The Saddle Maker's Son Part 11

"We won't talk about how that turned out." Daed splashed water on his face. It ran down his neck and darkened the blue of his shirt. Patting his skin with a ratty dish towel, he turned and faced Tobias. "I hope you'll take your own advice."

"I'm too old for singings."

"But not for finding yourself a fraa and settling down to make a proper family for yourself."

"It's not that easy."

"Nee, it's not."

His daed should know. Six years had pa.s.sed and he hadn't found his own way to a second chance. Tobias leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "You could think of it yourself."

"Don't start with me now." Daed dipped a finger in the dark chocolate frosting and lifted it to his lips, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. "That Rebekah makes a fine frosting. I reckon the brownies are good too. All her cooking, for that matter. Fraas should be able to cook. And clean. Among other things."

With that he stalked from the room, leaving Tobias to wonder exactly how his daed had managed to turn the conversation around on him with such ease and agility.

He scooped a tiny thimble's worth of frosting onto his index finger. Just a little. No one would notice. He tasted it and licked his finger.

Rebekah did indeed make a fine frosting. If she ever gave him the time of day again, he would tell her so.

FIFTEEN.

Buying Englisch clothes made Rebekah's head hurt. She rubbed her temple, inhaling the scent of clothes soap, bleach, and dust. The Goodwill store had too many choices. She glanced out the long plate-gla.s.s window. Mordecai and the buggy had disappeared. Surprising, since Mudder had insisted he bring Lupe and Rebekah into town. Mudder surely didn't want her going anywhere on her own right now. Not after the visit with Leila.

What did she expect? At least she'd been allowed to come after much conversation between Mudder and Mordecai. Martha had her hands full setting up the Byler household, and Rebekah spoke the most Spanish.

Besides, Lupe seemed to trust her more. She had been reluctant to leave the house, murmuring about hombres malos. The entire ride into town she'd cast anxious glances behind them and hid her face every time a car pa.s.sed them. In the store she ducked her face behind Rebekah whenever another customer wandered too close.

Mordecai probably slipped off to the library, knowing him. He'd be back in two shakes. She fingered the pants. Boy's or girl's? The fancy embroidery on the pockets said girl. She held them up to Lupe, trying to see if the legs would be long enough. The girl was so skinny and her legs extra long. Lupe shook her head and backed away.

"What? Why not?" They'd been through half the clothes on the sales table. Lupe seemed determined to hang on to the stained green pants and dark-blue blouse she'd worn since bolting from the shed at the school. Martha couldn't keep washing them over and over again. "Would you rather have a dress? Vestido?"

A vigorous shake of the head answered that question.

So far Jeremiah hadn't said a word about what the other bishops thought of their situation. Not a word. So here Rebekah was, finding Englisch clothes for a little girl from El Salvador who spoke only a smattering of English, flinched every time Tobias or Mordecai or any man came within touching distance, and cried herself to sleep at night.

Stop it. Gott's will. Gott's plan.

The Goodwill only sold clean, gently worn clothes and the prices were affordable, but Lupe really needed to try them on. "What's the matter? No one will notice you."

No one noticed the Plain folks anymore. For that Rebekah was grateful to G.o.d. Mordecai said the novelty had worn off when people in Beeville realized their neighbors weren't interested in making a big to-do about their honey, produce, and baked goods. Just selling them like anyone would. Occasionally people from farther north stopped at the store, like the man writing a cookbook who made a video outside the store, but that was the exception to the rule. Even Mordecai's buggy parked on the lot next door would draw only a cursory glance or two. A little girl with brown skin and hair wouldn't stand out in this part of the country where many folks were descendants of people born in Mexico.

"Esta. This." Lupe's face broke into a beautiful smile. She held up a boy's green T-shirt. It sported a large picture of Mickey Mouse on the front. "Diego like."

"Yes, Diego would like very much. Doesn't look much like Pedro, though." Rebekah grinned back. She examined the T-shirt for stains or tears. None. Seventy-five cents. They could swing that. And the size looked right. A little big, but Diego would grow, G.o.d willing. She added it to the small stack of pants, shoes, and socks she'd ama.s.sed for him. "Now something for Lupe."

