Timothy’s brow wrinkled. “Each Amish person must make a choice. I made mine, so did Aaron. Neither of us is unhappy.”
Ahead of us, Becky and Aaron laughed together, and Timothy turned to me. “Could he be happier?”
Suddenly Mabel jerked my arm to the left and started barking on the side of the trail.
Timothy reached for the leash, giving it a tug below where it wrapped around my hand. “It’s just a squirrel, girl.”
She barked an argument. Together, we were finally able to coax her away from the squirrel. By then Aaron and Becky were out of sight.
Timothy looked on ahead. “Knowing my sister, they are half way to Mount Vernon by now.”
I fell into step beside him. “It’s nice to see Becky so happy.” Mabel tugged on the leash again. These woods must be bursting with squirrels to chase.
“Aaron, too.”
“Was your family upset when you decided to leave the Amish?”
“Of course. Especially my father. However, I think they recognized the alternative was worse.”
I stopped in the middle of the trail.
Timothy exhaled. “After the accident, while Aaron was in the hospital, I went through a bad time. I fell into the wrong crowd.”
“The wrong Amish crowd?”
He gave a rueful laugh. “There are tough kids among the Amish too. I got arrested for drunk driving and robbery.” He looked down at the ground, as if ashamed. “That’s how I know Greta, or Chief Rose, so well. She’s locked me up a few times.”
“Oh.” This must me the reason for all of Chief Rose’s cryptic warnings about Timothy. “But you turned your life around.”
He nodded. “Do you remember Hannah? You met her at church.”
Oh, I remember.
“Her father is a carpenter too, and I worked with him a lot before the accident. He saw I was making a bad turn and invited me to their church. This was after my third arrest, third night in jail, and I was ready to turn back to Gott. I just didn’t know how. Actually, I wasn’t turning back to Gott, I was turning to Him for the first time.”
“What do you mean?”
“John Hilty, Hannah’s father, taught me there’s a difference between Amish faith and Gotte’s grace. Amish faith would not forgive me, but the grace of Christ would. I only needed to ask Him for it. This was so different from what I was taught by the leaders of our district. They taught us from a young age that you had to work for forgiveness. What John helped me realize is that I could never work hard enough to undo every wrong deed I had ever done. The rules that I followed or broke being Amish were not getting me any closer to Gott. For me, they were a form of separation because I knew I could never close the distance, so why bother trying. I left the Amish because I wanted to know I was forgiven. I didn’t want to live in constant fear. I could not earn Christ’s love and forgiveness, only accept it.”
Could I ever be as confident about what I believed, enough to give up so much?
Timothy watched me for a moment, as if reading my mind. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have moments of doubt or even guilt. Every time I see Aaron’s wheelchair, I feel guilt. Every time I run into the deacon, guilt is there.”
“You didn’t make Aaron jump on that roof.”
“He’s confined to a wheelchair for something I told him to do.”
I grabbed Timothy’s arm. “But he did it.”
He shook his head, his expression sober. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a son. He cannot take over his family farm and may never marry. It’s because of me.”
I squeezed his fingers. “You don’t know he won’t get married.”
“What Amish woman would want to marry a man who can’t work? The father in the family is supposed to be the provider. Aaron can’t do that.”
“I don’t believe that he can’t provide for his family in some way. He might not be a farmer working in the fields, but there’s other work he can do. A person’s entire worth is not measured by the type of work they do.”
I let go of Timothy, and started walking again. “I know what it’s like to live with guilt.”
He didn’t say anything, but simply waited for me to continue. And yet, I saw the concern on his face.
I rubbed my eyes, remembering. “My mother died in a car accident when I fourteen, and it was my fault.” I took a shaky breath. “It was late, close to one in the morning when it happened, and it was because of me.”
He reached for my hand and squeezed it.
“I was at a friend’s house for a sleepover and got sick.” I winced at the memory. “Really sick. I must have had food poisoning. Anyway, the mom of the girl—not Tanisha, although Tee was there—called my parents and told them that one of them had to come get me. This was in January over Martin Luther King weekend. On the way to pick me up, my mother hit a patch of black ice that sent her car spinning into a tree.”
Timothy squeezed my hand harder, our fingers intertwined.
“Mom died at the hospital from her injuries, and my father never forgave me.”
He didn’t let me go. “You were just a sick kid. How could that be your fault?”
I watched Mabel sniff her way down the path. “Within a year of the accident, my father remarried. My stepmother’s not the easiest woman to get along with, and she pulled my father and me further apart. When I was fifteen, she convinced him to move to California and leave me behind.”
“What do you mean ‘leave you behind’? Why didn’t you move with them?”
“Sabrina—she’s my stepmother—thought she was doing me a favor. She said I wouldn’t want to move and leave my life and friends in Cleveland. That was true to some extent. She asked Tanisha’s family to take care of me, and even offered them money to do it. They never took any money from her, but they agreed to let me live with them. I don’t know what I would have done without them.” I said all of this without tears. The tears I cried over my father were gone. Only a cold, hollow sadness remained. “I went along with it because my father never said a word about it. He never asked me to move with them. He never asked me to stay. He said nothing. That’s pretty much how it’s been ever since. Silence.”
