The Forbidden by Beverly Lewis

church—that Jonathan and Linda Fisher had joined the Beachys, just as her own son James and daughter-in-law Martha had. Would the fancier, more progressive group divide yet again? Everyone’s splitting away, it seems.
    And what might Bishop Joseph think of all this? His doing away with any shunning for a full three months might have backfired in some ways, causing this air of leniency.
    Betsy slipped out of bed, aware of Reuben’s deep breathing, his arm flung over his head. The dear man worked the bulk of each day outdoors, from before dawn to as late as after supper, feeding, grooming, and exercising his horses, training them over time to become accustomed to reins and bridles and harnesses.
    She did not begrudge Reuben these moments of needed rest. Going to the window, Betsy moved the shade slightly to peer out at the moon-whitened snow and trees.
    Dear Lord, please look after Rhoda this night. I fear she is far from you. And please put your arms of love around my hurting Nan. Send her a kind and loving man to wed. As for Nellie Mae, I trust you’ll watch over her wherever she may be. Cover each of my children and grandchildren with your grace, goodness, and your love. I ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
    Rhoda guessed her clothes surely reeked of cigarette smoke. She had been sitting at a booth in the Honey Brook Restaurant since well past the supper hour, having gotten a ride to town with Mr. Kraybill, who’d run an errand. She’d felt she might simply burst if she didn’t get away and do something completely different—even daring—for a change. Impulsive as this outing seemed, Rhoda wanted a quiet place to browse the latest car ads in the newspaper, somewhere far from the prying eyes of her family.
    Suddenly, though, she had no idea how she would be getting herself back home.
    Silly of me not to plan ahead, she decided now that the place looked to be emptying.
    She’d met the nicest folk here tonight, some more talkative than others. Yet her mind had remained fixed on her task, and she had pored over the ad section of the newspaper Mrs. Kraybill had kindly allowed her to take from the house. Presently Rhoda circled the ads that piqued her interest, though was disappointed to see most were well over two thousand dollars—at least the most recent models were. She couldn’t imagine spending even that.
    Rhoda regretted having saved only four hundred fifty dollars in the past three months. Too many frivolous purchases. Still, she thought she could handle payments, assuming she had enough to put down on a car loan.
    A brown “fully loaded” 1963 Rambler caught her eye, as did a red 1965 Rambler convertible, impractical as it was, and a blue 1960 Falcon. The thought of a black 1964 Imperial sedan inexplicably brought to mind her brother Benjamin’s courting buggy, long since traded in for a family carriage.
    Rhoda sighed. Truth was, she hadn’t the slightest idea how to go about purchasing a car, unless she got some credit. But who would lend her the money?
    Will the Kraybills continue to hire me to keep house? A big consideration. Dat had always said never to count your chickens before they’re hatched. She wondered how far into the future she could hope to be employed within walking distance of her father’s house.
    Returning her attention to the paper, she spread out the several pages. She reveled in trying to decode the ad for each car.
    Eventually she felt someone’s gaze and glanced up to see a nice-looking man, his deep blue eyes seeming to inquire of her.
    “Excuse me, miss. I happened to notice you sitting here alone.”
    She nodded, feeling terribly awkward. What a sight she must be—the only young woman in the whole place wearing a cape dress and a head covering. He must be wondering what she was doing circling car ads so eagerly.
    “I’m lookin’ for a nice, well, a used car,” she explained. The perfect car . . .
    He was not a waiter, she realized when he asked hesitantly if he might help.