Gigabyte gave my ankle a small nip to remind me of the business at hand.
“Ouch!” I lifted my foot up in the air.
He sniffed at the other exposed ankle.
I knew I should have remembered to put on socks before coming downstairs. “I think we should buy you one of those automatic feeders. It might save me some bloodshed.”
He eyed me as if my joke wasn’t the least bit amusing. I reached into the overhead cupboard and removed a can of cat foot. “Yum, tuna and liver.” I opened it and gagged at the smell. Too early for cat food. With a spoon, I dished half a can into his dish that said Man of the House on the side. Wasn’t that the truth?
He sniffed the cat food with disdain.
“Don’t worry. You will have a second breakfast when Becky wakes up, you little hobbit.”
He took a small bite and hunkered down with his face buried in the dish.
Becky walked into the kitchen rubbing her eyes. “Merry Christmas,” she said with a yawn. She had been up past midnight cleaning and preparing for our party that evening. I begged off at twelve.
I rummaged through the cupboard for coffee mugs. “Merry Christmas. How late did you stay up?”
She squinted at me with bloodshot eyes. “Two. Do we have any kaffi?” she asked, using the Pennsylvania Dutch word for coffee. That told me she was especially tired. Becky always made a conscious effort to use only English words.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the coffee and half and half. “I was about to make some.”
Gig wrapped himself around her legs and pleaded in his high-pitched Siamese voice.
“Oh, Gig, did she give you that muck for breakfast? You poor thing.”
That muck was mostly gone.
I poured water from the carafe into the coffeemaker and hit the power button.
He yowled, pleading his case. Becky picked him up and scratched behind his ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you a real breakfast. What do you want—bacon or sausage patties?”
Gigabyte gave me a triumphant Siamese smile over her shoulder.
“Showboat,” I muttered as I headed back upstairs to shower.
By the time I got back downstairs, Gigabyte had polished off his luxury breakfast, and Timothy and his housemate, Danny, sat at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs, bacon—apparently that had been Gig’s choice—and pancakes. A smile broke across my face and my melancholy from the morning faded away. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Chloe,” Danny said. He was a lanky guy close to my age. Like Becky and Timothy, he grew up Amish and left during his rumspringa, but he was from a stricter district in New York State. His family refused to see him, even though he’d never been baptized.
Timothy smiled. “Frehlicher Grischtdaag! We need you to practice saying Merry Christmas in Pennsylvania Dutch. Grossdaddi will be impressed.”
Becky handed me a plate of pancakes. I took it and said. “Frelick Grisdaag.”
Becky, Danny, and Timothy started to laugh.
I put my hands on my hips. “Okay, my pronunciation isn’t that great. Eat your breakfast, so we can go to church and then the farm. Grandfather Zook will appreciate my effort.”
Danny forked a bite of pancake and changed the direction of the conversation. “Tim told me about you two finding that girl. I was sorry to hear that.”
“Did you know Katie?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not really, but I gathered that a kid at one of my stops knew her pretty well. When he found out that I used to be Amish, he asked me if I knew her. I was sorry to disappoint him.”
For one of his many jobs, Danny drove a truck delivering produce from the farm to local restaurants and grocers in the area.
Timothy’s glass of orange juice stopped halfway to his mouth. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I just remembered when Chloe said Katie’s name.”
“What’s the kid’s name?” Timothy asked.
“Jason. I don’t know his last name. I only know his first because that was what his name tag said. He works at that Appleseed Marketplace right here in town.”
“Jason?” I poured myself a mug of coffee. “That doesn’t sound like an Amish name to me.”
“The kid is definitely an Englischer.”
Becky flipped another pancake on the stove. I didn’t know who she thought was going to eat it because Timothy and Danny both had stacks in front of them that were eight pancakes high. She waved her spatula. “Why would Katie Lambright be friends with an Englischer?”
I took one pancake from the serving dish and sat at the table. “It strikes me as odd too, especially since Jason is a guy.”
