If he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes, he would never believe good Amish folk would be so rude.
Was that fear in their eyes?
The door opened again, and Rhoda’s Daed stepped inside, followed by her Mamm and brothers. He assumed her sisters-in-law had stayed home with the little ones.
“Rhodes,”—Karl put his arm around his daughter and squeezed gently—“you can do this.” Though his whispered words were firm, when he glanced at those in the room he seemed unsure.
After Rhoda received a hug from her mother and brothers, Karl introduced Samuel to the bishop, Urie Glick.
Glick?
The man motioned for them to take a seat. They remained standing, letting others get a seat first. Samuel moved in closer to Rhoda. “Are they related?”
She nodded.
“Father and son?”
“Uncle and favorite nephew.”
If Samuel were to go to his uncle Mervin with a story, fabricated or real, it would carry a lot of weight. A lot. Finally Samuel understood some of why Rhoda had insisted on not saying anything.
Why hadn’t she told him that part? A better question was, what had he done?
“Excuse me.” Samuel waited until Urie looked his way. “A man who works for Rhoda is here. He may be able to help—”
“This isn’t the time or place for outsiders. Besides, I’m sure Landon isn’t needed.” He turned. “Rhoda Byler,”—Urie motioned at her—“you’re to sit here.” He gestured to a chair that faced a wooden table. Rhoda’s back would be to the onlookers while she faced the church leaders, who sat at the kitchen table, facing her and the onlookers. Urie took a seat behind the table. “The others can find a seat in the back.”
Sit in the back?
Rhoda turned to Samuel and placed several pieces of folded paper in his hand. “You’re not an honorable owner of Kings’ Orchard here, only a fool for partnering your business with mine. Accept that, and hold your tongue.” Her blue eyes held a peaceful resolve and a hint of forgiveness as her lips curved into a sad smile. “Do you understand?”
He looked around the room, took in the unmistakable undercurrent of disrespect—and fear—toward Rhoda. He had been born into the King family, whose forefathers had been respected for generations. When the Kings entered a room, they were given a great deal of respect. Over the years it seemed the Kings received as much as—if not more than—the church leaders. How had he not realized that before now?
Karl found a couple of empty chairs in the back, and Samuel sat beside him.
Karl leaned in. “I’ve spent a lifetime trying to avoid this kind of situation, and I taught her to avoid it. I don’t understand why we’re here.”
Samuel removed his hat. “That’s my fault.”
“Yours?” Karl studied him, as if rethinking whether he trusted his daughter to move to Maine and be under Samuel’s care.
“It’s for the best.” Samuel hoped his answer was true for Rhoda’s sake and her family’s. There had to be other young women, perhaps even girls, who Rueben tormented. Girls who would come forward after they heard Rhoda’s accusations and saw her strength.
“And if you’re wrong, what then?”
Until today Samuel hadn’t considered that possibility. Before Samuel had any idea how to answer, Urie began the meeting.
Surely his decision to turn in Rueben wouldn’t take away Rhoda’s right to move to Maine with Kings’ Orchard. It was unbelievably difficult to be near her while keeping an emotional distance between them. But he had little chance of taming the abandoned orchard without her skills.
SEVEN
Jacob tightened his grip on the reins as he urged the horse toward town. Anger with himself churned. He hated not being there for Rhoda tonight. It sickened him. The one gift she needed from him—and he had been able to give it to her since they met—was being there for her when life got to be too much. He tried to offer her hope and a smile when she could find neither.
But for two years the backup plan had been for Sandra to come to Harvest Mills if the need arose. What miserable timing for this to happen now.
He shifted in the saddle. If only he could ignore the leftover mess from his time among the Englisch. Sure, it would be selfish and unfair to Sandra, but this time his desire to be left alone centered on someone far more important than himself: Rhoda.
Her coming into his life had to be more than happenstance or coincidence. Maybe it was even ordained by God. That thought gave him hope. Maybe God hadn’t given up on him yet.
