by E A Lake
The elder Mrs. Bontrager stepped in. “That isn’t very nice of you to judge others, Judith. It’s not the Lord’s way.”
The younger woman gave her mother a harsh glare. “It may not be, but it’s the truth.”
I was as depressed as I had ever been. If it was my family, I’d been betrayed badly. If it wasn’t… well, I still felt sorry for the little girl.
“Mothers die all the time nowadays,” Judith continued. “So do fathers. It’s just the way it is. Children must learn to deal with it.”
I felt Jeremy’s hand take my arm and turn me to leave. At the last moment, he paused.
“Did they ever say the little girl’s name, perchance?” he asked politely.
Judith nodded several times, still unsmiling. “They had to reprimand her a lot. I remember it like I remember my own children’s names. I always remember the name of the petulant child.”
We waited breathlessly. The air in the room died.
“Her name was Sasha.”
Chapter 38
I had no recollection of how I left the house and none of mounting my horse. I don’t even remember leaving the area, but I doubt I looked back to take in one last glance.
The sun had begun its descent in the western sky when I realized we were quite a ways back toward home. I thought of the empty dwelling though Sunshine would be anxiously awaiting my arrival. How strange it seemed, knowing that I’d never again see my second child. I felt empty, alone, dead.
Something else scratched at the back of my mind. Something I had planned on asking on our way back. Before the news that ruined my life.
“Tell me about the woman and her child,” I said listlessly to my companion. His charity had shocked me at the time and did so again with the return of my thoughts.
He glanced at me, seeming to know I didn’t want to talk about the obvious.
“No big deal,” he replied mainly. “Just doing what the boss wants done. That’s all.”
“What the boss wants done?” I spat. “The man who holds my son in bondage? The man who sends you over to harass me day and night? I find that hard to believe, Mr. Lasky.”
He looked offended that I had used his proper name again. But with some of the shock of Sasha’s disappearance gone, my confusion required answers.
“You don’t know shit about Hulton,” he grumbled. “And you sure as hell don’t understand everything that goes on over there.”
“Enlighten me!” I shouted.
“That woman and her kid would be dead before winter. You saw it; you know it.”
“And so Rickard Hulton to the rescue? The man who would gladly let me starve this winter if my harvest isn’t up to some lofty standards he invents? Please.”
Shaking his head, he turned down a road that led us toward home. I followed.
“Under what authority are you allowed to spend his resources like you did back there?” I continued. “He’s going to be very upset with you when he discovers what you’ve done.”
If he was worried it didn’t show. Instead of becoming upset, his face lightened.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he replied, almost sounding pleased with himself. “That Bontrager man is gonna run up to our Amish store in the next two weeks, maybe even sooner. He’s gonna slap that trade on their desk, and old lady Miller is gonna praise her God for such a deal.
“You see, Hulton has them by the balls over there. They’re in so deep to him. Hell, he practically keeps them afloat most of the year. Now, they’re gonna be able to settle up a long ways towards even. Albeit only for a short time.
“Now, Hulton’s gonna bristle a little when the Amish tell him what’s happened. But I’ll beat those people to it. And he’ll grumble to his wife. And she’ll go all proud as a turkey in rut. She’ll tell him how wonderful he is for doing such a benevolent thing. And then he’s gonna bring me in, sit me in the big living room of his. He’ll probably give me a glass of the throat-burning booze he loves so much. Maybe even one of his special cigars.”
Jeremy lived his dream before me, smiling as we rode, “Because his wife’s gonna be all proud of him and happy with him, he’ll reciprocate with me. Maybe for even a few weeks, things will be all nice and happy. And then someone like you is gonna cock something up, and he’s gonna be on me so hard. Tell me something like if I can’t handle the job, he’ll have to find someone who can.”
I thought he’d be frowning by that point. But his smile made me feel better… only a little, though.
“But I’m gonna have a good month or so of pretty nice times back home,” he concluded.
“How often does this happen?” I asked, still trying to understand the charity I knew so little about.
“A lot,” he replied. “His wife is all about living the Christian way, I told you. And this won’t hurt him one bit. He’s got a stack of contracts on his desk so deep that it would take years of this kind of stuff to even put a dent in them.”
I nodded as if I understood, but most of it was strange to me. However, I began to see the pattern. The key was Mrs. Hulton, not necessarily the man himself.
While I contemplated the day, we rode on in silence. I wasn’t sure what had shocked me more: the apparent betrayal of my husband or Mr. Hulton’s secret generosity.
“So,” Jeremy said after another mile or so, “do you suppose that was Brady?”
Ah, the pathetic soul beside him needed to be reminded of her plight.
“I pray it wasn’t,” I replied half-heartedly, “but I’m afraid it was.”
The daughter had described my missing family members in detail. She even mentioned the scar on Brady’s right cheek and the color of Sasha’s clothes. But the woman, Sasha’s new mother, wasn’t familiar to me.
“Do you know of any single women named Andersen by us?” I asked.
His head shook. “Nope. You and Sunshine are about the only unattached women living in the area. Most the Amish gals don’t go out on their own. Unless they’re being shunned or something.”