Danny snorted. “He’s not much of a guy. A real skinny kid, who looks like he spends most of the time playing video games.”
“I bet Chief Rose doesn’t know about Jason.” I stirred half and half into my coffee. “I want to talk to him before I tell her.”
Timothy broke a strip of bacon in five small pieces. “I don’t think Greta’s going to like that. She’ll want you to tell her right away.”
I cut my pancake. “She’ll scare him off.”
Danny laughed. “Let Chloe talk to him first. She’s not the least bit scary.”
I swallowed my bite of pancake and rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks, Danny.”
“Anytime,” he said with a smirk.
Chapter Fourteen
Later that morning the church bells rang joyfully overhead as Timothy and I walked down the church’s front steps after the Christmas morning service.
Danny clapped Timothy’s shoulder. “Hey, let’s go. I want to get to the farm. I can hear your mom’s bread pudding calling my name. Do you think she made the date-flavored one?”
Timothy smirked. “Probably since she knows that you’re coming.”
Danny rubbed his chapped, bare hands together. “Excellent. Let’s hit the road. Where’s your sister?”
Timothy shook his head. “Inside. Reminding people about the party.”
I suppressed a sigh. If everyone that she invited showed up, we would be in violation of the fire code.
A few seconds later Becky appeared in the doorway. As she skipped down the steps her long, white-blonde braid bounced on her shoulder underneath her stocking cap.
Hannah and her new boyfriend Justin were a few steps behind. Hannah stood a good foot away from Justin, but when her eyes fell on Timothy, she hooked her arms through a crook in the tall boy’s arm and looked up at him, adoringly.
I suppressed a gag. Little did she know that her pointed display of affection was completely missed by Timothy as he and Danny talked about the horses that would be up for sale at the next Amish auction.
“Everyone’s here,” I said, ushering our group to the parking lot. The sooner I moved Timothy away from Hannah, the better.
Timothy gave me a quizzical look.
I smiled brightly. “Danny made your mom’s bread pudding sound so good that I think I’m eager to try some too.”
Timothy’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the churchyard. When he spotted Hannah and Justin, a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, it’s time to go,” he said, giving me a knowing smile.
A blush crept up my neck. Maybe Timothy knew me too well.
Outside of the Troyers’ barn, the fields were a blanket of sparkling white. Mercifully, the snow had started and stopped that morning.
Becky fingered her long blonde braid. “I hope we don’t stay long.”
“You don’t want to upset your parents by running off the first chance you get, do you?”
She dropped the braid. “I guess not. It would be a whole lot easier if they would just come to our Christmas party and we could see them there.” She held up a mittened hand. “Before you say anything, I know why they can’t come . . .”
I winked at her. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
Thomas flew out of the barn, his arms and legs pumping as he ran. He catapulted his body into his big
brother’s arms, and Timothy stumbled back, trying to regain his balance. “How do you think I did yesterday at the Christmas program?” Thomas asked excitedly.
“Do you want to know what we thought before or after the bishop’s lamb got loose?” Becky asked.
Thomas frowned. “That wasn’t my fault. The lambs got scared. Teacher told me that they must have had a case of stage fright.”
Danny snorted. “Sheep with stage fright.”
“It is no matter,” Thomas said. “Teacher said that I did a gut job and everyone would remember my performance.”
“She’s right about that.” I ruffled his blond bowl-cut hair. “You did an excellent job, Thomas. I can tell you can keep a cool head under pressure just like your big brother here.” I let my hand fall to my side. “Where’s your hat? It’s freezing out here.”
He wiggled out of Timothy’s arms, rolling his eyes. “You sound like Mamm.”
Danny removed a huge basket from the back of his SUV. “Becky, what did you put in here? Cinder blocks?”
“Stop complaining, Danny, you’re the one who asked for my monkey bread.”
His eyes lit up. “Monkey bread? Really?” He lifted the corner of the basket’s lid and peeked inside.
