my brother-in-law, Leon, nodded a greeting. He and I were both introverts and had much more in common with each other than either of us had with Molly, proving that opposites attract since she was the one he chose. For a short time, a few hours on a camping trip a year ago last June, I wondered what it would be like to court him, but now he was like a brother to me.

  I actually did have a brother—Ivan, my half brother, who at nearly fifty had just married Nell Yoder. She’d been delighted to take on the role of big sister to Molly and me, but Ivan remained more like a favorite Onkel.

  I grabbed the handles of two buckets filled with purple mums and marched to the wagon. I hefted them into the back and scooted them along the boards as far as I could. Our horse, Daisy, nickered, and I stepped forward to pet her, although besides not being much of a dog person, I wasn’t a horse person either.

  On my way back to the booth I stumbled over my own two feet at the sight of Ben Rupp, who approached Leon.

  “Are you going hunting with us?” Ben called out. “The more the merrier.”

  Leon responded, “It’s not hunting season yet.”

  “It will be—for muzzle-loaders,” Ben replied. “It comes right after bow hunting. Before regular hunting.”

  Leon, his back to me, shook his head and said something, but I couldn’t make out his words.

  Ben continued, “I have my Dawdi’s old gun. And I talked the twins and Phillip into buying their own.”

  Leon said something else I couldn’t hear.

  Ben’s voice was loud, too loud. “You’re going to Montana?”

  “Jah. Next week.”

  No one had said a thing about Leon going to Montana, especially not as soon as next week. I started marching toward them.

  A smirk settled on Ben’s face as I approached. He took off his straw hat and ran his hand through his hay-colored hair, still streaked by the summer sun. In an indifferent voice, he said, “Bea Zook.”

  I took a deep breath. “Ben Rupp,” I responded, matching his tone. “And it’s Beatrice to you.”

  “Persnickety”—that had been the winning word for our sixth-grade year, spelled by Ben—“as ever,” he said.

  “How pretentious of you,” I retorted. I’d won the seventh-grade spelling bee with that word.

  Leon stepped between us. “Hey, you two—” But then one of the vendors called out to him with a question.

  Ben didn’t miss a beat. “Pernicious.” It had been on our eighth-grade list. “The definition being, having a harmful effect, in a gradual or subtle way.”

  As if I wouldn’t remember what it meant!

  He pulled his hat back on his head. “That’s you, Missy D-I-S-D-A-I-N.”

  That had been his nickname for me growing up, after we’d had the word on our sixth-grade list. The feeling that someone or something is unworthy of one’s consideration or respect. That was how he thought I felt about others. He never knew it, but he’d made me cry with that one.

  “You’re putting yourself in an awfully precarious position,” I said now as my hands involuntarily formed fists at my side. That had never been on any of our lists.

  He had the same impish expression on his face that had annoyed me all through our years as scholars. “I doubt it. You’re just being perfunctory,” he said, his greenish brown eyes flashing, and then added, “performing routinely, in a superficial way.”

  We’d never had that word either. “I know what it means,” I said as my fingernails dug into my palms, even though I actually didn’t. I’d ask forgiveness for my pride later.

  Leon returned. “Hey, you two,” he said. “Knock it off.”

  I crossed my arms, hiding my fists beneath them.

  “I pity you,” Ben said to Leon, “having to travel across the country with her.” His dimples flashed.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said, but the puzzled look on Leon’s face said otherwise.

  My voice cracked. “This is the first I’ve heard . . .”

  Leon stuttered. “Mol-ly didn’t tell you?”

  “She probably didn’t say anything because it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “You can’t stay home by yourself,” Leon replied.

  “What about Mamm?”

  “She’s going,” Leon answered.

  “Why would she?” She’d already met Leon’s parents when they came out for the wedding nearly a year ago. There was no reason for her to travel to Montana.

  Leon’s face reddened. “You should talk to your Mamm—and sister.”

  Ben’s smirk turned into a full-fledged smile. “Another reason I’ll never marry.” He pointed at me and then smiled at Leon. “In-laws.”

