I thought of Sadie and the other girls. Their hair had been cut when they didn’t want it to be. Someone else made the choice for them in a brutal fashion. I winced. Maybe I had been pressuring the girls too much. I was engrossed in the facts instead of considering their loss.
Becky cutting her hair would be the final statement that she was no longer Amish and wouldn’t be going back. Aaron came to mind. I knew Becky cared for him, but he was baptized. If he left the Amish to be with her, he would be shunned. It would not be the awkward tightrope Becky and Timothy walk. For Aaron, it would be complete exile, as if he never existed. The Troyers would have to shun him too.
Would she be Amish again for Aaron?
I sighed. Becky’s hair wasn’t my decision. I squeezed her hand. “Whatever you decide about your hair is fine with me. Long, short, buzz cut—it doesn’t matter.”
“Thank you, Chloe.”
“Promise me something. Before you cut it off, pray about it.”
“I promise.”
I finished tucking her in and left the room.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Good morning, Chloe.” Tyler Hart, Becky’s lawyer, answered his phone on the first ring. “Is everything okay with Becky?”
“Everything is fine. Officer Fisher is going to recommend Becky’s probation be reduced as soon as she finishes her community service hours.”
“That’s great news. She should be able to place the entire accident behind her by springtime.”
Thinking of Becky’s nightmares, I wasn’t so sure.
“So what’s up, if it’s not related to Becky?”
“This time it’s about me.”
“I hope you don’t need a criminal lawyer.” His voice was teasing.
“No, I don’t, but I do think I need a lawyer or at least legal counsel. I don’t know who else to ask.”
“What’s the problem?”
I told him about Dylan purchasing the house and insisting to remodel it while Becky and I still lived there.
“I can see why you would want to move.” His tone was thoughtful. “I’ll tell you what. E-mail me a copy of the lease and I will take a look at it today and let you know what I think. I’ll give Greta a call too about this. You said she met the guy.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get Greta’s take. If she doesn’t trust him, I wouldn’t either. She’s a good judge of character.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe he can knock down walls while you are living there.”
“He wants to restore the house to its original form. Everything must be historically accurate. He flipped out on Timothy for using the wrong latch on the window.”
“Maybe I can get a blueprint of the house from when it was originally built. The historical society should have one. Those ladies would love it if I dropped in for a visit.” He chuckled. “When was it built?”
“1909. 1910. I’m not sure.”
“That gives me a ballpark at least.”
I thanked Tyler and went straight to my laptop and e-mailed him the lease.
Becky walked into the living room rubbing her eyes. “You’re awake before I am. What’s going on?”
“Dylan was here yesterday.”
She flopped on her dog pillow. “I know. I let him in, remember?”
“Check out that wall.” I point to the one with the penciled X on it.
“What about—did you draw on it?”
“I didn’t. Dylan did. Timothy thinks he wants to knock it down because it’s not an original part of the house.”
She sat up. “While we live here?”
I nodded. “This place will be unlivable with debris floating around, not to mention the noise. I just got off the phone with Tyler, and he’s going to read the lease to see if there is a way out of it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Where would we go?”
“I’m sure we can find another house to rent somewhere in town.”
She frowned. “I like this house.”
“I do too, but I don’t like someone we don’t really know going in and out of it all the time.”
She stuck out her lip. “I guess.” She stood. “I’d better get ready for work.”
After Becky left, I found myself torn between whether or not to pay a visit to Grandfather Zook to ask him again about the attack. This was one of those times I wished the Troyers had a house phone. I could call him with my questions and the deacon would never know.
Instead I called Timothy’s cell. “I want to visit Grandfather Zook and talk to him again about the attack.”
“Okay,” he said, the tone of his voice confused, as if he didn’t understand my hesitation. “I’m sure he’d love to see you.”
I bit my lip before speaking. “I know he would, but I’m worried about causing more trouble for the family.”
“Chloe, we can’t be afraid to visit my family.”
“I know you’re right, but Ruth was so upset. If we stay away, maybe Anna’s parents will change their minds and let the girls see each other.”
“Ruth’s thirteen. Waking up in the morning upsets her.” He paused. “And Anna’s parents base their decisions on what the bishop says. A quick visit to see my grossdaddi is not going to worsen the bishop’s opinion of us.” He sighed. “You know what? I have an even better idea. We can talk to Grandfather Zook, but there’s a stop I’d like to make first. Be there in ten minutes. Wear old boots with a good tread, not the ones with the heels.”
As promised, Timothy arrived on my doorstep ten minutes later. I held up my foot, so that he could get a clear view of my old, ugly but practical, winter boots. “These babies were made for the Iditarod trail.”
Timothy’s expression was total bafflement. “What’s that?”
I laughed. It wasn’t the first time I made a reference to something from the “outside world” that Timothy knew nothing about. “I’ll tell you in the truck.”