Timothy looked down at me, his eyes unwavering. “I told you, you had me the night of the tornado, and I meant it.”
I smiled. A red-iron bridge that spanned the Kokosing River came into view. “Wow,” I said. “It’s beautiful.” Trees heavy with bright green leaves hung heavy over the river. Becky parked Aaron’s wheelchair so he could peer into the water. She sat next to him cross-legged on the bridge. I admired them from afar. “Clearly, Becky doesn’t care if Aaron can run his family farm.”
Timothy squeezed my hand one more time before letting go. “Clearly not.”
The four of us and Mabel returned to the parking lot, then pulled up short. The green pickup was parked next to Timothy’s truck.
Timothy picked up the pace and called to me over one shoulder. “You guys hang back until I unlock the truck.” He marched toward his pickup, and Brock stepped out from behind it.
I noticed Becky grip the handlebar of Aaron’s wheelchair with her good hand.
Brock didn’t back down. “Well, look who’s here, Curt?”
“Why it’s Red and her Amish amigos.” Curt pointed a thumb at us. “She even has a new friend. A cripple. My, Red, you know how to pick ’em.”
I slipped my cell phone from my pocket to call Chief Rose, but the screen said, “Searching for service.” Why did I still carry it with me? It was turning out to be nothing more than an expensive clock. I slid the phone back into my pocket.
Becky looked like she was ready to bolt down the embankment and kick Curt in the shin.
Timothy’s voice was low and firm. “Please, leave us alone.”
I helped Becky guide Aaron’s chair dow
n the embankment to the parking lot. “Let’s stand by the exit,” I whispered to her. “We can get into the truck when Timothy backs up.”
Aaron used his arm to shift his leg in his chair. “Are these the knuckleheads who have been bothering you? They don’t look so tough.”
I glanced around for help. The parking lot was full of cars, but there were no people around. Their owners must have been on the trail.
“Sorry, buggy-rider, but we aren’t going anywhere.”
Mabel growled deep in her throat.
I took over pushing the wheelchair and pulled Becky to the getaway spot.
“Blondie doesn’t want to go with you,” Brock called. “Maybe you want to come home with us?”
“He’s lucky I can’t chase him,” Aaron muttered.
Timothy seemed to grow taller. “Get out of my way.”
“Or what?” Brock stepped up to Timothy’s face. “Are you going to hit us, buggy-rider?”
“Aw,” Curt said. “A good Amish boy wouldn’t do that.”
“There will be a point when we will have to defend ourselves against people like you,” Timothy said.
Curt adjusted the dog tags around his neck, eyeing him. “What do you mean by that?”
Timothy’s tone remained level. “We all know you two are behind the harassment of the Amish.”
Curt spat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Brock grimaced. “At least we aren’t afraid to get our hands dirty to protect our family and our country.” He turned to Becky. “So, blondie, the offer still stands. Want to lose these two and come with us?”
Becky recoiled.
Curt gave a fake pout. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings. I thought we had something.”
“We’re leaving,” Timothy said.
Brock sniffed. “Okay, run from a fight. That’s what you Amish are good at, aren’t you?”
Timothy’s head snapped around. “Don’t ever come around either of these girls again.”
Brock snickered.
Curt laughed so hard he bent at the waist, gasping for breath, before recovering. “What are you going to do?”
Mabel growled again. I bent down and unhooked her leash. “Go!”
The dog was off like a shot, barking and snapping at Curt and Brock.
Brock jumped behind his friend and squealed. “It’s Cujo!”
Timothy used the distraction to climb into the truck. He backed out of his space and stopped in front of us on the road. He then jumped out and lifted Aaron into the truck.
Curt kicked at Mabel, and she chomped on the end of his boot. He swore. “That thing has rabies!”
Becky and I jumped in through the driver’s side door as Timothy placed Aaron’s chair in the back.
He hopped back into the cab. As he pulled out of the lot, Timothy stuck his head out. “Mabel! Come!”
The dog spun around, ran full tilt for Timothy’s truck, and jumped into the bed. I turned in my seat to see Brock make an ugly hand gesture at our truck.
A short while later, Timothy drove up to the house. He walked me to the door as Becky said good-bye to Aaron. Neither man had mentioned Brock or Curt again. “There is a picnic at the church tonight,” Timothy said. “It’s a celebration for the end of summer.”
I wasn’t eager to see Hannah again. “Does Becky know about it?”
“She should. You might need to remind her though.”
“I can do that.”
He paused. “Will you come?”
“To bring Becky? Sure, if she needs a ride.”
“I don’t want you to just drop her off.”
“Oh, okay.”
A slow smile grew on his face. “No. I want you to come.”
I felt a blush spread across my face—and I forgot all about Hannah.
Chapter Fifty
I ran my hands along the skirt of my flower-print dress, unsure of what to wear when I visited Timothy’s church again. Since the congregation was Mennonite, most of the women wore long skirts. I didn’t believe Becky when she said anything I wore would be fine.