Becky slapped his hand away. “Consider it your Christmas present.”
He licked his lips. “I will.”
Even though she had spent days making food for the Christmas party we’d be hosting at the Quills’ house, she still made five or six—I lost count—dishes to bring to her mother’s table for dinner.
We all helped Becky carry her creations and our gifts inside. As I removed my gifts from Timothy’s truck, I wondered if the family would like them. I bought simple gifts and wrapped them in plain brown paper. I tucked the gifts under my arm and picked up one of Becky’s casserole dishes. If her dream of being an art teacher didn’t pan out, she could always be a chef. She had so many talents that the possibilities for Becky’s future were limitless. What was difficult was making her realize she had those talents, and that she was smart enough to pass the GRE with flying colors and be accepted into any higher education program.
Mrs. Troyer pursed her lips into a thin line. “Becky, do you think I will not feed you when you come home? I said you didn’t need to bring anything today.”
“I know, but I’ve tried out some new recipes. You will like them, I promise. I brought jambalaya.”
“That sounds like a horse’s name,” Mrs. Troyer said.
Becky removed her pink stocking cap. “No. It’s food, and it is wonderful. It has just enough of a spicy kick.”
“Hm,” Grandfather Zook said from his seat at the head of the kitchen table. “I didn’t like those burritos you made a few weeks ago.”
“It’s a different kind of spice,” she told him.
Timothy opened the door and Mabel slipped inside.
Mrs. Troyer pointed at the dog. “Timothy, you know what I think about animals in the house.”
Thomas pulled on his mother’s apron. “But Mamm, it’s Christmas. Weren’t animals there the day Jesus was born. I bet there was a dog. What stable doesn’t have a dog?”
I hid a smile. Thomas turned into quite a little actor when he wanted to.
Mrs. Troyer folded her arms. “Because it is Christmas, she can stay, but not in my kitchen. Take her to the living room. If she doesn’t behave herself, she’s out.” She shook her finger at her youngest son. “This won’t happen again.”
“Until next Christmas,” Thomas said.
His mother frowned.
“Danki, Mamm.” Thomas and Mabel shared a grin and the two slunk off to the living room.
As Grandfather Zook and Becky compared the merits of Mexican and Cajun cuisines, I carried the gifts into the living room. Naomi followed me.
Mabel lay in front of the fireplace as if she’d been there every day of her life.
Naomi pulled on my sleeve. “What are those?”
“What do they look like?” I teased.
Her eyes sparkled. “Gifts. Are any for me?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
With one finger Thomas pulled on the edge of my brown paper sack to peer inside. “Should we open them now?”
Mr. Troyer walked to the base of the stairs, which led to the second floor. “We will open gifts in a few minutes, Thomas. Do not pester Chloe.”
“I’m not pestering her.” He turned his soulful blue eyes up at me. “Am I?”
I tweaked his ear. “Maybe a little.”
Mr. Troyer sat in his easy chair. “The sooner everyone comes into the living room, the sooner you will be able to open your gift.”
Thomas flew into the kitchen. “Daed says that we need to open gifts now.”
Mr. Troyer shook his head at his youngest son.
Becky guided Grandfather Zook into his rocking chair by the fireplace. One by one the rest of the Troyer family and Danny found places to sit in the living room. Ruth sat on the first step of the stairway, which was as far away as she could be from the rest of the family without leaving the room.
“Ruth, come sit by me,” Grandfather Zook said.
The thirteen-year-old frowned.
“You won’t sit by your grossdaddi on Christmas?”
Mr. Troyer’s eyes narrowed. Ruth noticed her father’s expression too and stood up and moved across the room to sit at her grandfather’s feet.
I knew that Ruth was preoccupied by Katie and Anna. Murder was a heavy subject to occupy such a young girl’s thoughts.
I stood in the middle of the room, unsure where I could place my gifts. As if Becky understood my dilemma, she took the gifts from my arms and set them on the oak chest that the Troyers used as a coffee table.
