Mrs. Troyer asked for my plate and piled it high with more food than I could eat in a week, let alone at one sitting.
“My daughter makes the best canned beets in the county,” Grandfather Zook said proudly.
I forced a smile as Mrs. Troyer set the plate in front of me, eight huge beet slices on the side of the plate between the red potatoes and green beans. I hated beets. Somehow, I knew, I would choke them down.
“Daed,” Mrs. Troyer said. “How could you know that? Have you tried every pickled beet in the county?”
His eyes twinkled. “I don’t have to taste them all to recognize the best.”
Mrs. Troyer gave him a shy smile.
Mr. Troyer peered up from his dish at his father-in-law. “We should not be prideful.”
His wife’s smile faded.
Grandfather Zook appeared unconcerned by his son-in-law’s comment and diced the roast beef on his plate into small, uniform pieces. “Someone opened the door to the chicken pen again last night. Ruth and Thomas had an exciting morning chasing the chickens around the yard.”
“We got them all,” Thomas said.
Timothy frowned. “What do you mean again?”
“It’s the third time this week. I suppose we are lucky. The Sutters found tire marks driven right through their soybean field. It destroyed the crop.”
Timothy stopped eating. “How long has this been going on?”
Grandfather Zook opened his mouth, but his son-in-law snapped at him in Pennsylvania Dutch.
Timothy looked at his father, then lowered his gaze to the table.
Grandfather Zook changed the subject. “Thomas helped Mary Fisher take strawberries to the Fisher fruit stand again today.” Another twinkle appeared in his eyes. “This is the third time,” he said. “Mary Fisher lives on the next farm. Gut family.”
“Grossdaddi!” Thomas’s cheeks grew red.
His mother gave him a warning glance. “Thomas, don’t raise your voice.”
“Ya, Mamm.” Thomas scrunched up his nose at his grandfather.
Grandfather Zook sipped his water. “She is too old for you, grandkinner.”
Thomas scrunched his nose again. “She’s ten.”
“And you are seven.”
The meal reminded me of Christmas dinner with the Green family. Lots of food piled high on plates, lively discussion, and the whole family gathered together. There were differences of course. Tanisha’s little brother would have been playing a handheld videogame under the table, and her grandmother would have fallen asleep. However, the same love and warmth I had experienced with the Green clan was in this room.
Except for the proverbial elephant in the room—the accident—it must be like Christmas dinner every day for the Troyer family. No one spoke of the accident. Instead, Grandfather Zook entertained the family with stories about his three younger grandchildren. They pretended that it upset them, but the children clearly loved the attention. He also asked about Becky and my house, and laughed when I described how rundown it was and that we had no furniture to speak of.
Mr. Troyer didn’t seem to find my description nearly as funny.
Through it all, Becky barely touched her food, her eyes ever-fixed on her plate. Timothy also stayed quiet.
Figaro! Figaro! Figaro!
I swallowed a groan. Tanisha had programmed that ringtone into my cell before she moved to Milan.
The Troyer family stared at me.
“I’m so sorry.” I reached under the bench seat for my purse.
Mr. Troyer frowned, as if I’d just fallen a few pegs in his opinion.
“What was that?” Thomas asked.
“Someone is singing under the table,” Grandfather Zook said. “We must have a musical mouse.”
Mrs. Troyer straightened. “There are no mice in my home.”
“A spider then.” Grandfather Zook tugged his beard. “He is very talented.”
Thomas’s eyes grew wide. “Spiders sing?”
“Grossdaddi is teasing,” Ruth said.
Thomas squinted. “I knew that.”
My face burned like I had stepped under a heat lamp. “It’s my cell phone. That’s my friend Tanisha calling from Italy.”
Thomas stared at me. “She called you all the way from Italy?”
I nodded.
Figaro! Figaro! Figaro!
I knew my face had turned the same color as my hair. “I’m so sorry. Will you excuse me for a minute? It must be important for her to call me back like that.” Clumsily, I climbed out of the bench seat and hurried from the table, but not before noticing the scowl on Mr. Troyer’s face.
Outside, I answered the phone. “Tee?”
“Did you hang up on me?” Tanisha asked by way of greeting.
I stepped under the shade of a large elm tree about ten yards from the house. “No. I silenced your first call.”
“Nope. I think you hung up.” She sounded strange.
“Why didn’t you leave a message? Is something wrong?”
“Of course something is wrong. You didn’t answer your phone and I needed to talk to you.”
I sighed. “Tee, this really isn’t a good time.” I glanced back at the house. “I’m—”
“Cole dumped me.”
“What?”
She sobbed.
“Tanisha, honey, tell me what happened.”
“He said he thought about it.” She gasped for air. “He said being apart for two years was too long to wait to get married. He said I either come home and marry him now or not marry him at all.”
