Free The Shunning by Beverly Lewis Page B

General to have her premature baby. She’d let an English doctor catch her baby.
    “Well, Katie and I’ll be sisters-in-law very soon,” Mattie managed to say. “I couldn’t be saying nothing but gut things about her.”
    But in Rebecca’s heart, she knew better. Here sat the very woman who’d made a big fuss over the plans for Daniel Fisher’s graveside service, them having no body to bury and all. Even with Katie crying and pleading, Mattie and her husband, David, had gone to the Fishers and persuaded them to contact the bishop.
    “Burying an empty coffin just ain’t never done,” David Beiler had insisted.
    So Katie had visited the Fishers herself, begging them at least to have a simple burial service for their son—a quiet gathering of some kind, perhaps a prayer and a spoken hymn. And a wooden grave marker.
    Sooner or later, Rebecca knew she’d have to forgive her cousin for the added grief Mattie had caused Katie. But not now. She pursed her lips and kept her eyes on her work—sewing her tiny running stitches into the wedding quilt.
    It was a good thing Mary Stoltzfus spoke up about that time, asking Rebecca for a story . . . and the Telling began.
    The women were soon responding with their usual lighthearted laughter. Everyone but Mattie.
    And sensing hostility brewing, Rebecca was cautious today, avoiding any mention of her boys’ childhood escapades . . . or of Katie’s homecoming. It wouldn’t be wise. Not wise at all. Not with Mattie Beiler acting up the way she was.
    ————
    Katie was grateful. Neither the deacon nor Preacher Yoder were waiting in the kitchen for her when she arrived from the Dawdi Haus.
    Quickly, she made hot coffee and warmed up a fat, juicy jelly roll each for Dat and her brothers. But the minute he and the boys left for the farm sale, Katie headed for the barn. With her heart hammering and long skirt flying, she made her way through the barn and up the ladder to the hayloft.
    The day was not as sharply cold as it had been for the past few weeks. Not a single cloud in sight and a powerful-good sun shining through the rafters. The perfect time to pull the guitar out of hiding. She found it under the old hay, back in the west corner near one of the hay bins.
    Lovingly, she brushed the fine gray dust off the case with her wool shawl. She opened the case, lifted out the instrument, and cradled it under her right arm. Without hesitation, she found the frets and began to tune. Might be the last time for a long time—or maybe forever.
    She sang several of Dan’s songs first, then her own. She saved for last the love song they’d written together, knowing that it wouldn’t matter really how many times she sinned by singing them between now and the confession she must give. Feeling the old rebellion rise up, she willfully disobeyed and played it again. And again.
    While she played, she remembered. . . .
    The sun glinted off the back of Daniel’s sleek horse as the steed, groomed to perfection, pulled the brand-new open buggy down the road toward Weaver’s Creek. His arm brushed against Katie’s, sending tingling sensations up her spine. When he took the curve too fast, she leaned hard against him, making him chuckle. Then he put his left arm around her, holding the reins with his right hand and keeping his eyes on the road ahead.
    “No matter what happens,” he said, “remember I love you, Katie Lapp.”
    Her heart thrilled to his words, and she listened carefully to the echoes in her mind. She’d never felt so cherished, so safe.
    They rode along in silence a bit farther. Then, quite unexpectedly, he reined in his horse and, in broad daylight, turned to look her in the face. She saw the longing in his shining blueberry eyes, the quiver in his lip.
    “You love me, too, don’t you?” he asked gently, holding her hands in both of his.
    Katie glanced around. “Maybe we shouldn’t be—”
    “I want you with me, Katie, always,” he whispered in her ear, and the