But he wasn’t that kind of man. After another minute or so, he stopped in a sunny patch and reached for her hand. “Let me see your arm.”
“You aren’t going to let it go, are you?”
He shook his head, deciding that it was safer than telling her that they hadn’t even begun to talk about it.
After a moment, she presented it to him. “Here it is, West,” she murmured. Like she was giving him a special gift. It was kind of cute.
However, he didn’t smile. Instead, he kept his gaze on her arm while he carefully pushed up her sleeve. She could practically feel the tension emanating from him.
There, in the bright sun, the marks looked even darker. Examining it with him, Irene frowned. “I think it looks worse out here in the bright sunlight.”
“Who did this?”
“It wasn’t anything important. We should just forget it.”
“You’ve got a series of fingerprints on your arm, Irene. It’s swollen. Whoever did this could have really hurt you. I’m not going to forget about it.”
“It’s not that bad.”
West was torn between yelling at her, holding her close, and laughing. She was exasperating. It brought on a wave of tenderness that he hadn’t known he was capable of.
He settled for sliding one finger under her chin and forcing it up. “Irene, I’m not going to let this go. Someone grabbed you hard enough to hurt you and leave marks. Who did it?”
“It wasn’t anyone you would know.”
“Didn’t think it was. But you haven’t answered my question.”
She pulled from his grasp and pushed her sleeve back down. He let her, because seeing all the marks on her arm was making him furious.
He stuffed his hands in his front pockets so he wouldn’t reach for her again, and waited.
“West, it was nothing.”
It had been a really long time since anyone—anyone—had not immediately done what he wanted. Not since he was too young and weak to make someone listen. He was coming to realize that the feeling of frustration he was experiencing was just as sharp as it had been all those years ago.
“Was it your boyfriend?”
“What? Nee! I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He pocketed away that feeling of relief for a time when he could actually process why he cared so much. “Who then?” He stared at her closely. “Your father? Brother?” Unable to help himself, his tone turned harsher. “Is someone at home grabbing you? Hurting you?”
Her eyes widened. “Nee! It was just one of Alice’s students’ parents.”
“Who is Alice?”
She sighed like he was one of her particularly slow customers. “Alice is my best friend, and she is a preschool teacher. One of her students’ fathers was yelling at her when I stopped by her classroom. I got mad and interfered.” Rubbing her arm, she looked a little rueful. “He didn’t appreciate hearing what I had to say.”
“Oh.”
She smiled. “Jah. So”—starting to walk again, she said—“that is what happened. You see? I was telling you the truth. It was nothing for you to worry about.”
“Is your friend all right?”
“Alice? I think so. She seemed more worried about the little girl than anything.”
“You shouldn’t have interfered.”
She glanced back at him, her expression surprised. “Of course I should have. Alice is my best friend.”
“But still, it was her problem. Not yours.” That was how West handled his life. Shoot, that was how everyone he knew handled things. Interfering in things that weren’t your business just got you killed.
“West, it was so terrible. Someone had to stick up for her.”
West mentally catalogued the name Alice as he was realizing that Irene was right. And just as soon as that thought passed, he admitted to himself that he had done much the same to Irene. He’d barged in and tried to help. Stuck up for her.
“Sorry if I overreacted.” But instead of accepting his apology, she giggled. “What is so funny?”
Irene stopped again and smiled brightly at him. “You are, West.”
“Because?”
“Because your apology sounded as rusty as an old nail left out in the rain.”
“As bad as that, huh?”
Her eyes sparkled as she nodded. “I don’t think you apologize much.”
“I don’t.” At last allowing himself to smile, he admitted, “I think you are the first person I’ve apologized to in years.”
She giggled again. “I’ll take that. Now, I’m not sure why you came to Horse Cave, but since you brought us to this trail, would you actually like to walk on it for a spell?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
She smiled at him again, then they resumed their walk. And because he couldn’t help it, he followed. Little by little, he noticed the hollyhocks growing in between the ash trees. When she pointed to a pair of bright-red cardinals, and then a redheaded woodpecker, he caught himself scanning the dense foliage for other birds.
Slowly, the path narrowed and the vegetation got even more unruly and dense. Unable to help himself, he reached for her hand—just to make sure she was near him, in case something came out of the woods suddenly.
Her slight hand stiffened against his fingers before tightening. She didn’t talk, though. Didn’t say anything. Just seemed pleased to be holding his hand as they strolled on the trail in the middle of nowhere.
With some surprise, he realized that he felt the same way. No words were needed. Because at that moment he didn’t want to do anything else.
Chapter 17
Friday night, February 23
Calvin opened the back door to his brother’s house, took off his boots, then carefully closed the door quietly behind him. With luck, he would be able to wash up in the kitchen and sneak into his room without waking Waneta and Mark. He could leave his boots down by the door so neither would be surprised to discover he’d returned when they woke up in the morning.
Pleased with that plan, he ignored the hunger pains in his stomach. Any hunt for food would involve turning on a flashlight, lighting a lantern, or, at the very least, a couple of candles. Then, he would need to open multiple cabinets and drawers, which was bound to make a racket.