The truck bounced along new potholes in the road that snow and ice had left behind. “So where are we going?” I stroked Mabel’s head as it lolled over the front seat.
“Bishop Hooley’s.”
I searched his face. “Are you joking?” Mabel’s head popped up, giving him a good once-over too.
“Nope. It’s time to go to the source of all the changes in the district. Maybe he can explain some of them.”
“Timothy,” I began as gently as I could. “Do you really think he will listen to you? You’re not a member of the district anymore.”
He tapped the steering wheel. “That’s true, but my family is. I need to know what is really going on and what needs to be done to get him to leave them alone.”
“Aren’t you afraid this will make it worse?” I didn’t want to voice that concern, but I thought that I must.
“I am, but I have to try.”
Another concern came to mind. “Won’t my being there make it worse?”
“I don’t think so. The bishop and deacon may say they have a problem with you, but their real problem is with Becky and me. We are the ones who left before we even knew you.”
“Won’t he be at the funeral?”
“He will be, but it won’t start for a few more hours. Since he will have to speak there, I know where to find him. That is if he hasn’t changed his habits since he was a preacher.”
Timothy pulled the truck up alongside a frozen pasture peppered by the occasional tree. That was it. No houses, no barns, not even any outbuildings.
“Where are we?”
“A field.”
I eyed him. “I know that, but I thought you were taking me to the bishop’s house.”
“I said I was taking you to the bishop. I never said his house. He’s in the pasture with his sheep.”
“His sheep
?”
Timothy smiled. “You’ll see. Mabel, stay in the truck.”
The black and brown dog settled in the backseat for a nap.
I followed Timothy along a well-worn path through the pasture. The crunch of frozen ground under our sturdy boots was somehow comforting. I watched Timothy’s gloved hand as we walked, wishing that I had the courage to reach out and grab it. I frowned. As much as I wanted to do that, I didn’t believe that walking hand in hand with their oldest son would help our case that I wasn’t corrupting the Troyers with my English ways.
The phrase, “Are we there yet?” was on the tip of my tongue when we went over a rise. Ten yards in front of us was an Amish man. He wore a calf-length, black wool coat, and black stocking cap instead of the usual felt hat.
He faced a flock of thirty or so sheep. Most of them stood on the snowy ground staring at him. A handful found patches of earth where the snow had melted away and lay down with their hooves tucked under their wool coats.
The bishop held a crook in his hand as he spoke to the sheep. He spoke Pennsylvania Dutch, so I didn’t understand a word. Despite not knowing the language, I heard a hesitation in his voice. Every so often he stamped the end of his crook into the ground to make a point.
“He’s practicing his sermon for Ezekiel’s funeral.”
“To the sheep?” I whispered.
The bishop spun around and found us standing there. His dark brown eyes glared at us, but something else registered in his gaze. Fear.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bishop Hooley said something in Pennsylvania Dutch. His tone was sharp, but the hesitation was there.
Timothy stepped forward. “Please speak English, Bishop. Chloe doesn’t understand our language.”
The bishop’s dark gaze turned to me. “V-very well. Wh-what are you doing here? This is my pasture land. Y-you have no business here.”
No wonder the bishop was uncomfortable speaking. He had a stutter.
“We came to talk to you,” Timothy replied, his tone respectful. “May we?”
“What about?” the bishop asked. He fumbled over the two simple words.
“About my family.”
The bishop stood a little straighter and grasped his crook as if it were the support holding up his confidence. “I have no r-reason to talk to you about them. You are no longer Amish.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
Timothy’s straight answer gave the bishop pause.
“But I do have a right to talk about them. I’m their son. They are my family. My being Amish or not Amish doesn’t change that.”
One of the sheep ambled over to the bishop and bumped his hand with her head. The bishop’s sheep were a different variety than James’s. They were larger, and their faces and limbs were a tan shade. The bishop sunk his fingers into her wool as if the sheep’s touch offered him comfort. “I see. Nothing you can say to me w-will change how I manage the district. Only Gott can influence me there.”
“Only Gott?” Timothy asked. “What about Deacon Sutter?”
The bishop’s eyes flashed. “The deacon has been a trusted advisor, but I make all the decisions about what happens in the district.”
Sure, you do.
“If you make all of the decisions, then you’re the right person for us to talk to about my family.”
“Fine, you may talk. I don’t have much time. Ezekiel Young’s funeral is this afternoon. Since your family is so close with the Youngs, I trust you will allow me to go.”
“Of course,” Timothy agreed. “What has my family done to make you single them out in the community?”
“What does single them out mean? I don’t understand your Englisch expressions.”
“Why did you say before church that the community should keep their distance from my family? Why are parents not allowing their children to play with my younger siblings?”
The sheep lay at the bishop’s feet, and a second one joined the first. Bishop Hooley gripped his crook. “If parents in the district choose not to allow their children to socialize with a particular a child, that is the parents’ choice, not mine.”