The first time Jacob saw Rhoda, she was standing in the road beside Landon’s truck, which had run out of gas, arguing with Landon. It was clear she was no ordinary Amish woman, slamming the truck door time and again, teasing and venting.
If she’d been in his life years ago, maybe he wouldn’t have left home. Everything he had ever wanted—challenges, intrigue, insight, heart-pounding hope, and a deep sense of camaraderie and kinship—he had now that he had Rhoda.
The only concern was if—or maybe when—she learned all his secrets.
Would she still look at him the same way? As if she trusted him? cared for him? Would she look at him at all?
He’d told Samuel enough to satisfy him, and he’d explained it in a way to make himself sound more innocent than he was. Even Jacob couldn’t tolerate thinking about the fullness of what he’d done.
As unfair as it sounded, he hoped to marry Rhoda before she found out everything. At least then she couldn’t simply shut him out, especially if they had a child. She would be forced to help him shovel the manure he’d created during his rebellion. Knowing her, she would use the manure as fertilizer for their relationship. Wouldn’t she?
He sighed. The depth of his selfishness amazed him. Despite how tempting it was, he couldn’t ask Rhoda to marry him without telling her his secrets—all of them. If he kept putting it off, she might end up reading about it in a newspaper.
The horse whinnied, pulling him from his thoughts, as it continued to trot toward Jacob’s destination without needing any direction. Trips into town were almost a weekly occurrence since Jacob had returned from living among the Englisch. He usually went to the post office to mail money to Sandra and sometimes to a pay phone to call her. This time he would go to the old inn at the edge of town.
It was a shame that all his secrecy began with a simple error in judgment—a desire to help out Blaine, someone he’d considered a friend. The start was clear-cut—a straightforward agreement to help Blaine borrow from Peter to pay Paul—but the fallout seemed never ending. So if his involvement with the construction company landed in the national news rather than just the local papers in Virginia, who would find him first—the police or the loan sharks?
Historic downtown Harvest Mills came into view with its various shades of red brick buildings standing two to four stories high. When he came to the inn, he went down a narrow, graveled back alley that paralleled Main Street.
Whatever else came of this mess, he had to protect Rhoda. Right now that meant keeping her in the dark about all of it. Maybe that’s what it would always mean. He closed his eyes. God, please … He wanted to pray for Rhoda in every way she needed it, but could a man so mired in sin pray for anything? Even if Jacob could get the words out, which he hadn’t been able to since—
He shook his head. No, he wouldn’t let himself think of the nightmare that accompanied the rest of that thought. Instead, he went back to his question: Did God hear men like him? Desperate men who realized the error of their ways, who had fallen in love? Men who wanted to do right but couldn’t reveal the past because the price would be too high?
He stopped at a hitching post behind the inn, tethered his horse, and headed for the back door.
His being a mess had an upside, like the fact that he didn’t judge others for their wrongs, not even his brother, who lost his temper too easily.
He went inside the inn, down a narrow hallway, and into a large lobby. As he crossed the room, he couldn�
�t help but note the marble floors, intricately carved crown molding with gold inlay, and mahogany chair rails and check-in counter. He’d seen the outside of this place all his life, but he’d never stepped inside. Clearly, it had been grand in its day, but that didn’t hide that it was now outdated and old.
At the counter, he waited for the night clerk to finish a phone call. Finally the man glanced up and smiled. He held up his index finger, indicating he would be with Jacob in a minute.
As soon as he hung up the phone, he focused on Jacob. “May I help you?”
“I need the room number for Sandra McAlister.”
The man tapped on a keyboard and stared at a computer screen.
The fact that Sandra had to come to Harvest Mills all of a sudden must have distressed her a great deal.
The night clerk frowned. “We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“She’s here. Try again, please.”
He nodded and typed again. “Let me try something else.”