What he really needed was a shower, but that would make too much noise as well. He settled for dampening a dish-towel and rubbing it over his neck and chest, followed by cupping water in his hands and splashing it over his face.
“I didn’t think you were getting back until later in the week.”
Calvin jerked and got a neckful of the faucet’s spray for that action. Irritated with himself, he shut off the water and tossed the rag on the counter. Then, taking a breath, turned to his brother. Mark was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, holding a large, yellow, industrial-grade flashlight in his hand. The glow from it filled the room with shadows.
It also illuminated the smile playing across his brother’s lips.
Calvin laughed softly. “You scared me half to death.”
“You gave me a scare yourself. I wasna real excited to hear someone moving around my kitchen at two in the morning, you know.”
“Sorry I woke you.” Studying his brother, he thought Mark looked too thin and more than a little pale. Guilt flooded him. “I shouldn’t have turned on the sink.”
“You didn’t wake me,” Mark said as he set the flashlight on the counter, taking care to adjust the beam so that it faced the ceiling. The result cast a warm glow between them. “I’ve been up for a while.”
It didn’t matter how innocuous his brother’s words were, they still brought forth a wave of worry. “You couldn’t sleep? Why not? Are you in pain?” Calvin noticed that Mark was wearing an old pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt, and had one hand firmly gripped on the edge of the counter. “Hey, let’s get you in a chair. Then I’ll look at your prescriptions to see what you can have.”
“I can read my own prescriptions, bruder.”
“I know. But sometimes
, if you ain’t feeling a hundred percent, figuring them out can be difficult.” Aware that Mark had raised his eyebrows, Calvin snapped. “And, yeah, I know I don’t know anything about reading prescription labels, but I’m sure I’m right.”
“Even if you’re right, I don’t reckon you need to start telling me what to do.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“You are. And while I appreciate it, mei frau is already fussing over me enough. Half the time, I feel like the dog is watching me like a hawk. You don’t need to start managing me, too.”
Hearing Mark’s gruff-sounding whine was so unexpected, Calvin almost smiled. “Sorry, but you don’t have a choice. Waneta asked me to be here, so you’ve got to take the good with the bad.”
“You’re bringing Waneta into this?”
“Of course I am. She’s smart.” Just to needle him a bit, Calvin added, “Some might even say she’s smarter than you.”
Mark sighed. “That she is.” Then as he stopped resisting and grinned full-out, he grumbled some more, “I know the bad is listening to you fuss. What’s the good?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Calvin said with a smile.
And, though reluctantly, a smile also formed on Mark’s lips. “Jah. That is gut, for sure.” Then he took a step, winced, and gestured to the chair. “Help me with that, ’kay?”
Calvin pulled it and curved a supportive hand around Mark’s arm. Bearing some of his weight, he helped him sit down.
Mark blew out a burst of air—and seemed to be avoiding Calvin’s eyes.
Seeking to change the focus of their attention, Calvin said, “You know, it always catches me off guard when I see you dressed like this.”
Mark looked down at his clothes. “Sweatpants?”
“Englisher clothes.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes the sight of it catches me off guard, too. But these are comfortable around my middle and easy for Waneta to wash.”
“If your hair was shorter, someone might mistake you for me.”
Mark’s lips twitched. “Perhaps. Until they see your eyes. My eyes are a simple brown.”
“Now that you’re here, I was just thinking I’d get something to eat. Do you want anything?”
“I could eat a turkey sandwich. You making them?”
“I am.” Pleased to do something that was actually helpful, Calvin opened the refrigerator and started pulling out all the ingredients. His stomach growled again, offering its agreement.
“You hungry?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to take the time to eat before getting on my way.”
“Really? You couldn’t even run by a drive-thru on your way down here?”
Calvin shrugged, not wanting to share that his mind had been pretty occupied with West, becoming a lieutenant, and worrying about how he was ever going to extricate himself from the Kings. “I guess not.” After placing two pieces of bread on each plate, he said, “You still like mayonnaise on yours?”
“Jah. And Swiss.”
“And lettuce?”
“Uh-huh.”
Calvin finished putting the two sandwiches together, neatly sliced Mark’s in half, and set it in front of him. “Here you go. What do you want to drink? Milk?”
“Water’s good.”
After Calvin got him a glass, he got to work putting all the ingredients back where they belonged.
“You can do that later. Come eat.”
“I’ll eat in a sec. I don’t want to get Neeta in a tizzy.”
As he’d hoped, Mark chuckled.
“Appreciate that,” Mark replied, then took a bite. “It’s gut.”
“It’s just a sandwich.” When Calvin couldn’t put it off any longer, he took a chair and dove in, too. The sandwich was good. He figured it had something to do with Neeta’s homemade bread, the Amish cheese, and the locally smoked turkey.
Or maybe it was simply because he was sharing a meal with his brother in the middle of the night. Just like they used to do so many years ago. But this time, he had been the one to take care of the food and his older brother was the one who was the recipient. There were some days when he was a teenager that he would have taken an extra beating just to be the one to do something for Mark.