“I’m the oldest, so I will start,” Grandfather Zook said and pointed at a rectangular-shaped package sitting beside Mabel near the fireplace. “Ruth, give that one to Chloe, and I see a few packages there, too, for your brothers and sisters, and maybe even Danny.” His eyes twinkled.
Danny chuckled. “You got me a gift too, Grandfather Zook?”
“Just this once,” the older man said with a laugh.
Ruth set the gift in my lap, as Grandfather Zook spoke, “Chloe, that is from not just me, but the whole family.”
I adjusted the package on my lap. “It’s so heavy. I have no idea what it can be.”
Grandfather Zook pulled on his beard with a twinkle in his eyes. “Open it and find out.” He glanced about the room. “All you kinner open your gifts.”
The sound of tearing paper floated into the air. Naomi held up a small wooden chair that was the perfect size for her favorite doll, and Thomas laughed with delight at his wooden train.
Becky ran her hand over the rosette carved into the wooden handle of the hairbrush she received. She looked up. “Chloe, you haven’t opened your gift yet.”
Carefully, I removed the brown paper to find a jewelry box the size of a breadbox in my lap. An intricate Amish farm scene complete with horse and buggy was carved into the jewelry box’s lid. “Thank you,” I said. My hands trembled as I lifted the lid and touched the cranberry velvet-lined compartments.
Grandfather Zook pulled on the end of his white beard. “I think that will work for any jewelry you might have received this Christmas.”
Mr. Troyer’s head whipped in his father-in-law’s direction at this comment.
Did Grandfather Zook know about Timothy’s gift to me? “I love it,” I said. “It’s perfect. Did you make it, Grandfather Zook?”
He smiled. “Ya. It makes me happy that you like it.”
“I do.” I knew the perfect place to put it on the dresser in my bedroom. I might have to move a few of the Quills’ daughter’s dolls to make the space. “I have gifts for each of you too.”
Mrs. Troyer frowned. “Chloe, you needn’t give any gifts to the adults.”
I blushed. “I know, but you’ve all been so kind to me, that I wanted to.” Typically, the Amish only gave gifts to the childr
en for Christmas, but since it was my first holiday with the family, I wanted to give something small to everyone, even the adults. I bit my lip, hoping that I wouldn’t offend Timothy’s father. I picked up my brown sack and began handing out packages. When I finished, I said, “Go ahead and open them.”
More ripping sounds echoed through the Troyers’ living room.
I watched each person open his or her gift: a metal trivet for Mrs. Troyer, a new pair of pliers for Mr. Troyer, and for Grandfather Zook, a beard comb.
The oldest member of the family examined the comb. “Oh my, I will have the best whiskers in the county now. That’s for certain.” He ran it through his cotton-white beard, which hung two inches below his chin. It had been much longer until a few weeks ago when Grandfather Zook was attacked. The attacker had cut off his beard, which was a deep insult to an Amish man.
Naomi squealed with glee when she found the purple dress for her beloved doll, and Thomas hugged the baseball to his chest like it was a teddy bear. Ruth folded the embroidered handkerchief I’d given her and tucked it into her apron pocket.
Thomas practiced holding the baseball like a pitcher would. “Where is Timothy’s gift, Chloe?”
Timothy laughed. “Chloe already gave it to me. It was too heavy to bring here today.”
Thomas’s brow knit together. “Too heavy? What was it?”
“A ratchet set,” Timothy said.
Mr. Troyer shot his wife a worried look. “That is an expensive gift.”
It was expensive, but Timothy’s reaction had been worth every penny.
“Christmas is not about how much money you spend.” Mr. Troyer’s voice was firm.
“Daed,” Timothy said, letting the name hang in the air.
Time to change the subject. I handed Grandfather Zook a second gift.
His brow shot up. “What could possibly be better than that comb?”
I smiled, tickled that he liked the comb so much. It had taken me days to decide what to buy him. “This one is for Sparky.”
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