  I turned away from the two men and began walking as fast as I could toward the path, hurt by both Ben’s rudeness and Leon’s secretiveness. One of the adventuresome barn kittens darted toward me, and I scooped her up, cradling her like a baby. The kitten struggled to get down, but after a minute gave in and began to purr. I lifted her to my face, stroking my skin with her soft gray fur. I may not have been a dog or horse person, but I’d always loved cats.

  Ben’s boots pounded behind me. “Bea!”

  I let the kitten go and hurried on, trying to forget the handful of times Ben had come to court me in the weeks after Molly and Leon’s wedding. I’d been smitten and thought he had been too. I even forgave him for all the years he tormented me through school. Foolishly, I thought we had a future. But then he’d abruptly stopped coming around—without even a hint of explanation.

  I struggled up the dusty trail, stubbing my toe on a root. My foot slipped.

  “Wait!” he yelled.

  I regained my balance and kept moving forward. Reaching the top, I shoved my hands into my apron pockets and persevered, heading toward the front porch as Love fell in step beside me, her wagging tail bouncing off my leg. Mamm and Molly sat side by side on the settee, framed by our old white house.

  Molly pointed at me just as Ben reached my side and touched my arm. I turned toward him and saw a pained expression fall across his face when I jerked away.

  Leaving Ben behind, I continued on toward the steps. Determined to keep my voice calm but not caring if Ben heard, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about going to Montana?”

  Mamm and Molly exchanged one of their looks, and then Molly said, “When we were just thinking about it, we didn’t want to get you all worked up if it wasn’t necessary.” She glanced at Mamm, who nodded, and then back at me. “Then once we knew for sure, we were waiting until the right time to tell you.”

  “But you’re leaving next week.”

  “True,” Mamm said.

  “We’re leaving next
week,” Molly added.

  “I’m not going,” I answered.

  “Bea,” Ben said again.

  I whirled around to face him.

  “Can we talk?” he pleaded.

  “No,” I snapped, and stormed up the steps, past my mother and my sister and into our house, fleeing up the stairs to my room. It was so like Molly to withhold information from me—and so like her to conspire with Mamm to keep it a secret.

  Mamm stood in the doorway of my room. “Come get supper. Then we’ll talk.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I flopped over on my bed, tucking my journal beneath me.

  “Come on down anyway.”

  I shook my head. Unlike lots of other Amish families, we rarely traveled. Camping in the Poconos was as far as we’d ever gone—and I was perfectly content with that. “I’m not going to Montana,” I said. “I’ll stay here and see to the farm.”

  “That’s all taken care of. Edna is going to do the chores the first week, and then Mervin and Martin will take over when they get back from hunting.”

  I’d never felt so humiliated in my life, at least not since Ben dumped me. Edna was my older half sister, and Mervin and Martin were our neighbors. Did the whole county know before I did about the trip to Montana?

  “Come on,” Mamm said. “Molly feels horrible.”

  I didn’t believe her.

  “Bea . . .” Mamm’s voice softened. “I made biscuits.”

  I loved Mamm’s baking-powder biscuits.

  She added, “And we’re having apple butter.” We’d put up twenty jars of it last week but hadn’t opened one yet.

  “Molly wants to apologize,” Mamm said.

  I inched my way to the edge of the bed. I was hungry. And who was I to thwart an apology? The trip wasn’t Mamm’s idea, I was sure. In fact, it probably hadn’t been her idea not to talk with me about it either. It had to have been Molly’s. Mamm had been deferring to my sister ever since Dat died. “I’ll be down in a minute,” I finally said.

  Mamm left, pulling the door closed. I clambered off the bed, straightened my apron and Kapp, and put my journal back in the bottom drawer next to the book of poems, wishing I could escape to the Olde Book Shoppe just outside of Paradise, the village closest to us. It was my favorite place in the entire world. Thankfully the owners of the little store welcomed me to come and browse, even though they knew I couldn’t buy.