“That’s ridiculous.” My jaw tightened. Cole was lucky he was hundreds of miles away in Florida. Had he been in front of me, I would have given him a piece of my mind—or kicked him. Kicking him probably would have felt better.
The screen door opened, and Timothy stepped outside.
“I found out right after Mom and Dad left for the airport.” Tanisha continued to whimper. “They are on the plane by now. I can’t even talk to them. Cole knew when my parents were leaving. Why did he wait until then to tell me?”
“Because he’s a jerk,” I wanted to say. My best friend defenses were up right now, and Cole was the enemy. “I’m so sorry, Tee. I know you’re upset.” I glanced at Timothy standing on the porch, waiting for me.
“Do you think I should call him and tell him what a huge mistake he is making?”
“No! He should be calling you. He’s probably realizing what a colossal error this is right now.”
She sniffled. “I doubt that.”
“Well, if you do break down and call him, make sure it’s in the middle of the night Florida time.” My anger rose at Cole. “You might as well wake the idiot up from a dead sleep. You can blame it on the time difference.”
She laughed in my ear.
Timothy continued to watch me from the front of his parents’ house. “I hate to do this, Tee, but can I call you later to talk more?” I pulled the phone away from my ear to check the time before continuing. “It must be evening over there. I can call you tomorrow.”
“But I want to talk to you now.”
“I know you do, but I’m at a friend’s house and can’t talk.”
She paused. “A friend’s house. What friend?”
“Becky.”
“The Amish girl?” Her voice had lost some of its sadness. “You are at an Amish house?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like?”
“Just like a normal house, I guess, without the TV or hairdryer.”
“Who cares about that? Is her brother, the hot buggy boy, there too?”
I turned my back to Timothy. “Don’t call him that,” I half whispered. “Yes, he’s here.”
She who
oped a little. “You must tell me everything when you get home. Thinking about your love life will cheer me up.”
“I don’t have one.”
“You will.” Some of her typical Tanisha spunk had returned.
I ended the call and returned to the house. “I’m so sorry to interrupt the meal like that, Timothy.”
“Don’t worry. We were almost finished anyway. My mother is cleaning up now.” Timothy stood by the steps. “Is something wrong?”
“My best friend’s fiancé broke up with her. She needed someone to talk to.”
He frowned. “Your friend is in Italy.”
I nodded. “And her fiancé—ex-fiancé—is in Florida. That’s the problem, or at least the problem Cole—that’s his name—sees.”
“It must be hard for him with her being so far away.”
My face tightened again. He wasn’t supposed to defend Cole. No one should. In my mind, my best friend’s fiancé was public enemy number one . . . well, maybe number two. Those two rednecks in the green pickup were number one.
Timothy’s brow creased. “Did I say something wrong?”
I almost told Timothy what I really thought of Cole and men in general at that moment, but I thought better of it. Maybe Timothy was different. I hoped so. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong.”
“I’ll pray for them,” Timothy said.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The screen door opened and the rest of the Troyer family filed out. Mrs. Troyer approached us. “Is everything all right, Chloe?”
“My friend received some bad news.”
“I’m sorry. We will pray for her. What is her name again?”
I smiled. “Tanisha. She’ll appreciate the prayers.”
Timothy turned to his parents. “I’ll take Chloe home.”
Mrs. Troyer’s expression fell. “Stay for dessert. I made peach pie. The peaches are from our tree. You love when I make peach pie, Timothy.”
“I’m going too,” said Becky, who had been quiet up to this point.
“No, you’re not,” her father said.
“I can’t stay here. The district will talk. It’s better for the family if I am away”—she paused—“until this is all over.”
“I am your daed.” Mr. Troyer’s voice was thunderous. “You must listen to what I say.”
“Rebecca is right.” Grandfather Zook spoke out from the doorway. He leaned heavily on his braces. “You should let her go.”
Becky’s father rounded on his father-in-law and snapped at him in their own language.
Grandfather Zook carefully made his way down the porch steps, using his braces for support. He replied in his native language.
Mr. Troyer shook his head.
“You know what the deacon will say,” Grandfather Zook replied.
Mr. Troyer glowered at him, but finally, he lowered his head. When he looked up, tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. “You may go.”
“Danki, Daed,” Becky whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
On the way back to Appleseed Creek, the truck bounced along the gravel road, and Becky, who sat between Timothy and me, wrapped her good arm around her cast to protect it.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“Not much.” She considered her cast. “Do you like it? The doctor said I could pick any color I wanted. I want you to be the first one to sign it.”
“What happened after I left the sheriff’s department?”
“They fingerprinted me using a computer and asked lots of questions. Timothy got me out.” She beamed when mentioning her brother.
“The police didn’t charge you?”
Timothy cleared his throat. “She was charged with driving without a license. They haven’t made any decision about the accident yet.”
My heart sank. Was it too much to hope Becky would get off scot-free? “What happens now?”
“The police will examine the car and determine what caused the accident.” He switched on the air-conditioning inside the cabin.
