“What’s that?”
“I found a dead body.”
“What?!”
I had to hold the cell phone away from my ear.
“Tell me what happened. You let me go on and on about Cole and you are dealing with dead people. Spill.”
“It was an Amish man.”
Tanisha gave a sharp intake of breath. “What is it with you and dead Amish guys?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. I proceeded to tell her about the haircutting and discovery of Ezekiel Young’s body.
“How gruesome,” Tanisha said, although the tone of her voice held a hint of morbid interest. After a moment, she said, “Do you think you’re in any danger?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
I could smell bread baking. Becky must already be up.
The smile came back into her voice. “Timothy will protect you.”
“What about Women’s Lib?”
“I use it when convenient. Look, Chloe, I have to go. The American teachers at school are having a little Thanksgiving for all the school staff tonight. I’m making a pumpkin pie.”
“Where did you find the pumpkin over there?”
“It wasn’t easy.” After a beat, she said, “I know this weekend must be weird since it’s the first time you’re not going to your dad’s for Thanksgiving. Even though I’m not there, I want you to know how much I love you.”
I released a deep sigh. “I love you too, friend.”
After we hung up, I was unable to fall back asleep, so I threw my legs over the side of the bed. It didn’t feel like Thanksgiving. Typically, on this morning, I was in California in my father’s guest bedroom trying to talk myself into getting up and going downstairs to subject myself to my stepmother’s criticism. Oddly, I missed it.
More than that, I missed the chance to see my half brother and half sister. I barely knew them, but each year they grew a little taller and a little more like mini-adults. I wondered if I would see them again. Would this be a standard thing? Sabrina talking my dad into a vacation each Thanksgiving? Maybe she planned it that way because it was the one holiday of the year that I spent with them. Almost ten years later, she had finally severed all contact between my father and me. Not that she was solely the blame. My father didn’t try to stop her, and a small voice reminded me I gave up long ago. I had gotten burned too many times.
I followed the smell of baking bread and the drone of the television downstairs.
Becky hummed to herself as she removed sweet potatoes from the oven. A crust of lightly browned marshmallows lay over the top. On the small kitchen table sat an assortment of fresh baked breads and casserole dishes.
My mouth fell open. “What time did you get up?”
“I never went to sleep.” She grinned. “I was up half the night looking for recipes on your computer. I found so many I liked, I had to make them all.” She removed her oven mitt. “Maam said I could bring a few things for the meal today.”
“A few things? It looks like you have the entire meal covered.”
“Not even close. There’s no turkey, and I could never make a pie crust like Maam can.”
I pulled a kitchen chair out from under the table. “Can I help?”
“You can help pack everything in the car when the time comes.”
“Deal.”
“Do you want anything for breakfast?”
I shook my head. “By the looks of it, I’d better save my appetite.”
“I can’t wait to share all these recipes with my family.” Her cheeks glowed from the heat of the oven.
When it was time to head to the farm, we carefully loaded the backseat and trunk of my Bug with all of Becky’s dishes. She climbed into the passenger seat, and I handed her a casserole dish. “You’ll have to hold the sweet potatoes. There’s no room for them in the backseat.”
“Too bad Gigabyte can’t come,” Becky said. “I don’t like it he’s alone on Thanksgiving.”
“He doesn’t like to ride in cars.” I shivered at the memory of Gigabyte howling the entire way to Appleseed Creek the day we moved to town. “Plus Mabel will be there. They aren’t exactly friends.”
“We’ll bring him some turkey.”
“He’d like that.”
As we turned out of town, Curt’s green pickup approached from the other direction. He honked the horn as he passed me, and waved. I clutched the steering wheel and forced myself to stare straight ahead.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Becky froze. After a long moment, she whispered, “I guess they really are back”
I loosened my hold on the steering wheel. “I’ve seen them a couple of times.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” She gripped her casserole dish. “When?”
“I came across them in town yesterday.”
Becky shifted in her seat, so that she faced me. “Did they say anything to you?”
“They know about Ezekiel’s death and that I discovered his body.”
“How would they know that?”
“Gossip, I’m sure. The whole town, both English and Amish, know by now.” I checked my rearview mirror.
“Do you think they know because they did it?”
I shivered and wished I could reach into my coat pocket and grab my gloves, which were trapped by the seat-belt buckle. “I don’t know.”
Becky frowned. “Do you think they have somewhere to go this Thanksgiving?”
I pulled my eyes off the road to stare at her. “What? Why? You don’t want to invite them to your parents’ house, do you?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Only, I feel bad for anyone that may have to be alone on the holiday.”
“I’m pretty sure Curt’s mother lives somewhere in the county, and besides they aren’t alone. They have each other.”
“I suppose.”
I turned onto the Troyers’ road, and a long line of buggies moved slowly up the street. Amish traffic jam. This was worse than the interstate during rush hour. “What’s going on?”
“The Glicks live about a mile up the road.”
The wedding. How could I forget?