"No."

"S." She pointed to Lupe's stained shirt. "You can't keep wearing the same clothes day after day."

"I no need."

Rebekah held up a pink blouse with strawberries embroidered on the collar. "This is nice. It would look nice on you."

Lupe's cheeks turned the same pink color. "No dinero."

"We have money for the clothes. Mordecai gave it to me. You saw him."

"No take money from you."

"Gift. Present. Friend to friend." Rebekah patted her chest and then Lupe's arm. "Amigas."

A shy smile spread across the girl's face. "Amigas?"

"Wunderbarr."

"Wunderbarr."

The Deutch word sounded so funny coming from Lupe's lips, Rebekah chortled. The saleslady, who looked like she ate one piece of pie too many at lunchtime, looked up. So did a bald elderly man with a pipe stuck in his mouth, examining an old lamp shade. Rebekah slapped a hand to her mouth. "Sorry, Lupe. You are a smart girl. You'll speak three languages before you know it."

Lupe giggled. She draped the blouse and a pair of tan pants over her arm, covering its fine dark hair. "Gracas."

"You're welcome. We'll find a couple more. It's either that or I make you dresses like this one." She pointed to her own long skirt. "You want?"

Lupe shook her head so hard her long braid flopped, her lips drawn down in a mock frown. "No like vestidos."

"Fine." In short order Rebekah found three pairs of pants that looked about the right size, along with two more blouses, and dispatched the girl to the dressing room. She took a seat on a spindly chair with wobbly legs in the small, dimly lit hallway and waited. Each time Lupe sauntered from the dressing room, her cheeks now cherry red with embarra.s.sment, Rebekah examined the clothes with a critical eye for stains, rips, or other defects and then p.r.o.nounced them "wunderbarr," just to hear Lupe giggle and respond with her own garbled version of the word before she scurried back into the dressing room.

The girl had a sweet sense of humor and she was smart. How many more words would she pick up before she had to go to the immigration detention center or on to family in San Antonio? Rebekah wanted to know more about El Salvador and Mexico before Lupe and Diego left. She paid for their purchases, still thinking of how she'd like to know three languages. For what? She'd never been farther than the Rio Grande. She'd never even been to Dallas.

Dallas with its seminary. Where Gracie would grow older and speak English, not Deutsch. Go to school with girls who didn't like to wear dresses and ap.r.o.ns. Maybe even play sports or be a cheerleader in a skimpy skirt that showed her legs from thigh to ankle. Life would be different for Gracie Glick. And Rebekah would not be there to see it.

She sighed.

"Bekah sad?" Lupe tugged on her arm, her face reflecting the emotions welling in Rebekah. "Too much dinero?"

"Nee. No. It's not about the money." Rebekah summoned a smile. "I'll miss you when you go to be with your family in San Antonio."

Frowning, Lupe ducked her head and studied her bare feet, the earlier light of laughter extinguished. "I hope."

"You hope to find your family?"

The girl shrugged. "No familia. Only Papi."

Papi. "Daddy?"

"S. Papi. No see in long time. Mi abuela say he's here. No aqu." She waved her hands around. "But in San Antonio, Tejas."

That would be a start. They could help find Lupe and Diego's father in San Antonio. The city was only two hours away by car. "Do you know where to find him? Address?"

Lupe shook her head. "Muchos anos no more letters."

No letters for many years. "Then we'll just have to look hard for him." If the bishop would only let them. Mordecai was smart. He would figure out something, if they had to walk the streets of San Antonio until their shoes were worn out. "That reminds me. We didn't look at shoes!"

"No need zapatos."

"Yes, zapatos." She patted Lupe's shoulder. "If you're going to a big city like San Antonio to look for your daddy, you'll need shoes. Right?"

Lupe smiled. "Daddy will like. We go fish."

Fish? Lupe didn't understand about San Antonio. It had a lot of big buildings and long streets and honking cars. Not a lot of fish. No need to burst her bubble. "Let's find shoes first."

