Mrs. Troyer held the handkerchief to her chest. “The police think Timothy knows something about what happened to Katie? Is that why they took him away?”
I placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “No. Chief Rose asked Timothy to go with her to notify the family. She thought it would be easier with someone they knew there.”
Mr. Troyer’s face was like stone. “That is gut of my son to share the burden. The Lambright family needs the support of our community.”
“Ruth is there now,” the mother of five said. “Simon, you should go and fetch her.”
He shook his head. “Timothy will be home soon. He will know to bring Ruth with him. The family needs their privacy today.”
“You’re right.” Mrs. Troyer jumped up. “I’ll make them a care basket. Ruth and I can take it over tomorrow.” She covered her mouth, then lowered her hand. “On Christmas Eve.”
The back door opened and Naomi and Becky’s laughter floated into the kitchen from the mudroom. It was nice to hear Becky laughing with her youngest sister. Before Bishop Hooley said that it was allowable for the Troyers to interact with their English children, tension buzzed through the house any time Timothy, Becky, or even I entered the property. It had been difficult for Mr. Troyer to reconcile himself with obeying his church and loving his children who chose a different way of life.
Although twenty-seven now, Timothy had left the church in his late teens, and as far as I could tell, his relationship with his family had hardly changed. When Becky left during this past summer, everything was different. I could not help believing it was because she was a daughter—not a son. The auto-buggy collision she was in shortly after she left home had only made matters worse. The district’s beloved Bishop Glick was killed, and even though the accident wasn’t her fault, Becky was sentenced to probation and community service—both of which would not end until after the first of next year.
Becky held short boughs from an evergreen tree, and Naomi carried a bouquet of Christmas holly cut from the bush in their mother’s garden. Even without a Christmas tree and twinkle lights, the Amish home was prepared for the holiday.
Finding us all in the kitchen, Becky pulled up short. “What has happened?”
I was startled by how much she had changed since meeting her months ago on my first day in Appleseed Creek. The look of innocence had faded from her eyes, and a new appearance of maturity and understanding took its place. She was still the sweet, beautiful girl I first met, but an expression of sadness told that she knew all was not right with the world and that bad things happened to good people—even her family.
Mrs. Troyer helped her youngest daughter out of her wool coat and mittens. “Naomi, go upstairs and choose a basket from the closet. We are making a Christmas gift for the Lambrights.”
“Any basket?” the four-year-old asked in English. When I first met Naomi, she knew few English words, but she had learned so much in a short time. Since I don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch, the Troyers spoke in English whenever I visited.
Her mother smiled. “Ya, you pick.”
She ran from the room.
Becky wore a guarded expression as she placed the evergreen boughs into a bushel basket by the threshold to the living room. “Why are you making a basket for the Lambrights?”
“Timothy and Chloe found Katie by an old barn.” Mr. Troyer paused. “She was dead.”
Becky’s mouth fell open. “Dead? How can that be?”
I told her Chief Rose’s theory about the icicle, and as I did, the sweet smell of caramel emanating from the kitchen made me nauseous.
Becky’s eyes shined with unshed tears. “What was she doing there?”
A very good question.
Mr. Troyer folded his arm across him chest. “There is no point asking why now.”
“But—”
Mrs. Troyer stood. “Becky, help me choose items for the basket. Should we send some of my blackberry jam?”
“Mamm, we can do that later. I want to know what happened.”
Mr. Troyer’s brow was hooded, but Grandfather Zook spoke up. “You can’t have all the answers now. The best way you can help the Lambright family is to make a basket that shows them we care and stand by them during this time.”
If either of her parents had said the same thing, Becky would have argued with them, but since the advice came from her grandfather, she sprang into action and started to open pantry doors, seeking homemade treats to tuck into the Lambright care basket.
Mr. Troyer tapped his fork on the table. “Let’s eat supper first. Even at a time like this, I must return to the barn and tend the cows.”
Mrs. Troyer placed her jar of blackberry jam back on its shelf. “Ya, your daed is right. We must continue the work Gott has given us. Help me put together that last of the sandwiches. We will finish the basket after supper.” She gave a shuddered sigh.
A few minutes later Naomi and Thomas entered the room and sat on either side of me on the pine bench as their mother placed the platter of meatloaf sandwiches in the middle of the table. A tiny triangle of construction paper dangled from Thomas’s shirt. I plucked it off. “What’s this from?”
He smiled brightly and leaned close. “Naomi and I are making a Christmas garland of paper for the railing. Teacher had us make one for the schoolhouse, and Maam said I could teach Naomi how to make it. By the time she starts school, she will be the very best at cutting construction paper.”
“You’re a good big brother.”
He shrugged and reached for a sandwich, but his mother swatted his hand. “Wait until Daed blesses the food.”
The child retracted his hand with a frown.
Mr. Troyer bowed his head and gave the blessing. “. . . And may you comfort Katie Lambright’s family during this difficult time. Amen.”
Grandfather Zook murmured, “Amen,” and selected a sandwich from the platter.
Thomas scowled. “You took the biggest one.”
Grandfather winked. “I’m old. When you are as old as me you can have the biggest one.”
