“Of course it’s me. I work here. Who else would it be? Me and my schweschder and Aaron also.” Clara’s voice remained loud and angry, like when she was scolding one of the younger girls at home.
Lydia reached out, put her hand on Clara’s arm, and pulled her back away from Jerry a few steps. There was something about him that bothered her. Something that wasn’t right. His eyes continued to dart about, and he had a hacking cough.
Mattie still hadn’t spoken. She had moved closer to Jerry’s side of the room.
What was she missing? What was actually going on here?
Aaron seemed to sense it as well. He spoke in calm, even tones. “Jerry, I’m going to light this lantern, the one over the table.” He held up his hands, as if to show he had no weapon.
Jerry twitched or maybe he shrugged. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. By the time the lantern was lit, he had resumed shoving items from the shelves into his bag.
“Stop!” Clara still hadn’t lowered her voice. “Why are you doing that?”
“Because he needs to.” It was the first words Mattie had spoken. “Because we need to.”
They all turned toward her in the soft light of the table lantern. She clicked off her flashlight and slipped it into the pocket of her oversized jeans.
“Mattie, I don’t understand.” Clara moved toward her, but Mattie raised her hand to stay her off.
“You don’t understand. No. Of course you don’t. How could you?”
“Did you…did you steal the key from me? Is that how you got into the office? The one I lost? Did you take it from my pocket at church? Why would you do that? I thought you were my freind.”
“And what do you know of being a freind, Clara Fisher? Did you notice Jerry growing sicker each day? Did you notice the way his clothes droop on him like fabric on a scarecrow? Maybe you did and you looked away. Fine! Fine. We don’t need you. But don’t stare at me that way for taking a key. Leave us alone. We’ll get what we came for and then we’ll be on our way.”
“You will not.” Clara stomped her foot. “Aaron won’t let you.”
Lydia was listening to Mattie, trying to hear what she was saying beneath her words. While the girl was talking to them she never took her eyes off Jerry. She didn’t look afraid exactly, but terribly sad and more than a little concerned. Though her words spoke of a deep pain, her voice never rose. She used the same tone Miriam did when Rachel was sleeping. Only Mattie spoke almost as if she was afraid of Jerry, almost as if she wasn’t sure what he would do next.
Lydia remembered now that she had heard the two were courting. But were they accomplices? They certainly looked like it, dressed the same, both holding duffel bags filled with stolen goods.
But something was off, other than the fact that they were being burglarized.
Why was Mattie watching Jerry as warily as they were?
The feeling persisted that things were very wrong between these two. Something she didn’t yet understand.
Jerry was ignoring them, still stuffing items in his bag. She noticed he worked with jerky movements, and he kept pausing every few seconds to scratch at his arms and his torso. His face was even shinier in the light of the table lamp.
Was he sick? Running a fever, maybe? Why wasn’t he concerned about being caught?
And what was going on with Mattie? Why was she supporting him in this burglary?
She had heard rumors about Jerry—that he’d been on his rumspringa too long. That Bishop Beiler might send him away to live in a different district, or even send him to live with a Mennonite group. She’d heard about the drinking parties with Englischers and even with other Amish boys, but she hadn’t witnessed it herself or asked Clara since the night they had caught Stephen staying out late.
Mattie was a good girl, though.
Lydia knew Mattie’s family, who lived close to her parents’ home. It hadn’t been that long since Mattie had been in school with Clara. What could have gone so wrong in only a few years? And why hadn’t Lydia noticed it? Had she been so caught up in her own problems that she hadn’t taken the time to pay attention to a family who attended church with them?
Guilt and regret washed over her, much like the rain still falling gently outside the window. Mattie and Jerry were a part of their community. This shouldn’t be happening. They shouldn’t be stealing, and certainly Aaron shouldn’t call the Englisch police.
Whatever the cause of this problem, they could handle it among themselves.
They could call their parents and talk it over.
