Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3

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Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 46

by Amanda Flower


  Collette was missing too, for which I was grateful. Guess our talk would have to wait. Her conversation with the Amish deacon may have been completely innocent, but something in my gut fluttered.

  Behind me, footsteps echoed through the gymnasium. My chest tightened. I had thought I was alone in the building. The steps quickened. I glanced behind me as a looming figure stepped out from behind the folded bleachers, and poised myself to run.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I picked up the snowman head, ready to hurl it at the approaching figure.

  “Whoa, Chloe!” A campus security guard stepped up to the bleachers. “What are you doing with that snowman?”

  My face burned. “I . . . um . . . I was on the float.” I let the snowman head drop to the ground.

  He eyed it as if he knew there was more to it than that. “Are you done here? I need to lock up the building.”

  I replaced the head in its designated spot. “I’m done. Have a nice weekend.” Then, I fled.

  From Harshberger’s gym I walked straight to the Amish Bread Bakery. The bell on the bakery door rang as I entered. Sadie worked alone in the front of the shop, business brisk as parade watchers came in for a sweet treat and something warm to drink. A lock of hair fell from Sadie’s prayer cap. This time, no one made any comment as she tucked the jagged, stray hair behind her ear.

  A woman in a neon orange winter coat stepped to the front of the line. “Five donuts,” she said.

  Sadie lifted a piece of waxed tissue paper from the box on the counter and selected the donuts. The line grew longer as she moved to the cash register to ring up the woman’s purchase.

  A large man stepped into the store, surveyed the line, then let out an irritated sigh and left. I wove through the crowd. At the cash register, Sadie looked close to tears.

  “Do you need any help?” I asked.

  She blinked at me. “I—”

  “Miss, miss,” the English woman waiting to pay for her donuts said. “I don’t have all day. My daughter and I want to get to Columbus to shop before all the deals are over.”

  Sadie seemed confused by this comment. I slid behind the counter, washed my hands in the small sink, and donned a white apron that hung from a peg by the kitchen door. “Sadie, you run the cash register, and I will help customers with their selection.”

  I turned to the next customer. “What would you like?”

  “Three blueberry muffins, please.”

  I removed the wax tissue paper from the box and selected three muffins from the large, domed-glass counter case. My movement spurred Sadie into action. She rang up the impatient shopper.

  After the last customer left, I removed the apron and hung it back on the peg.

  “Danki for your help.” She opened the cash register and counted out some bills. Sadie held some out to me.

  I waved the money away. “No.”

  Her shoulders relaxed, and she returned the money to the drawer. “Would you like some kaffi?”

  “I’d love some.”

  She took two large, white mugs from the shelf from behind the counter and filled both with black coffee. She set a cream pitcher and sugar dish on the small table in the coffee nook. “Why don’t you pick out a couple of donuts for us?”

  My stomachache was completely gone, and I realized I was hungry. I selected two chocolate cake donuts. My diet would start the day after the day after Thanksgiving.

  I sat with Sadie at the table, each of us doctoring our coffee to our liking.

  The cake donut melted in my mouth.

  “Danki again. Esther’s not here today because of the wedding.”

  I warmed my hands around the coffee mug. “Did you attend? How did it go?”

  “Gut. I think they are a match for each other. Both Isaac and Esther were happy.”

  “I’m glad.” Isaac deserved some happiness after the year he’d had.

  Her eyes dimmed. “Yesterday I couldn’t help but think of my wedding, the one that is not to be.” She touched a paper napkin to the corner of her eye.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I am. This must all be part of Gott’s plan for me and for Ezekiel. The hardest part is no one knows about our understanding. You are the only one I’ve told.”

  “You didn’t tell any of your friends?”

  “Ezekiel was my only friend. Everyone else turned away from me when my father became the bishop. They blame me for his rules, as if I can change his mind. I can’t. The only time anyone speaks to me is here at the bakery. That is, except for you.”

  I thought for a minute. Sadie’s situation wasn’t much different from the Troyers’ and it circled back to the rules imposed by the bishop and deacon.

  “Do you know why your father has become so strict?”

  She was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if she would answer at all. “He never wanted this. He didn’t even want to be a preacher. Being the bishop is so much more. He was heartbroken when he found the verse in his songbook.”

  “Sadie, did Ezekiel have a dispute with anyone?”

  The chocolate donut stopped halfway to her mouth. She set it back on the plate. “What do you mean?”

  “Could there be anyone that may have wanted to hurt him or his family?”

  “I thought the person who cut my hair killed him. Isn’t that what the police think?”

  To be honest, I didn’t know what the police thought. Chief Rose hadn’t shared her theories with me, although she had certainly expected me to share my ideas on the crime with her.

  “I can’t think of anyone.” She grimaced. “Ezekiel wasn’t well liked. He could be prickly. He was a shrewd businessman and didn’t show many people his softer side. I may be the only one who saw it.”

  What was it about Sadie that made Ezekiel lower his guard?