Thomas placed two sandwiches on his plate.
“Thomas Troyer,” his mother said, “You will never be able to eat all of that.”
He scrunched up his face. “I will. I’m growing big and strong like Timothy.”
“Where is Timothy?” Naomi whispered.
I took one of Thomas’s sandwiches and moved it to my plate. “He will be here—”
The front door of the Troyer’s farmhouse slammed shut, the sound of it echoing through the wall followed by the staccato sound of footsteps running upstairs. The footsteps stopped and another door slammed.
Naomi leaned close to me. “Is Ruth mad?”
I wrapped my arm around her. “I don’t think she is mad.”
Timothy entered the kitchen, his face ashen and drawn. “Have a seat, my grandson.” Grandfather Zook patted the bench closest to him.
Timothy fell into the seat without greeting anyone. He appeared so stricken by his visit to the Lambright farm I wanted to take his hand, but I knew that the family frowned on this. They knew that Timothy was “courting” me, but the Amish did not approve of public displays of affection.
Mr. Troyer pushed away his plate. “Son, tell us what has happened.”
Mrs. Troyer placed a kettle onto the stovetop. “Thomas, go upstairs and play with Naomi.”
The boy frowned. “But I haven’t eaten yet, and I’m starving.”
Thomas’s father glowered at his youngest son. “Thomas, your mamm asked you to go upstairs.”
Mrs. Troyer nodded to the young boy. “You and Naomi can take your suppers upstairs and eat in your room.”
Thomas’s eyes went wide. “We can eat upstairs?”
Naomi’s blue eyes were identical to her brother’s and grew just as wide.
“Ya,” their mother said.
“This one time. Now, go before I change my mind.”
The children scrambled off the bench and grabbed their plates and glasses of fresh milk before scurrying from the room.
Mrs. Troyer set a white mug of coffee in front of her oldest son. “Timothy, please tell us what happened.”
Timothy looked to me.
“I’ve told them about . . .” I paused. “Our discovery.”
He nodded. “Telling the Lambrights was as hard as I thought it would be. They didn’t believe us at first, and Jeb Lambright refused to answer any of the police chief’s questions about Katie. Anna crumbled to the floor like her legs were broken sticks. Ruth helped her to her bedroom before we left. She had wanted to stay with Anna, but Jeb told me to take her home.”
The handkerchief was in Mrs. Troyer’s hands again. “And Sally? How is she?”
Timothy made a face.
“Do they need help with the farm?” Grandfather Zook asked.
Mr. Troyer set his coffee mug on the pine table. “I’m sure the sons will come in and help with the farm while the family deals with this tragedy.”
Timothy’s brow crinkled. “I don’t know. I got the impression that Jeb didn’t care much for his two stepsons.”
Becky’s hands shook. “We’re making a gift basket for them.”
Timothy grimaced. “Don’t be surprised if they don’t accept it.”
His sister’s forehead bunched. “Why wouldn’t they?”
Timothy shook his head, refusing to say anything more about it. He rubbed his naked chin, as if searching for the Amish beard that would be there if he had been baptized into the church and married a nice Amish girl. “Deacon Sutter showed up just as we left.”
Grandfather Zook wrinkled his nose. “How did he know about it so soon?”
“I don’t know that he did, but I’m sure he saw the police car drive by his place on the way to the Lambright farm.”
“Did he see you?” Mrs. Troyer’s voice was tight.
Timothy grimaced. “Ya. That much I know. He definitely saw me.”
I wanted to ask Timothy so many questions about the visit. Why did he make that face when his mother asked about Sally? What did the deacon say to him and Chief Rose? Ever since Bishop Hooley sided with the Troyers about whether or not they could see their English children, the deacon had made his distaste for the family perfectly clear. For Deacon Sutter, the district’s battle lines were drawn.
Grandfather Zook frowned. “We can only pray now.” He bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we pray for comfort and protection over the Lambright family during their time of loss, a loss made even more painful because of the time of year. Please show them Your love and care.”
When the prayer was over, Mr. Troyer picked up his coffee mug. “Let’s not speak of it. It is time to eat and go about our day.”
I stared at the heavy-looking meatloaf sandwich on my plate. In that moment, it was as appealing as a brick. However, I didn’t want to offend Timothy’s mother, so I forced myself to take a bite. At that moment, I thought of how blue Katie’s hand had been sticking out of the snow, and the bite lodged in my throat.
Chapter Five
As we were about to leave, Becky hugged Thomas good-bye so tightly the boy yelped. “Becky, you will see me tomorrow. It will be Christmas Eve.” He lowered his voice. “Did you bring me a gift?”
She tousled his towhead. “Maybe.”
His mouth fell open.
I frowned. How would the Lambrights’ Christmas be this year? The first Christmas after my mother died was the worst of my life. It was also the time when my father introduced me to his new girlfriend Sabrina. The memory tumbled inside my mind, so I said my good-byes to the Troyer family and went outside, needing to be alone.
After a few minutes, the door of the farmhouse’s screened-in front porch slapped back against its wooden frame. Timothy removed his black stocking cap from his coat pocket and pulled it onto his head. “Are you okay?”