While she’d been sorting through her feelings, and studying Mattie, Clara had moved closer to Jerry and was now trying to take the duffel bag from him.
“Give it back. It’s not yours.”
Jerry pushed her away hard enough to knock her into the pie safe. Dishes rattled and a bowl they used for serving fruit fell off the top shelf, landing on the floor and shattering. Jerry flinched, as if the shattered pottery had somehow pierced his world in a way they hadn’t been able to.
Lydia stepped forward, moving toward Clara, ready to step around the table to help her.
Clara had hit the edge of the pie safe, and though she hadn’t fallen to the floor, she was off balance. She grabbed the edge of the table as an “Oh” escaped from her lips and her feet nearly came out from under her.
Aaron was closest, and he moved to catch her, to keep her from falling completely between the table and the cabinet.
Everyone was moving too quickly. Later, Lydia realized maybe the problem was the shadows or the abrupt silence left by the absence of Clara’s accusations.
Whatever it was, it spooked Jerry.
He turned back toward them suddenly. In one smooth movement, he pulled a knife from his pocket, touching a button on the handle to release the blade. Even in the dim light from the lamp hanging over the table, Lydia could see how sharp and long the edge was when it popped opened.
How deadly.
“Get back,” Jerry screamed. “Just get back. Why are you here? Why are you after me? I want you to leave me alone!”
But he moved toward them, jabbing at the air with the tip of the blade, striking the air in front of Clara and Aaron.
No one spoke for several seconds.
Aaron stayed where he was, between the pie safe and the table, Clara half in his arms. And for once, Lydia didn’t feel even one ounce of jealousy. She was so grateful they were there, together, and at the same time so frightened that Jerry might harm them.
Why was Jerry doing this? What had happened to him?
The silence was broken by Mattie’s voice—quiet and soothing, as if she were speaking to a small child.
“It’s all right, Jerry. They didn’t mean to startle you. It’s only that Clara slipped. Remember last week when we were in my grossmammi’s house? I slipped in the kitchen because the floor was wet. It’s the same. See? The floor is wet where Clara’s shoes tracked in the rain and the mud.”
They all glanced down at the floor, which was indeed a mess of mud and rainwater. Jerry looked back up and stared at Mattie.
“Hand me the knife, Jerry, so you can finish filling up the duffel. When you do, we’ll go and buy you what you need.”
His tongue darted out, moistened his lips again, and he swiped at the sweat running down his face.
“I’ll hold the knife for you while you finish. I promise I’ll give it right back.”
He licked his lips once more, coughing as he did. Deftly he switched the knife to his other hand so he could scratch at the insides of his arm, which was when Lydia saw how red his skin was, how raw. He’d scratched the top layer off in places, until there was nothing but sores.
“Something’s crawling on me, Mattie.”
“I know. I know it is, Jerry.” Her voice started to break, but she pushed on. “It’ll get better soon. It always gets better.”
Jerry switched the knife back, and Lydia saw the burns on the inside of his palms.
“Finish with
the bag, and we’ll go. The car—it’s just down the road. Clear off that shelf.” Tears tracked down her cheeks.
“After I do, we’ll go?” he asked.
“Ya. Sure. We’ll go.” She was only a foot away from him.
It occurred to Lydia that the girl was both incredibly courageous and unbelievably foolish.
Jerry nodded once, flipped the knife closed in one fluid movement, and dropped it into her hand.
Chapter 35
Aaron didn’t wait.
As soon as Mattie closed her hand around the knife, he let go of Clara and launched himself at Jerry.
He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe some part of his mind thought the guy was desperate enough to put up a fight. The man had certainly been acting erratically.
When he hit Jerry with the full force of his body, knocking him to the floor, he caved like a dry, dusty skeleton.
Aaron actually thought he heard all the air go out of him in a whoosh.
Jerry lay perfectly still.
For one moment, it occurred to Aaron that he might have killed him. The man had looked as if he were standing on death’s door. What if he had pushed him through it?