  “Did he ever talk about his brother-in-law, James Zug?”

  “Maybe once or twice.”

  “What did he say?”

  She moved the donut crumbs around her plate with the tip her finger. “James wanted to be part of the business. Ezekiel and Uri didn’t want him to be.”

  “Why not . . . he’s family?”

  She blinked at me from behind her glasses. “Because it’s owned by the Young family and should stay in the Young family.”

  “Bridget is a Young. She’s still part of the family.”

  “She’s married. It is different.”

  Primogeniture was alive and well in Amish world.

  “And James is Abby’s father, which makes Ezekiel her uncle. Don’t you think it odd that two people in the same family were so brutally attacked?”

  “I—I don’t know. Everyone is related to everyone else in the district,” she said, basically giving me the same explanation that Timothy had.

  “How did he get along with his brother?”

  Sadie’s eyes darted all over the bakery. “His brother?”

  I nodded. “I know they were twins, but they seemed distant.”

  She laughed, but the mirth didn’t reach her eyes. “Different temperaments.”

  “Is that all?” I reduced my donut to crumbs and stopped myself from licking the plate clean.

  “Ezekiel was angry at Uri about something.”

  I leaned forward. “What?”

  “I don’t know. Ezekiel wasn’t one to talk about how he felt. Most Amish men don’t. I knew he was angry about it because Ezekiel and I went on a walk right after he fought with Uri. I’ve seen him upset at Uri many times but never this angry.”

  “What did he say? Do you remember anything specific?”

  “He said if he wanted something done right, he would have to do it himself.”

  “Was he angry enough to confront his brother? Maybe the two got into a fi
ght?”

  “Ezekiel wasn’t afraid to confront anyone. That’s what I loved about him. I’m afraid of my own shadow, but Ezekiel’s fearless.” She twisted her paper napkin on the tabletop. “He’d protect me.”

  “Can you show me the alley?” I asked.

  “The alley?”

  “The back entrance of the bakery where you were attacked.”

  She shivered, and after a long minute she nodded. She led me behind the counter and through the kitchen. Huge mixers and convection ovens stood quietly, waiting until the early morning when they would be used again. In the back of the kitchen, Sadie opened a heavy metal door, and propped it open with a chair.

  Even in the middle of the day, the light in the alley was dim, blocked by the shops facing the square, such as the bakery and cheese shop next door, and the one-hundred-year-old bank building that soared above us. Two cement steps led to the gravel-speckled blacktop. I imagined Sadie standing on the steps in the early morning darkness, trying to unlock the door. A faceless man comes up behind her, throws the burlap bag over her head, and knocks her to the ground. I swallowed.

  The alley was wide enough for one car to drive through, or perhaps a delivery truck, although it would be a tight fit. A green Dumpster sat between the bakery and cheese shop back doors. Sadie had said she heard a vehicle drive down the alley after her assailant left. Could it have been Curt and Brock?

  Sadie pointed to a spot to the left of the door on the blacktop. “This is where I was held on the ground.” Tears gathered in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Sadie.”

  Through the open back door, we heard the front door bell ring.

  She exhaled a breath, as if in relief. “I must go.”

  I touched her arm. “Can I pray for you?”

  Tears gathered in her eyes. “Ya.”

  Sadie and I returned to the front of the store to find an English customer examining the bakery’s cake selection. I thanked Sadie for the donut and left the shop. A conversation with Uri Young was in order, but I would wait until Timothy was able to join me. The next stop I could make on my own.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Like in the bakery, locals and visitors in downtown Appleseed Creek for the morning’s parade crowded the small cheese shop. Three women worked at the deli counter cutting Swiss, Muenster, Colby, and other cheeses to their customers’ specifications.

  Long, open-air refrigerator cases lined the two walls and another case ran down the middle of the room. What looked like Astroturf surrounded large hunks of cheese and their handwritten name cards. A white container of toothpicks sat beside each card with quarter-inch cubes of free cheese samples.

  A line wrapped around the store as visitors wanted to taste every cheese. Debbie was halfway up the first chill counter, refilling the containers of samples. I stepped into line. Two middle school boys were in front of me in droopy jeans and coats three times too large for them. They whispered together as they skewered cheese. “You ask her,” one snickered.

  “No way? You ask,” the friend whispered back.

  We inched forward. The boys stuffed their mouths with cheese. Finally, they were right next to Debbie. They jostled each other. The larger of the two asked, “Hey, do you have an outhouse?”

  Debbie blinked at them.

  His friend laughed. “She can’t answer you because she doesn’t speak English.”

  The larger kid asked more slowly, “Do. You. Have. An. Outhouse?”

  Debbie concentrated on her work of refilling the cheese tubs.

  I stepped between the boys and Debbie, and arched an eyebrow at them. “Do you have a belt?”

  The kid straightened his shoulders. “I wasn’t talking to you, Red.”