“What do you do when you’re out of town, doing your Kings business?” Mark asked, breaking the silence. “Or can you not talk about it?”
“I can talk about it.” Some of it anyway. “I went to the warehouse where some of the members were. My boss was there, so I spent time with him.”
“You had to go all the way there just to talk to him?”
“I didn’t expect him to be there, but it was good he was. He gave me a couple of jobs.”
“Jobs, huh? What kind of jobs?”
Images flashed in his head. The threats he’d made. The money he’d collected. The delivery West had asked him to make late last night. “That, I can’t talk about.”
Mark pushed his plate away, his sandwich only half-eaten. Calvin realized that he’d already wolfed his down while he was talking. He didn’t know how that happened.
And felt embarrassed, because he was now looking at the rest of Mark’s sandwich with longing just as he was realizing that he had likely taken away his brother’s appetite. “I know you don’t understand my life, but it can’t be helped.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand it,” he said with obvious impatience. “I also don’t agree. I bet you could be doing something else. If you wanted.”
“It ain’t that easy.” Which was an understatement.
“Maybe it ain’t that easy because you make it hard. But doing the right thing is always better.”
“Save your words of wisdom for your future kinner, Mark. I’m too old to do anything different and you are too old to be acting like you can tell me what to do.”
“I only want to help you. This cancer, well, it’s scared me. Made me see that we only get a set number of days to live on earth. You don’t want to waste them.”
His brother was right. It was actually one of the reasons why he’d jumped at the chance to be an informant for the DEA. But he couldn’t reveal that truth to anyone. Calvin knew that not only his own life but Mark’s and Waneta’s lives depended on him keeping that secret. “Who says I’m wasting anything? I’ve got a good life, Mark. It ain’t easy, but yours ain’t, either.” He stood up abruptly. “Now, can we talk about something else?”
Mark flinched. “How about we try to get some sleep instead? It’s got to be real late now.”
“Yeah. I need some sleep.” It was obvious to both of them that there were still things between them neither was ever going to understand. For a brief moment, he mourned the fact that his brother thought he hadn’t changed at all.
But there was nothing to be done about that—and all this wishing for something different would only get him a night filled with regrets.
He had enough of those to last a lifetime.
Moving to Mark’s side, he carefully curled his hand around his elbow. “Here, let me help you get to bed.”
Mark pulled his arm out of Calvin’s grasp. “I’ve got it,” he said sharply. “I don’t need your help getting up, or walking down the hall to my wife.”
That mention felt purposeful. Calvin wondered if it was. That Mark felt the need to remind him how much better his life was? Of course, it didn’t matter if he had or hadn’t. He was well aware that he didn’t have a home or a wife. “Good night, then.”
Mark walked a couple of halting steps before turning back to him. “Calvin, are you going to see Alice anymore?”
Calvin felt his body tense up. “I don’t know. Why?”
“It’s just . . . She’s a nice woman. A preschool teacher.”
“I know. She’s told me all about her job.”
“She’s been well protected. She ain’t worldly, neither. From what her brother Edward has told me, she’s always been that way. She never ran around much.”
“So she probably could never under
stand the things I’ve done?” he asked, choosing to fill in the gaps of what Mark wasn’t saying.
“Nee, what you’ve done and are still doing. She ain’t going to understand your choices.”
Calvin realized that his older brother’s tone wasn’t full of condemnation. Instead, there was a fair amount of worry in it, too. “Are you hoping that I don’t hurt her . . . or that she doesn’t hurt me?”
Mark hung his head before replying. “I’m not sure. Maybe both.”
Looking at his brother, Calvin saw several things in his expression. Despair. Hope. Worry for him. And, yes, irritation that Calvin was making him explain himself.
“Danke,” Calvin said at last. What mattered was that Mark cared.
His brother simply turned and walked down the hall to his bedroom, the flashlight in his hand casting a beam in front of his path. Calvin watched him, making sure that he got into his room all right.
Calvin pulled out a lighter to help get to his room. Lit a thick lemon-scented candle Waneta had placed on the top of his dresser and moved it to the bedside table.
Then he sat down on the bed.
There wasn’t a thing in the room that was the same from when he was a young boy. New bed, new desk and chair. A new dresser and rag rug on the floor. With the lemon scent filling the space, it certainly smelled better.
Pulling off his clothes, he slipped between cool sheets, enjoying the soft cotton on his skin. Waneta kept a fine home. It was comfortable and clean. Filled with goodness and love. It was exactly the place for his brother.
But for once, instead of thinking that he would never deserve such goodness again, he wondered what it would feel like to be the recipient of similar gifts.
With that in mind, he blew out the candle, then closed his eyes, allowing himself to think about a home of his own. To imagine returning to his house, to a woman of his own. A partner and helpmate. A wife with light-brown hair and bright-blue eyes.
Imagining that, imagining Alice in his life, he finally fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that no one but himself would ever realize that he dreamed about such things. After all, he knew for certain that such a dream could never come true.
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