I didn’t say it, but since Becky was driving, the accident appeared to be her fault. “Becky needs a lawyer.”
“A lawyer won’t help,” Timothy said. “Even if he could, we can’t afford one.”
“Maybe I can help.” I said this even though I trembled to think of what my car insurance premiums would be after the accident.
“No.” Timothy spoke firmly, as if this wasn’t up for discussion.
I exhaled a sigh. “If she doesn’t hire someone, then a public defender will be assigned to her case. Whoever that is might not do what’s best for Becky.”
“Chief Rose told us that.”
“She was the person who interviewed you even though it was at the sheriff’s station?”
Timothy nodded. “She showed up not long after you left.”
Again I wondered how the small town police chief and Timothy knew each other. I wasn’t buying the “everybody knows everybody in a small town” speech. Chief Rose clearly wanted me to believe there was something more to it, but was there?
I shifted on the hot leather seat, then pointed the A/C vent at my face. “She needs a better defense.” My hair grazed my cheeks as the cool air blew. What a welcome relief.
“Defense?” Timothy asked. “She doesn’t have a defense. She admitted she was driving the car.”
Tears rolled down Becky’s cheeks. “Timothy is right. It’s my fault. I must accept the blame.”
I thought about Brock’s threat, his leering face, and my stomach churned. She’ll be very popular in prison. I hoped never to see him or his friend again, but knew that wasn’t likely. Should I tell Timothy about them?
I aimed the cool air at Becky. “Maybe they will be lenient.”
We rode in silence for the rest of the drive. Timothy turned into my driveway on Grover Lane, and Becky slipped out of the truck. “I’m not feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?” Timothy asked.
“I’m a little dizzy.” She rubbed her temple with her uninjured hand. “I think it is the pain medicine. I’m going to lie down in my room.”
The front door banged shut as she stumbled inside.
Timothy walked me to the door, and as I climbed the uneven porch steps, I turned to him. “What are we going to do?”
“What do you mean?” He grabbed hold of the porch post, and it moved with little force. “This isn’t stable. I will come by tomorrow and fix it.”
“We need to help Becky.”
“Actually, the whole porch should be replaced.”
“Timothy, I’m talking about Becky.”
He removed his hand from the post. “I know, but I won’t let you be hurt one day by this.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate anything you can do to help the house.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “This was why I wanted my sister to return home.”
“Because of the condition of my house?”
He sighed. “No. I was afraid something like this would happen.”
“The accident?”
He nodded.
“There was no way you could know this would happen.” I watched Gigabyte stalking back and forth in front of the living room’s large picture window. He meowed and batted at the glass.
Timothy pursed his lips. “Becky shouldn’t have left home. She should have joined the church and married Isaac.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Why is it okay for you to leave the Amish, and not for her?”
His blue eyes fixed on mine. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?”
His expression softened. “I’m glad that you met the rest of my family. They liked you.”
“I liked the
m,” I replied. “At dinner your grandfather mentioned someone let the chickens out on the farm. You seemed surprised.”
“I was.” Timothy flexed his jaw. “I knew there have been problems in the district.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Animals let out of pens, rowdy Englischers driving through the district at night firing shotguns into the air.”
“What have the police done?”
“Not much. The district won’t talk to them. That’s not the Amish way.”
“But—”
“Chloe, I know it’s hard for you to understand why the district hasn’t complained to the police. It’s even hard for me sometimes, and I grew up Amish.”
“You would go to the police.”
“Yes.” His tone left no doubt.
I had another question. “If you didn’t know about your own family, how did you know about these other incidents?”
He wiggled the post. “A friend told me.”
“Could the attacks on the Amish be related to the accident?”
Timothy looked taken aback. “How?”
“I . . . I don’t know, but doesn’t it seem odd that some unknown person is pestering the Amish, and then the bishop dies in an accident? How can that be a coincidence?”
“It’s odd, but what I think is even odder is that you haven’t even considered it could have been you in that accident. You could have been seriously hurt or even killed.”
I shivered.
“If your car had been in working order, this could have all been avoided.”
“I told you the car was fine.” I sounded defensive, but I couldn’t help it. The car had been fine.
Timothy blew out a sigh. “I’ll fix the porch tomorrow,” he said, and left.
Later that night, I sat beside my bedroom window unable to sleep. I tortured myself by waiting for the green pickup and wondering what Timothy meant by I can’t answer that. Did that mean he really couldn’t, or he wouldn’t answer my question?
The white gauzy curtains blew in with the breeze. The weatherman had promised a cold front was coming in and tomorrow would be a beautiful eighty-degree day. I stared at the curtains. Part of me wanted to close the window so I wouldn’t hear the green truck when it roared up my street, but it was too hot. The cold front hadn’t reached us yet, and my house wasn’t air-conditioned. A white floor fan circulated the humid air around the room.
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