That was true. I’d searched my memory thoroughly for the name and description given. But I, too, drew a blank.
I began to wonder what I had done to drive Brady away. We seemed happy; at least, I thought we were. His speech about the trades had been so sincere, so energetic, so real that I missed something. Something obvious.
More than once, Sunshine had mentioned that Brady had run off, even if only in her delusions. Even Mr. Frederickson feared the same, counseling me not to chase after something that might kill me in the end.
But I was a fool. Nothing was more obvious than that.
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy whispered. “This ain’t fair. Life ain’t fair. You deserve better than this.”
True, but somehow that was my lot in life… fair or not.
Chapter 39
Somewhere near the end of our ride, a mere mile or so south of my house, a man appeared on the side of the road. His tattered filthy clothes told me he was a drifter, someone who had no hope left. I knew how he felt.
The man waved for us to stop. I noticed Jeremy reach for his right side, the spot where he kept his gun. I hoped the poor fool had enough common sense not to do what I dreaded he might.
“Hello, friends,” the man called out in a pleasant voice. “Thank you for stopping.” He took hold of my horse’s bridle.
“We ain’t your friends,” Jeremy warned, his voice barking at the fellow. “And you’d better take your hands off that horse. That ain’t your property.”
He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just looking for anything you can spare. A few crumbs, perhaps. A sip or two of something besides creek water. Anything you got.”
Leaning forward, Jeremy scowled at him. “I got a .45 with a bullet marked just for you, old timer. I want you to head south on this road and never look back. I see you again, and I won’t be so friendly. Understand?”
The old man looked puzzled. “I just came from the south,” he replied, pointing that direction. �
�I’m heading north. Maybe I’ll find some nice people there, I figure.”
Grinning, Jeremy nodded several times. “Oh, that’s what you figure. Well, I got news for you. I’m gonna watch you for a while. If I see you heading north, even look that way, I’m gonna ride over and shoot you in the head. Got it?”
The man’s lips puckered as he stared north, then south, and then north again. “I suppose south ain’t so bad,” he replied, sounding happier than I thought he would. “No reason to get shot in the head today, I suppose.”
He spun south and began to march, his thin arms flailing back and forth. He even started to whistle, though it grew fainter with each passing step.
“I thought we’d cleared the last of them away,” Jeremy grumbled, reholstering his weapon. “I guess we’re gonna have to be more vigilant about spotting those kind. Ain’t that right, Mrs. Turner?”
Gone was my new friend, the kind man who had taken me to Rigby and beyond. Now that we were back in our neck of the woods, formality and kindness disappeared.
“Very true, Mr. Lasky,” I answered without looking at him.
Spinning our horses north, we began the last leg of my fruitless journey, one with answers I couldn’t bear to face. But I’d have to… eventually.
Sunshine met us in the main driveway area. I noticed her on the porch as we approached and saw her rise from her spot as we turned in. I wondered if she would be as disappointed as I was with the news. Or would she secretly gloat over being right?
I watched as hope became disappointment as she studied my face. My pain was hers, it seemed. I suppose that was good; we may as well both be miserable. If she felt anywhere near as bad as I did, the hurt was enough to last the rest of our collective lonely lives.
Business needed to be discussed before I had a chance to tell Sunshine my tale. I knew it the minute Mr. Lasky dismounted his horse at the same time I did mine.
“I’m gonna be back over in two or three days,” he said, stretching his back, which I assumed was as sore as mine, though he was certainly more used to being in the saddle than me.
“Mr. Hulton wants a report on your corn.” He craned his neck, looking past us at the garden. “Even from here I can tell it’s in a sorry state. You’d better hope we get forty pounds of seed out of the harvest.”
His words caught me off guard, causing me to do a double take.
“I thought Brady said the quota was thirty or thirty-five,” I replied in a shaky voice. “Where did this forty number come from?”
He shrugged, reminding me we were tenant and landlord, slave and master again.
“Hulton says it’s been a good year,” he replied, showing no sympathy. “Based on what we’ve seen and tested in our plots, forty is the number.”
Frustration grew as I tried to remain calm. “You could have told us that when we planted.”
He looked at me as if I were the man who had been begging before us just moments earlier. “It was just decided. That’s the number this year, double what you received in seeds. I’d say take it or leave it, but you have to take it.”
He climbed back on his horse and stared at us. “See you in a few days, ladies.”
We watched him ride off. Sunshine hooked her arm around my waist.
“He’s an asshole,” she seethed. “A first-rate asshole.”
One part of me agreed. But the other part knew Sunshine would be wide-eyed once she heard the stories I had to tell.
Jeremy Lasky and Rickard Hulton were complicated men. They were both good and evil, all wrapped into one. My only ray of salvation was the knowledge that Mrs. Hulton was different. At least, I hoped she really was.
Fall
I remembered a boy I liked back in sixth grade. Ronnie Parker was tall, dark, and handsome—for a 12-year-old. I knew I loved him with all my heart and soul. I couldn’t wait for the beginning of the school year so we could renew our daily romance.