I bit my lip and pulled in line with the Amish buggies. My little VW looked like an alien vessel fallen from the sky during the nineteenth century. “Good thing we left earlier. It might take us a little while to reach your house. We’re not moving at all.”
She wrapped her arms around the casserole dish like she was giving a teddy bear a good-night hug.
“You okay?”
The buggies inched forward two feet, and we did too. The Troyers’ long gravel driveway came into view, but we were still too far away to turn in. A young Amish boy no more than six poked his head out of the back window of the buggy in front of us. He waved widely. The hand of an unseen adult reached out and pulled him back into the buggy.
“I think so. It feels strange to think Isaac’s getting married. I don’t love Isaac. I don’t think I ever really did, but I thought for so long we would marry, if not for love, for companionship. It ties my stomach in knots to think about him marrying someone else, especially Esther Yoder.” She gagged.
“I can see that.”
“I do miss his friendship though. We had a lot of gut—I mean good—times together. Maybe someday he will forgive me.” Her tone was sad. “The truth is, if roles were reversed, I don’t know if I could forgive him. How can I expect him to forgive me?”
The buggies started moving again. Finally, we were even with the turnoff to the Troyers’ drive. Behind us, a couple in the courting buggy watched Becky and I turn into the driveway.
Becky sighed. “The whole district will know we are at my parents’ house before the first wedding sermon is over.”
I thought about the warning Deacon S
utter gave me the day before. “Do you think we should leave?”
She poked her head out of the Bug’s window. “It’s too late for that now.”
As I parked my car close to the house, I suspected she was right. We climbed out of the Bug and started to remove Becky’s dishes from the trunk. The front screen door slammed against the house. Thomas flew down the steps, yanking his winter coat up onto his shoulders.
Becky handed him a casserole dish of sweet potatoes. “You’re just in time to help us carry everything inside.”
Ruth came more slowly down the steps. The hood of her shawl hid her face.
“Ruth, can you help too?” Becky called.
The thirteen-year-old ignored her older sister and sat on a bench overlooking her mother’s vegetable garden on the opposite side of the house. The plants were long gone, plowed back down into the earth. A layer of dead leaves covered the vegetable patch to protect the rich topsoil. I removed the loaf of cranberry bread from the trunk, as snow began to fall in large, fluffy flakes. A white Thanksgiving, just as Timothy had predicted.
Timothy came out of the house then to help us carry in the rest of the food, followed by his roommate, Danny Lapp. Danny was also formerly Amish. His family lived in western New York. Unfortunately, they were much stricter than the Troyers and had no interest in seeing their son after he left the order.
I nodded my head at Ruth. “What’s going on with her?”
Danny’s ever-ready dimple popped out. “Teenagers.” He rolled his eyes.
Becky pulled a cake carrier from the backseat, a three-layer red velvet cake inside. My thick coat muffled my growling stomach. Maybe skipping breakfast was a mistake. “Is she upset about something?”
Danny took the cake from her hands. “Oh, yeah.”
Before Becky could question him further, he spun on his heels and carried the cake into the house. Becky arched an eyebrow at Timothy.
Her brother pursed his lips. “She wanted to go to the wedding and was angry when Daed said no.”
Becky’s brow knit together. “Did he say no because of me? I don’t mind if Ruth goes to the wedding.”
Timothy shook his head. “The bishop said no one from our family was welcome. It must be related to the warning they gave our parents.”
Becky’s mouth formed a perfect “O” lined with her pearl-pink lipstick.
The deacon had told me the truth, as much as it hurt. The Troyers weren’t excluded because of Becky or Timothy. Ultimately, they were excluded because of me. Guilt stabbed my heart. Silently, I promised myself that this would be my last visit to the Troyer farm.
I would make it count.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mrs. Troyer’s gaze took in the array of dishes we had brought in. “Becky, how can we possibly eat all of this?” She lifted the lid from one of the casseroles Becky had prepared. “What’s this?”
“Manicotti.” Becky removed the cornbread from the oven. “I got the recipe from television.”
For the briefest moment, a pained look crossed her mother’s face. Becky missed it, though, because she had closed her eyes to savor the warm cornbread smell. It did smell wonderful. Everything did. I groaned inwardly. My diet would resume after Thanksgiving, I promised myself. “Can I help?” I placed the red velvet cake on the maplewood hutch in the corner, piled high with desserts.
As expected, both Becky and Mrs. Troyer said in unison, “No, you’re a guest.”
Mrs. Troyer replaced the lid on the manicotti. “There is one thing, Chloe. Could you go outside and find Ruth? She should be in here to help her sister and me.”
I supposed that since Ruth wasn’t a guest that was allowed. “Okay.” I wrapped my scarf back around my neck. I hadn’t yet removed my coat.
During the brief time I had been indoors, the snow had picked up considerably. As I slipped across the slick grass, I wished I’d worn practical snow boots instead of the stylish, calf-high pair with no tread. The boots were meant for walking the sidewalk of a city, not the fields of an Amish farm.