While the man continued to tap on his keyboard, Jacob’s memories went down a dozen trails. Who would have thought his aim to help one man could go so wrong? When a confused man faced death and won, he was supposed to see what was really important—like a treasure he’d almost lost. But when Jacob saved Blaine’s life, the man latched on to his mistress, not his wife and child. A reaction that left Sandra with only one person she could depend on—Jacob.
Secrets. He detested the very word. But he lived inside a thick fog of secrets, hoping to find his way free of the lies and deceit.
“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have a Sandra McAlister.”
Jacob’s heart jumped. Had she used her fake ID to check into the hotel? “Try Sandra King.”
Sandra King.
If Rhoda caught wind of him meeting a woman at this hotel who used his last name to check in, he might have to come up with a lot of half truths to explain it. Or maybe not. One of the many reasons Rhoda was a good fit for him was that she didn’t ask a lot of questions.
Of course, she might well learn everything through an insight, without his saying a single word.
What were the odds that a man with secrets to hide would find himself in love with a woman who was at times clairvoyant? From his limited time out in the world, he knew that men with secrets weren’t that unusual. But a woman who occasionally could see the future or pick up on pieces of someone’s past? That was a definite rarity.
Thankfully, when Rhoda did catch sight of a shadowy hint of his former life, she wanted to know only enough to feel secure in who he was.
Rhodes was remarkable. He needed to be remarkable too. But he wasn’t. He was—
“Sir.” The clerk had apparently been trying to get Jacob’s attention. “We do have a Sandra King, but I can’t give you her room number. I can call her and pass the phone to you.”
“That’ll work. Thanks.” He waited, and a few seconds later the man passed the phone to him. Jacob took it. “Sandra, it’s me. What room are you in?”
“You came. You actually came.” She sounded so relieved. “Room 412.”
He handed the phone back to the man. “Thanks. The stairs?”
“Down that hall, just past the elevator.”
EIGHT
“Rhoda.” The bishop wrote something on the paper on the table in front of him. “I’ll ask again. Did you break into Mrs. Walker’s home based on intuition?”
She glanced at the clock. After she had answered their questions for twenty minutes, the church leaders had yet to accept any of her responses as sufficient. What were these men looking for? Not justice. She knew that before coming here. Did they hope to find a cause to refuse her the right to move to Maine? That didn’t make any sense. Not one of them wanted her to live in Morgansville, except maybe Rueben, so he could torment her.
Urie studied her. “Ya or nee.”
She nodded. The onlookers responded with breathy whispers, and Rhoda doubted a word of it was kind. Rueben had stirred up turmoil about her for years, and many in the community believed that if someone saw into the future even once, it was because that person practiced witchcraft.
She rubbed her left shoulder, but it was no use. The ache went much deeper than she could massage. The undercurrent of negative feelings toward her had to be taking Samuel aback. Would he agree with some of their sentiments before the evening was over? She couldn’t think about that. All she had to do was get through tonight with her right to move to Maine intact. If they wouldn’t give it to her, at least by her coming here, they would let Steven and his family move.
The bishop gathered pages from the other church leaders and put them with his own. He got out of his chair and paced in front of her. He pointed his finger heavenward. “As God is my witness, I only want the truth.”
She believed that, but she also believed he was too biased against her to see anything other than his twisted viewpoints. If the church leaders couldn’t give her grace, what chance did she have with the rest of the community?
Urie straightened his glasses and glanced at the papers in his hand. “You have given one direct answer. Only one.” His voice boomed. “The rest have been evasive.”
Her goal had been to say as little as possible and to say it without anger or accusation. But she would have to start giving longer answers. “I’ll try to do better.”
He pursed his lips. “Let’s try again. Did you foresee your sister’s murder?”
“She was my little sister. People sometimes sense when a loved one is in—”
“Stop, please.” He glanced at the church leaders. “You will answer ya or nee.”