I nodded even though I wasn’t sure that was true. “Why did you make a face when your mother asked about Sally Lambright’s reaction?”
Timothy frowned. “Because it wasn’t good.”
I dug my gloves out of my pockets. “She cried?”
Mabel barked and galloped down the driveway from the barn. She must have been snoozing inside of Grandfather Zook’s sleigh until she heard Timothy’s voice. Mrs. Troyer didn’t allow animals into her house. Even though Mabel was a big, shaggy dog, the size of a golden retriever or collie, she leaped into Timothy’s arms. He caught her and hugged her before landing on all four paws on the ground.
“Timothy?” I asked. “What did Sally do?”
“It’s not what she did. It’s what she said.”
“What was that?”
He sighed. “She said that Katie had this coming. That she brought this on herself.”
My stomach tightened. “What did she mean?”
“Not sure, exactly. Greta asked her to explain, but that was all she would say. The chief believes that Anna will be the easiest to talk to, to find out what Katie was up to in her final days. She couldn’t ask her then because Jeb kicked us off his property. Besides, Anna was hysterical at the moment. We could hear her wailing all the way from her bedroom on the second floor.” Timothy stood there in the silence. Then he glanced back at the house. “It always takes Becky so long to say good-bye to the family.”
“You know it’s hard for her to leave.”
“She could go back to the Amish and stay forever,” Timothy said.
I frowned, but decided not to argue with Timothy. I knew he secretly wished his sister would return to the Amish and marry his best friend, Aaron, who was Timothy’s age, but obviously in love with Becky, eight years his junior. “You can’t even guess why Sally would say something so awful about Katie.”
He shook his head. “That was the one and only thing she said the entire time. I did get an earful from Jeb. I think it was a mistake for me to be there when Greta told them. It only made it worse.”
“Why?”
“Jeb said that it was runaway Amish like me that lead to these kinds of tragedies. If I hadn’t left the Amish way, others wouldn’t follow. He said that I was the example and the reason Becky left.”
I touched his sleeve. “That’s not true.”
He shook his head. “It is to some extent. My sister would never have been brave enough to leave home if I hadn’t already done it myself and turned out all right. Most of the Amish in our district stay Amish. Before she left home, she didn’t know of any other fallen away Amish except for me.”
“Becky left for herself.”
“But I gave her the idea.” His voice was thick with emotion.
I turned the conversation back to Katie. “Jeb thinks Katie left the Amish?”
“That was the impression I got. He didn’t elaborate and completely ignored Greta’s questions. I thought she was going to spit nails, she was so mad.”
The police chief didn’t like to be ignored. I knew that. “But Katie was in Amish dress. There was nothing about her that indicated she left the Amish way of life.”
“Maybe she had just left before she died.”
“Had she been missing? Did the family notice that she was gone?”
“Jeb wouldn’t say.”
I sighed. “Someone has to know.”
“Do you plan to find out whom that someone is?” Timothy asked as Becky stepped into the yard.
She held a tin of caramel corn. I wasn’t surprised. Rarely, did we leave the Troyer farm without a care package.
I looked him straight in the eye. “Yes. And you will help me.”
The drive to the house Becky and I lived in was quiet as each of us, Mabel included, was preoccupied with our own thoughts. Most likely, Mabel contemplated when she would have an opportunity fo
r her next nap. Timothy, Becky, and my own thoughts were much darker.
Temporarily, Becky and I rented the home of the Quills, an elderly couple who wintered in Florida. Unlike the Troyer house, which had been in the family for several generations and sat a quarter-mile back from the road, the Quills’ two-story, brick home was only two car-lengths from the county road. Beneath the snow, perfectly manicured bushes sat shaped into spirals and balls. The Christmas tree that Timothy, Becky, and I chose from the farm in town was framed by the front window, its lights blinking on and off.
The home was similar to the house I grew up in Shaker Heights before my mother died, except that house had another floor and more square footage. It also had the same artificial perfection of the Quills’ place. I liked the Troyer farmhouse better. Becky, however, did not. She loved everything about our rental—from the remote control that operated the gas fireplace to the professional kitchen appliances. If I heard her pontificate one more time about how wonderful the six-burner gas stove was, I might choke.
Becky’s lawyer, Tyler Hart, had helped us find this new place to live when circumstances forced Becky and me into an unexpected move. With little time to find another place, and with few rentals available in the town of Appleseed Creek, the Quills’ offer was the best option we had. When the Quills returned in April, Becky and I would have to find yet another new home, and I hoped for something more permanent that would suit us both. I was tired of moving. Still, even though the Quills’ house was three miles from my job at the college, it was closer to Becky’s. In good weather she could walk or ride her bike to Young’s Family Kitchen where she waitressed.
Timothy parked his pickup behind my VW Bug in the Quills’ driveway. Several extra inches of snow had accumulated on the Bug since we had left early that morning for the Troyer farm. Would we ever see green grass again? After Christmas, I would be ready for spring and summer to return; however, I’d lived in Ohio my entire life and knew we hadn’t even entered the deepest part of winter.
Becky hopped out of the truck. “I didn’t know it was so late. Carol will be here to pick me up for work in five minutes.”
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 60