There was just one problem, of course. Ronnie Parker had never spoken to me in my life. Even worse, I’m not sure he even knew my name. We’d never shared a class together, a lunch hour, a study hall… nothing.
We ran in different circles. I don’t recall any longer if there were names for our groups. But we were polar opposites. Except for us both being part of the human race, our stars didn’t align… at all.
Ronnie was a jock, even at 12. He played football, basketball, and baseball. From what I knew and what my friends told me he was the best in every sport and captain of all of his teams. He was dreamy; at least, he was to young teen me.
If I was honest with myself, and from what I remembered, I’d had no athletic ability back then. I was terribly uncoordinated, couldn’t throw a ball more than five feet, couldn’t dribble a basketball, catch a football, or even make a Frisbee work.
But I was cute; that was my secret weapon. All my girlfriends told me I was the cutest person in the school. I could have any boy I wanted, they said. But somehow, I never garnered the attention of Ronnie Parker.
That all changed the last summer of the old world. It was mid-July, if I recall correctly. Missy and Mindy and I had walked to the pool and were on our way home after getting a proper burn. In one fleeting moment, I saw Ronnie, and he saw me.
We all had on jean shorts and our bikini tops. His eyes met mine, mine met his, and I saw him smile, even if ever so briefly. Ronnie Parker, the hottest guy around, noticed me. I was in heaven.
For the next two weeks, I planned my outfits for the first week of school. I’d lay out tops and skirts, careful to coordinate them just so. I did my makeup over and over again until I had it perfect. When Labor Day weekend ended and we were back in school, Ronnie would be mine.
And then came hell.
How quickly I forgot about Ronnie in the days and weeks after everything went quiet. Heck, I didn’t even have time to think about Missy and Mindy or any of my other friends. No, I was consumed with the thought that I would die—soon.
The last time I saw Mankato and any of my friends was when Mom and I made out for my grandma’s place, some 75 miles away. We had waited until the following spring, mostly because we didn’t want to freeze to death on the road.
By the time we left, pedaling bikes that would have flat tires within 20 miles, I was numb to everything around me. I didn’t care where we went; anyplace had to be better than where we were. No food, limited water, and the sporadic looting and burning of houses made Mankato a terrible place. Grandma’s house had to be better than that.
Making our way out of town, laden with heavy packs of clothes and limited supplies, I got one last glimpse of Ronnie Parker. We came across him on the side of the road near the far west end of town. I barely recognized the slouching young man, scavenging through an overturned dumpster.
As Mom and I rode past, our tires crunching gravel as they turned, he looked up at me. We made eye contact. Gone was the confident young athlete I had known. Gone were any of his boyish good looks. What I saw was a beggar child, a person who probably wouldn’t be alive the same time the following year.
I couldn’t remember feeling sad, for either Ronnie or myself. All I could recall was the question that lingered in my mind for weeks: Did I look as hopeless as him?
Chapter 40
I studied our crops in the cool early-autumn morning air, pulling my worn woolen jacket tighter around what was left of me. I had noticed my breath the last few mornings. The growing season was over. Now came the drying time.
It had taken a while for me to get over the loss of Sasha—almost two months—50 days, according to Sunshine.
When I first told her the story the night of my return from Rigby, she’d wept openly. Her mouth hung open, and agonizing moans escaped with each twist of the plot. By the time I got to the part where the woman remembered Sasha’s name, she was screaming and pulling at her hair.
She cried, and I’d held her, dead to the world. Later, I cried—wept, actually—something I hadn’t done in years. I felt her rocking as she held me s
o tight that I thought she’d break bones. My heart was already shattered, so at least that wasn’t at risk.
The following morning, I awoke to find her staring at me, crying.
“Sunshine, what’s wrong?” I asked, trying to wipe away some of the tears.
“I’m sorry,” she begged. “I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything. Why should you be sorry?” I already knew the answer.
“Because I always said he’d run off on you with another woman,” she cried. “I only said it so you wouldn’t go chasing after him… them. I never wanted it to be the truth. I’m so sorry, Abby. I am so sorry.”
Yeah, that made two of us.
“It’s cold as a bitch out here this morning,” Sunshine said from behind. She was up and fully dressed when I peeked back. Better than I had managed. “Come inside, and let’s build a fire. The house is chilly, too.”
Staring back at the garden, I plucked at my lower lip. “How do you think the corn looks?” I asked, already knowing that answer as well.
“The corn looks cold!” she shouted. “Come inside, and let’s get warm.”
“We have to have forty pounds. We just have to.”
The problem was I had received conflicting information on our crops. Mr. Frederickson said they looked fine. We’d probably harvest somewhere near 40 pounds of seed in the end. Give or take.
Mr. Lasky, of course, was far less optimistic and offered his opinion often.
“We need to pull a few ears and see how they look,” he said during one visit.
Was the man crazy? We were going to need every last kernel to make our quota. Even I knew that.
“Well it don’t look good,” he added. As he left, Sunshine flipped him off.