The terrible hacking sound resumed, and everyone began talking at once.
“Get off him. Can’t you see he’s hurting?” Mattie sounded desperate.
“Hurting?” Clara’s voice was shaking with anger and indignation. “He’s hurting? He had a knife and was going to use it on us!”
“No. He wouldn’t have. Please, help him up.”
“Mattie, step back,” Lydia said, suddenly taking charge. “Give Aaron room. He won’t hurt him. I promise. Clara, go and fetch a glass of water for Jerry.”
“Fetch him a glass of water? He was robbing us—”
“Please.”
Aaron pulled himself up off the floor, dragging Jerry with him. The man was all bones. He jerked when Aaron touched him, but he didn’t offer any resistance. The jerking seemed involuntary—almost like the child with Tourette’s syndrome Aaron had gone to school with back in Indiana. Jerry’s facial muscles twitched, his eye twitched, and he repetitively touched the same spot on the side of his face, his chin, and finally his chest.
The pattern never varied.
Jerry refused to look him in the eye as Aaron pushed him into a chair. Now that the immediate danger was over, Aaron was noticing other things he hadn’t seen from across the room. The odor from the guy was sour and overwhelming. Also, he had burns on the inside of his palms. Some had scabbed over but others were raw and red. Though he was almost six feet tall, he couldn’t have weighed one hundred and sixty pounds.
Clara returned with the glass of water.
Aaron handed it to Jerry, but he shook his head, waving it away after making eye contact only briefly. He continued to glance toward the open door, the window, Mattie, and back to Aaron. He didn’t seem able to focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds. Mattie was crying now, sobbing really. Aaron heard Lydia trying to comfort her.
Clara remained between Jerry and the door, as if he might make a run for it.
“Do you have any other weapons?”
The tics and three touches. “No. Why would I have a weapon?”
“You had the knife.”
Jerry shrugged.
Without turning away from him, Aaron asked Mattie, “Does he have any other weapons, anything he could harm himself or someone else with?”
“No. He doesn’t. I promise he doesn’t. Please, just let us go. Let us leave.”
“Where would you go, Mattie? You need to stay here and let us help you.” Lydia’s voice was soft but firm.
“You can’t help us. That’s why we have to go. We have a plan. We’re leaving Pebble Creek. We’ll never come here again. I promise you that.”
Aaron pulled out another chair, turned it around, and straddled it. “Everyone sit down. No one’s leaving until I understand what’s going on here. If I’m going to let you rob me not once but twice and not call the bishop or the police, I have to know what has happened, and I have to be sure no one is in danger.”
“And why would you do that? Why would you let us walk away?” Jerry’s smile followed the grimace, the touch to his face, chin, and chest, but the smile was more of a sneer, and he’d begun scratching again.
“Call it grace. You remember grace, right, Jerry?”
Clara pulled out a chair on the side of the table near the windows and flopped into it. Mattie and Lydia sat down across from her. Mattie was still crying, but she seemed calmer at the thought there might be a way out for them.
Aaron turned back to the man sitting in front of him. The man who looked as if he couldn’t walk to the end of the parking lot, yet he’d managed to break into their office two times. Had they broken into other places? Had they robbed the list of businesses and churches Rae had shown him?
Jerry continued to jerk, and Aaron’s mind went back to Andy, the boy who had transferred into his school in fifth grade. His condition had been full blown by the time he’d moved to Indiana. His parents had explained to the church that they had moved to give their son a new start, and also because the grandparents in their old town had trouble accepting the boy with his Tourette’s. They thought Andy could control the tics and the words he would throw out when he found himself in a tense situation.
Aaron soon learned just how smart Andy was. He’d even cheated off a paper of his once—something he’d done a month of extra chores for when he’d been caught. Andy had shown up to help, even though it wasn’t his fault.
Jerry reminded him of Andy in several ways, but not in every way. There were several things that were off, like the smell and the sores. Those things reminded Aaron of other men he’d seen in Fort Wayne, when he was older. Men he’d walked on the other side of the street to avoid.