Timothy blew out a long breath. “You advised them to do it.”
“I advised them to be wary of the Englischer influence that seems to have overtaken your family.” He pointed at me. “You are the Englischer who has caused all this trouble.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, speaking for the first time.
“The deacon has told me what you have done.”
“Can you tell me? Because I honestly don’t know what I did that was so horrible to offend him.”
“The entire district is talking about it. You are leading the Troyers astray from the community. You may have tricked Timothy and Rebecca, but I won’t allow anyone else to fall under your spell.”
Timothy’s face turned bright red. “I left years before Chloe ever moved to Appleseed Creek. Becky left before too. Chloe living here had no influence on our decisions about being Amish. They were ours and ours alone.”
“Y-you say that, but isn’t it true she is holding you there in the Englisch world? Isn’t it true you care for her when you could have affection for an Amish girl and join the church?”
“Yes, I could love an Amish girl and be very happy.”
Timothy words cut into my heart like a paring knife, nicking off the corner.
Timothy continued. “Many are happy in the Amish. Many can feel close to Gott in the Amish way. I cannot, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
The bishop took a step forward. “You deny how you feel about her? She has no power over you?”
They spoke as if I wasn’t even there. Part of me wanted to turn and flee, but I feared my practical boots were frozen to the ground both figuratively and physically.
Another sheep stood, this one smaller than the others, perhaps even a yearling. Instead of going to her master as the first sheep had, she sauntered in my direction. She lay on my boot-clad feet. Instantly, her heavy warmth sunk into my frigid toes.
Timothy’s voice was low. “I would never deny how I feel about Chloe. No more than I would deny how I feel about Gott.”
What does that mean?
Timothy took my hand. “If I had to choose between her and being Amish again, I’d choose her.”
The bishop seemed taken aback by Timothy’s response.
A smile formed on my lips.
The bishop glared at me as he took in my expression. “You’ve made your choice, then. Now, I must go.” He turned and started walking away from us, across the field. The sheep followed without being asked. Even my foot warmer stood up. The moment she moved, my toes curled in against the cold. The sheep baaed and joined her flock.
Timothy’s chest was moving up and down as if he couldn’t catch his breath.
“Timothy, are you all right?”
He nodded, but I had my doubts. I wanted to talk to him about what he’d said to the bishop, about how he felt about me. I had a million questions. I wanted to tell him I felt the same.
Instead I squeezed his hand. “Let’s go talk to your grandfather now.”
Walking back to the truck, I held his hand the entire way.
Chapter Thirty-Five
As Timothy turned on the road that held his family’s farm, a realization struck me. I grabbed his forearm. “Timothy!”
He shook off my grasp. “Chloe, don’t grab my arm like that when I’m driving. We could get into an accident.”
I retracted my hand as if burnt. “I’m sorry.” The warmth I felt walking hand in hand back to the truck evaporated like mist on a pond.
He flashed a quick smile. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I snapped at you like that. What is it?”
“I just realized Bishop Hooley is a
shepherd.”
“So?”
I turned in my seat, so he could see my face. “Timothy, Ezekiel Young was stabbed with sheep shears.”
I watched as that news sunk in. “You don’t think the bishop . . . he wouldn’t . . . what motive would he have?”
I frowned. “I don’t know, but he would have shears.”
“Every Amish barn in the county has a pair of sheep shears.”
The memory of standing in the cloakroom at church came back to me. “When I was in the cloakroom at church and heard those two ladies gossiping, one suggested the haircutting was a message to the bishop about his rules imposed on the district. Maybe because the bishop was a shepherd, sheep shears were used to drive the point home?”
Timothy glanced at me. “Was that a pun?”
“No, I’m serious. Whoever is doing this wants the bishop to notice.”
“How could he miss it?” He turned to me again. “I’m not shooting down your ideas. You may be right. Let’s see what Grossdaddi has to say.” Timothy parked the truck by the Troyer home and got out. Mabel jumped out after him with a joyful woof. My hand hovered over the door handle of the passenger side. I’d broken my promise to myself. I was at the Troyer farm two days after I thought I would never be back. My fingers touched the handle. What if this visit was the final act to make the bishop decide to shun the Troyer family? I felt sick.
Through the windshield I saw Timothy frown. He walked to my side of the truck and opened the door. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want your family to be shunned,” I whispered.
“Neither do I,” Timothy said again as more snow began to fall.
“Then we shouldn’t be here, especially after the argument with the bishop.”
“It will be all right, Chloe.” He reached across my body and unbuckled my seat belt. His arm brushed my waist. “Let’s go inside.”
I climbed out of the truck, knowing it was a mistake.
When Timothy and I walked into the kitchen, Ruth was at the ironing board, pressing laundry with an old-fashioned iron that needed to be heated on the stovetop. “What are you doing here? You promised to stay away.”
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 48