Another ten minutes and they had a pair of red Converse sneakers in the bag along with a pair of flip-flops Lupe referred to as chanclas. Her face seemed a little less haunted by worry. The way it should be. Rebekah plastered a smile on her face. Lupe couldn't know how impossible it seemed to find one man in a big city like San Antonio. Somehow, they would help her find her family.

Outside, Mordecai sat slouched in the buggy, his straw hat tugged down over his eyes. Snoozing. The man could sleep anywhere.

"We're done."

He popped up and slid the hat back. "Gut. I got the groceries we needed so we can hightail it home before supper gets cold."

Lupe climbed into the backseat as far from Mordecai as possible. Rebekah took the spot next to Mordecai. A book separated them. A book about El Salvador. "You've been to the library."

"You're a sharp one, you are."

"Did you learn anything?" She opened the book and perused the pages. History, customs, traditions, current political turmoil. El Salvador was pretty, but like most places, it had its problems. "Besides how to be a smarty-pants."

"I already knew about that." He snapped the reins and Brownie took off at a smart trot. "I found some recipes you might like to try."

"Recipes?"

"Wouldn't it be nice to feed our guests some of their favorite foods from back home?"

"You are such a wise man."

He grinned. "So I'm told."

Slapping away a cloud of gnats, she let the breeze cool her warm face for a few minutes.

"Whatever it is, just ask."

"What?"

"You're chewing on something that's about to choke you, child. Just ask."

Rebekah glanced at the backseat. Lupe's gaze seemed fastened to the horizon. Probably wondering what her family was doing, if they were all right, where she would live now, and when she would be truly home. "Haven't you ever wanted to see the world? Don't you want to know what's going on around the next bend or on the other side of the ocean?"

"Most of the time I'm satisfied to get as far as the kitchen and my next cup of kaffi." Mordecai guffawed in that way that reminded Rebekah of her daed. "I like to stay close to my own kind."

"Then why did you check out this book?" Rebekah held it up. "Reading about it is enough for you?"

"I like to know things." He slapped away a horsefly. "I like to make people feel at home. Especially kinner. I like to understand why things are the way they are."

"Can you explain to me why things are the way they are?"

"Because we're only human and we make a lot of mistakes." Mordecai's tone was so kind, Rebekah wanted to hug the man. He was the one man she knew who would understand such an overt offer of affection. "But we can do so much to help each other get past those mistakes."

"So it was a mistake for Lupe and Diego to come here to the United States, but we're helping them because they need help getting past their mistake."

"I don't claim to understand the whys and wherefores of their situation or the world." Mordecai glanced back at Lupe, who'd curled up on the seat and closed her eyes. "But wouldn't it be nice if they remembered us as those kind people Gott put in their path to help them on their way? Shelter in the storm. A safe harbor. Good Samaritans who didn't walk on by and ignore their suffering."

"It would. What about Leila? Did she make a mistake when she followed her heart and went with Jesse? Is Gracie a mistake?"

"Boplin are never a mistake." Mordecai's fierce gaze flicked to Rebekah's face, then back to the street, filled with cars that slowed then stopped in the wake of the slow-moving buggy. No one honked. One guy waved. Mordecai waved back, but his gaze returned to Rebekah. "Gott will judge us all. Leila and Jesse did as they saw fit, not only for reasons of the heart, but reasons of faith that I cannot, will not, judge."

"How does a person know when to follow her heart?"

"You'll know. But I can tell you this: You're not missing anything. Everything important is right here at home. The things you were meant to do. They're here."

"How do you know?"

"My heart tells me so."

"Or Mudder."

"Jah, my fraa is a force to be reckoned with." Mordecai chuckled, the ferocity gone, his good-natured smile back. "But I am right. You have things to do here. Now."

"Like what?"

"Like read up on Salvadoran food. You know what a pupusa is?"

His p.r.o.nunciation of the word made Rebekah think of Lupe and wunderbarr. She stifled a giggle. "Nee."

"Me neither, but I reckon you're gonna learn and I'm going to eat one and like it."

Rebekah shuffled through the pages, looking for the section on food. "So that's what the cabbage is for?"

"Nee, it's for something else that I can't p.r.o.nounce."

"You're a gut person, Mordecai."

"Average to middlin'."