Ruth had not moved from the moment she stormed out of the house. She still sat on the bench, staring into the remnants of her mother’s summer vegetable garden. Now a thin layer of snow lay over the leaves piled on the garden to protect the soil during the long winter. Snowflakes also gathered on the brim of Ruth’s bonnet and her black apron.
“Ruth, are you ready to come back inside? Your mom sent me out here to look for you.”
She shook her head.
“Mind if I sit?”
When she didn’t react, I took that as a yes—or at least an I don’t care.
As best I could, I brushed off the snow that had collected on the bench. The wet snow soaked the cotton fingers of my gloves, so I buried my hands deep into my coat pockets. “What are you doing out here in the cold?” I sat beside her on the bench. Lord, give me the right words to say.
She shrugged.
“You’re not wearing your cloak. We should go inside. You’ll freeze if you sit out here much longer.”
“I don’t care.” Her voice was sullen. Spoken like a true teenager.
I suppressed a smile. Amish teens weren’t that much different from English ones. Same attitude, just no Internet. “Why don’t you care? Is it because you didn’t go to the wedding?”
She gave a long, suffering sigh. “Yes, no, it’s everything. I don’t get to go anywhere anymore. I never see my friends, not even Anna.”
I had the itchy feeling I wasn’t the best person to have this conversation with Ruth, but I forged ahead. “I know rules in the district have gotten stricter.”
She turned to me, her blue eyes accusing. “What would you know about it? You’re an Englischer.”
I swallowed. “I know what I’ve heard when your family has spoken about it.” I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth. “But you’re right, I don’t really know about it. How has the district changed?”
Some of the anger died in her eyes. “The smallest step out of line is held up in front of the church during Sunday services.”
“What do you mean by ‘held up’?”
“Well, when one of Anna’s brothers had his hair cut too short, the bishop mentioned it in church and asked us to pray for him. That way next time he would know the right way to style his hair. Anna’s family was horrified. Her father was furious at Anna’s brother.”
“Maybe this is one reason they won’t let Anna see you. They don’t want that to happen again.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I know it is. No one wants to be embarrassed in front of the church.” Her knuckles turned white. “Bishop Glick would never have reprimanded someone in front of the entire church for something so minor.” She shivered, then continued, “The next week the bishop talked about our family. You should have seen Daed’s face—I’ve never seen him so red.” She paused. “The bishop spoke of you visiting us. Becky and Timothy, too. He warned how close friendships with Englischers can lead the community away from the church. Ever since then, we’ve been treated like lepers.”
“When was that?”
“Two weeks ago.”
And I’m just hearing about this now? Had I known all along, I would have stayed away from the Troyer home. I didn’t want to be the reason for friction between them and their district.
“Yesterday, the deacon was here and told us not to go to the wedding. My parents weren’t going to go, but Grandfather Zook promised to take me. I love weddings.” Her eyes filled with tears. “At school, I told Anna I would be there. Now, she must think I forgot about her.”
“You can tell her at school what happened.”
“If she will talk to me.”
“Sounds like she talks to you at school.”
“Some. Not like before. She’s afraid our teacher will tell her fa
ther. I only see her for a few minutes at recess.”
“I’m sorry, Ruth.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“We aren’t the only ones who have been singled out by the bishop. For the young people on rumspringa, the bishop and deacon have canceled all kinds of singing and social times. Many of the teenagers are angry. I saw a bunch of them standing outside church a few weeks ago, whispering together. The bishop canceled their fall social.”
“Who were they?”
She thought a moment. “There must have been ten of them. I remember Leah Miller was there because she looked the angriest.”
Leah again.
I kicked off the snow collecting on the top of my boots. “Isn’t rumspringa free time for Amish youth?”
“It is, but the deacon and bishop don’t care.” She twisted her hands in her lap. She hadn’t worn her cloak, but at least she’d had enough sense to wear her gloves. “Truth is they are going to drive more people away from the Amish.”
For thirteen, Ruth was an astute observer of human nature. I stood. “Maybe the new bishop’s adjusting. That’s what your father thinks. It can’t be easy being thrown in as leader. After some time, he will relax the rules, and I’m sure that Anna’s family will let you see each other soon.”
“You don’t know how it works. The only way we can be gut friends again is if you, Timothy, and Becky stay away from us.”
Her words stung. I suspected, though, that they were the truth.
She brushed snow from her lap and stood. “Sometimes I wish Becky and Timothy would come home, so we can be like we were before. Why can’t they be happy with us being Amish?”
“It wasn’t an easy decision for them.”
She dropped her head. “I know.”
“You think you will stay Amish when it’s your time to decide?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course. I don’t want to be anything else.” She paused. I don’t,” she added, as if to convince us both.
I bumped her shoulder. “Not even for Danny Lapp?”
She turned bright red and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I behaved like this with Danny in the house. He must think I’m such a child.”
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