  I’d met a mini-Brock. I gave them my best responsible adult glare. “I know you weren’t talking to me, and she wasn’t talking to you either. Why don’t you pull up your pants and get out of here.”

  Mini-Brock, who was almost as tall as me, got in my face. “Are you gonna make me?”

  “No, but that guy will.” I pointed to a large Amish man who had just stepped into the store with a milk delivery.

  The smaller of the two pulled on his friend’s sleeve. “This is lame. Let’s go.”

  “Yeah. We weren’t going to buy anything anyway.”

  Like that’s a surprise.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Debbie when mini-Curt and Brock were out the door. The milk delivery man left the store not knowing the role he’d played.

  “I’m sorry. Usually kids like that don’t bother me.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  She shook her head. “Not every day.” Her wide-set brown eyes brimmed with tears. “Today, I’m afraid of my own shadow.”

  “After what has happened to you, I can see why.”

  She began refilling the peppercorn cheese.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Can I help you make a selection?”

  “Of cheese?”

  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? That’s what we sell.”

  “I know that. I’d like to talk to you about—”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  A woman elbowed between us. “Sue! Sue!” she cried to a friend. “They have peppercorn. Isn’t that your husband’s favorite?” She stuck her toothpick into the largest piece. “Oh my, it melts in your mouth, but there’s a kick.” She stepped out of line and joined her friend at the deli counter.

  “What kind of cheese do you want?” Debbie asked.

  How could I possibly take more food into the house with Thanksgiving already overloading our kitchen? “Did Abby say anything about her uncle?”

  Debbie moved to the next cheese container. Onion cheese. “You will have to ask her.”

  I plan to.

  “I can’t talk to you about this. Leah said not to talk to you.” She replaced the lid on the onion cheese container.

  “Do you do everything Leah says?”

  She glared at me through watery eyes. “Do you plan to buy something? Now, what kind of cheese would you like?”

  I sighed. “Cheddar.”

  She stepped away from the counter. “Follow me.” I wove around guests to the end of the opposing counter where she gestured to its contents. “We have fourteen kinds.” Then she walked away.

  In the end, I bought a half pound of yellow cheddar. I knew Becky could use it for something.

  Chapter Thirty

  I parked on the street in front of my house and stared at the all-too-familiar green pickup truck in my driveway. A shiver traveled down my spine. Should I call Chief Rose? Timothy? Both?

  Before I could make up my mind, the front door opened. Dylan stepped onto the front porch followed by Curt and Brock. I jumped out of the Bug. “Dylan! What’s going on here?”

  A slow smile moved across Curt’s face. “What’s the matter, Red?”

  Dylan walked down the porch steps. “What’s wrong? I told you I’d be working on the house today.”

  “I knew you were, but you didn’t tell me that they’d be here,” I hissed.

  “They are helping me with the restoration. I told you I might have some workers with me.”

  “Yes.” I didn’t want to get into my history with Curt and Brock. “Please, ask them to leave.”

  Snow fell onto Dylan’s dark head, like dandruff. He brushed the snow away. “I can’t ask them to leave now. We just started.”

  “I’m sorry, Dylan, but you will.”

  Curt and Brock poked at each other on my front porch, reminding me of the two boys at the cheese shop.

  “Where’s Becky? Is she here?” It made me queasy to think of Becky
being in the same house with Curt and Brock.

  “She left for work a half hour ago.” Dylan’s voice sounded close to a whine.

  “She let them inside our house?”

  “No, Curt and Brock were late.” He flushed slightly. “She left before they got here.”

  “I want them out, Dylan. Now. They aren’t welcome in my house.”

  He glared at me. “It’s not your house. You sound like my wife. I can make decisions too.”

  I stepped back. “I’m sure you can, but if they are going to be on the property, Becky and I are moving out.”

  “You can’t do that—you have a lease.” He gave me a lopsided smile. “Besides, they said they were friends of yours.”

  “Do they look like my friends?”

  Brock lumbered down the steps. “Aw, Red, that hurts. It really does.”

  “You two have to leave.” My voice shook.

  Curt moseyed over. “Why’s that? We’re working.”

  “If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police.” I pulled my cell from my coat pocket.

  “No reason to get your dander up, Red.” Brock held up his hands in mock surrender. The snow crunched under his feet as he took a step back.

  Curt turned to Dylan. “If you have another job, give us a call. This one’s not going to work out for us.”

  Dylan’s mouth fell open. “But . . .”

  Tobacco juice flecked onto Curt’s cheek. “See you around, Red.”

  He and Brock sauntered to their pickup. Seeing the two of them around was becoming more frequent by the day.

  After the green truck roared down the street, Dylan threw up his hands. “Now, I have to find someone else for the job.”

  I tried to keep my voice level, but I heard it shake. “Curt and Brock aren’t welcome here. The Troyer family and I have a history with them. I don’t want to talk about it. If you want to know what it is, read last summer’s edition of the Mount Vernon newspaper.”

  “This is my investment. I can’t tiptoe around when I have progress to make.”

 

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