“You look beautiful. I don’t know what you’re so nervous about. I should be the one who is nervous. I’m the one everyone is talking about,” Becky said. “I’d rather be home with Gigabyte watching Paula Deen.”
Becky had recently discovered Food Network. She was obsessed.
“You’re going as a favor to me. Timothy wanted you to come too.”
Becky shook her head. “I don’t think so. He likes you. I’ve never seen him act this way around anyone else, not even Hannah.”
Did she have to keep bringing up Hannah? It was bad enough I knew she would be at the picnic that night.
The picnic area behind the church was filled with people and four gas grills loaded down with hotdogs and hamburgers. It smelled divine. These hamburgers would be much better than the one I gagged down in Harshberger’s cafeteria.
Timothy stood next to a middle-aged man at one of the grills. He waved at us and jogged over. “I’m so glad you could come.” He ran his eyes over me. “You look nice.”
I blushed. Hopefully he’d think the redness on my cheeks was just a sunburn from the hike we took that morning.
He started back toward the grill, and gestured for me to follow him. “I want you to meet someone.”
Becky bumped into me. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
I grabbed her hand. “Then come with us.”
Timothy gestured to an older man at the grill. “Chloe, this is John Hilty.”
I knew where Hannah got her good looks. John Hilty was a handsome man, with a tan from working outside and laugh lines that creased the corners of his deep-set eyes.
Mr. Hilty removed his oven mitt and held out his hand. I shook it. “It’s nice to meet you. How do you know Timothy?”
I nodded to my housemate. “Through Becky.”
“Hello, Becky,” Mr. Hilty said.
From yards away, Hannah waved in our direction. “Daddy!” She wore a flowered dress similar to mine, but as my dress hung straight from my shoulders, hers hugged her curves. I wished I’d followed Becky’s advice and worn my jeans. At least then it wouldn’t look like I was trying to copy Hannah.
Kim and Emily followed behind Hannah at a respectful distance, as if they were ladies-in-waiting and she was the princess. Church members beamed as Hannah floated by. Maybe she was the princess.
Hannah fake pouted. “Timothy, I’ve been waiting for you to get here, and you go straight to my father instead of saying hello to me.” Her pout morphed into an adoring grin.
The worst part? The affectionate expression he offered her in return.
Mr. Hilty pointed a metal spatula in my direction. “Have you met Chloe, Hannah?”
Hannah gave me the smallest of smiles. “Yes, we met last Sunday. It’s nice to see you again, Chloe. Will you be attending our church on a regular basis?”
Not if you ask me like that.
Hannah put a hand on my wrist. “We shouldn’t distract the men when they are cooking. Why don’t you and Becky join my friends and me?”
I opened my mouth to make an excuse, but Timothy nodded. “That’s a great idea. Have fun!”
Becky and I followed Hannah and her friends to a picnic table as if our shoes were full of lead. Suddenly Becky stopped. “Oh, I see someone I have to talk to.”
“Wha—” I grabbed at her as she ran in the opposite direction.
Hannah glanced over her shoulder. “Are you coming, Chloe?”
I looked heavenward and followed. At the table, I perched on one of the benches next to Kim. She seemed the least ferocious of the group. Besides, from this vantage point I could see Timothy at the grill.
Ha
nnah folded her hands on the table. “You seem to be spending a lot of time with Timothy and his family.”
I decided to change the subject. “Becky told me that you knew about her job interview?”
Hannah arched an eyebrow at me. “I did. She mentioned it to me when we met in town one afternoon.”
“She told you that she’d be driving my car.”
There was a pitcher of lemonade on the table, and Emily poured us each a paper cup full.
Hannah took a sip. “She told me that she was driving a car. I didn’t know it was yours. To be honest, I wasn’t all that interested. You think a lot of the Troyers, don’t you?”
I glanced at Timothy, who laughed with the other men around the grill. “They’ve been so welcoming.”
“I’m surprised, considering . . .”
I looked to Hannah. “Considering what?”
“That you are an English girl.”
I didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, I watched Timothy flip hamburgers on the grill and laugh with Hannah’s father. I could never imagine him doing that with my father. I could never imagine my father doing that with anyone, for that matter.
“For Amish, the Troyers are more accepting than others in their district. I’m sure it’s the grandfather’s influence.” She took another sip of her lemonade. “After everything that’s happened, they’ve come to accept me as part of the family too. I know his parents are Amish, but I think they now know that I’m a good match for Timothy.”
I froze. “A good match?”
“Didn’t Timothy tell you? We are a couple. We are practically promised to each other.”
“Promised to each other? What does that mean?”
She laughed lightly, her eyelashes fluttering. “That we will be engaged soon.”
My face grew hot. “A person is either engaged or not engaged.”
“Why are you getting so upset?” She crushed her empty lemonade cup in her hand. “Emily, pour me another. I want a fresh cup.”
Emily did as she was told.
I swallowed. “I’ve never heard the term before.”
“It might not be something people say in the big city you’re from, but in Knox County it’s common.”
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