The preacher offered a weak but sincere smile while gesturing toward her. “A simple yes or no in any language will do.”
Some people snickered. Others talked softly.
Rueben stood. “She can talk to plants and animals and get them to do her bidding, but she can’t answer men of God. What does that tell us about her?”
A clamor arose, and two women clutched their young ones and headed for the door. As they glanced at Rhoda, she saw their fear. How could they believe she would ever harm anyone even if she had the power to do so?
An ache that she’d been running from since childhood settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her people despised her, including many of the women who talked so kindly to her during community gatherings.
“Hold on.”
Samuel’s voice rose above the murmuring. Rhoda imagined his tan face was tinged with red. The man’s poor hat was bound to look like a pretzel. Unless he’d thrown it across the room. “Bishop Glick, why does Rueben get to stand up and speak against Rhoda, and yet you will not let her speak a sentence when answering your questions?”
Urie turned to Rueben. “You will sit down and be quiet or I will ask you to leave.”
Rueben sat. One side of his mouth curled into a smile.
Urie lowered his glasses, staring toward the back of the room. “Please sit down, Samuel.”
“I don’t understand. How can you consider this meeting fair or just?”
“It may appear unfair to an outsider, but be patient. She will have her say later on. And as I’ve told you twice already, you are not a part of this district. You can’t speak for someone who is, especially when these incidents took place before you knew Rhoda.”
A chair scraped against the wood floor. Rhoda imagined it was Samuel taking a seat. He probably had a lot he’d like to say, but angering the church leaders would be a mistake. Did he still believe he’d done the right thing?
The bishop put his glasses higher up on his nose and stared at one of the pages in his hands. “Did you give some of the non-Amish townsfolk herbal remedies that they said were miracles, declaring that your concoctions were able to do what neither pharmaceuticals nor God had been able to do?”
“I’ve given a few some herbal teas, but—”
“Ya or nee, Rhoda.”
She pressed her hands down her black apron. “Ya.”
“Can you read people’s thoughts?”
“Nee.”
Urie’s eyes widened as he focused on her.
Rueben stood. “She’s lying.”
Rhoda let out a slow breath. Why had she given in to provoking Rueben’s anger last March? She never should have let herself read Rueben, no matter how he irked her. If these men knew how much effort she put into resisting the inklings and forewarnings, maybe then they would extend grace and understanding to her.
Rueben faced those behind Rhoda. “I wish I’d been a man of honor, but everyone here knows my shame. I was seeing someone else besides my girl here in Morgansville, but no one knew that. Rhoda read my mind and blabbed about it to my girl.”
“My daughter is not the first woman to read guilt on a man’s face.” Her Daed’s words quivered as he spoke up.
Fresh pain pierced her. How awful for such a good man to lose a gentle daughter and be left with one who was an outcast.
The bishop nodded. “Karl is right. Sit down, Rueben. This isn’t about you.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be?” Samuel’s voice again. “He destroyed her berry garden, and I sent you a letter about it. But so far the only one to be questioned is Rhoda.”
Urie pursed his lips and nodded. “We will get to that. But how can we talk about that incident without understanding who Rhoda is?”
“By focusing on the point of this meeting—your nephew’s misconduct. Instead, you ask the victim questions that have nothing to do with Rueben’s vandalism.”
Urie’s eyes flashed with anger. “Are you questioning my authority? I hold this position because it was given to me by God.”
Images flashed in Rhoda’s mind. She tensed. No! Not here. Not now.
But the images came, even against her will. As if someone were holding up one picture after another, she saw churches throughout the centuries, from the most humble to huge cathedrals. Understanding washed over her, sickening her as she saw hundreds upon hundreds of years of men of the cloth using deceit to get what they wanted. Not all the church leaders by any means, but even one was too many. How many church authorities began with good intentions and then allowed themselves to be manipulated by liars? How many of them knew that’s what they were doing, but for reasons even they didn’t understand, they allowed it anyway?
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