“What are you using, Jerry?”
Jerry didn’t even look up. “What difference does it make?”
“Maybe it doesn’t. But you’re not leaving until you answer my questions. Or Clara can take the buggy to go fetch Officer Tate.”
“What about the bishop?” Clara asked.
“Bishop Atlee will insist we call the authorities. Drug use is not something he will tolerate in the district.” Aaron was playing a hunch that Jerry would not want to deal with Tate. “Atlee is a gut man, but his hands will be tied. I think you both know that.”
Jerry began scratching again. “I need to go, man. You don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me.”
The laugh was more of a bark, and it brought on a fit of coughing.
“My guess is crack. Is that what it is? Is that why you’re stealing?”
“I’m stealing because I lost my job. Me and Mattie. We’re leaving.” The coughing grew worse, and Jerry doubled over in the chair.
Aaron scooted back. He didn’t trust him. The guy looked frail and thin, but drugs could do strange things to people. And someone who was strung out? Desperate for their next high? There was no telling what Jerry was capable of doing if he thought he had a chance of getting away with it.
“Mattie, is that true? You’re both leaving?”
“Ya. Ya, it is. We’re going to the city next week. Jerry has some freinden there. We can stay with them until we’re married.”
Silence filled the room, and Aaron was once again aware of the rain outside, falling softly. Finally, he pulled in a deep breath. “Is that what you told her, Jerry? You need the money to go to where…La Crosse? Or were you headed all the way to Green Bay or Madison?”
When Jerry didn’t answer, he pushed further. “Or maybe you were going to keep the money and score a few more highs.”
Jerry still didn’t speak, but he kept glancing toward the door.
“Who are you purchasing from, Jerry?”
“Different people. Why? Are you interested?”
“Amish or Englisch?” Aaron waited, but Jerry didn’t answer. “I’m guessing you owe them. I’m guessing you need to
leave town for several reasons. It’s not hard to score a little, but when your habit owns you, things become complicated. Is that it, Jerry? Maybe you were planning to leave, but you weren’t going to take Mattie with you?”
“You can shut your mouth.” Jerry had tensed and was clutching the arms of the chair. Waiting in the room and unable to move around with them all watching him was beginning to take its toll.
“I’m guessing you told her that so she’d help. You probably don’t even care about her—”
Maybe Aaron’s words pushed him over the edge. Maybe it was Mattie’s crying.
Aaron recognized too late that his hunch was correct—the man had more muscle left in him than you would think looking at his emaciated form. And his need for the drugs had the ability to push him beyond what he should have been able to do.
He rocketed out of the chair.
Instead of heading toward Aaron, he shot past Clara.
Aaron jumped up.
He darted to the right, but his path was blocked by the back of Mattie’s chair and Lydia, who had risen to comfort the girl.
He moved back around to the left past Clara, who had her hand over her mouth and still managed to let out an ear-piercing scream.
Jerry darted through the open door.
Aaron ran after him, down the wet steps, and slipped in the rain-soaked grass. He caught himself, regained his balance, turned the corner, and tore out after Jerry.
The fool would get himself killed if he actually made it to the car he had hidden. His mind seemed to be operating in starts and stops, worse than an old Englisch tractor.
They had both made it across the parking area and to the street, which was pitch dark. Aaron stopped and listened for the sound of Jerry’s footsteps. He had gone to the left. He was sure of that. But had he kept to the road or gone off into the brush?
Suddenly a car accelerated around the curve, and Aaron could clearly see Jerry’s image in the middle of the road, silhouetted in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
Jerry froze.
The car continued approaching.
Three hundred feet.
Two hundred feet.
A hundred feet.
Jerry shielded his eyes, covered his entire face with his arms, but still he didn’t step out of the path of the car, which had rolled to a stop only fifty feet from where he stood on the center stripe.
A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) Page 25