I thought of Timothy’s close family, and then of Sabrina and my father. Timothy had no idea how true that statement was, and it had nothing to do with my ability to build a motherboard from scrap parts.
“What else did you learn about him?”
“The planned community in Appleseed Creek isn’t his first. There are two others on the south and west sides of Columbus.” I paused. “According to his Web site, the Appleseed Creek project will go through. He has all the plans posted online. The only caveat was the plan is currently ‘pending.’ Did you ask your father why he didn’t tell you about Mathews’s offer?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I already know the answer. Hettie Glick spoke the truth. My father didn’t tell because I’m not Amish anymore. If I’m not Amish, I don’t have any right to know.”
“Why wouldn’t your grandfather tell you though?”
Timothy shrugged. He didn’t have an answer for that question.
We were on US 36 leading out of town. “Becky and I went to see Billy’s lawyer yesterday.”
Timothy watched me out of the corner of his eye. “I thought we agreed, she didn’t need a lawyer.”
“You agreed. I never did.”
Up ahead an Amish buggy came into view. Sunlight reflected off the bright orange triangle in red outlined on the back of the buggy. Timothy slowed as his drove around it. I waved at the elderly couple in the buggy’s front seat as we passed. They didn’t wave back. “Do you know them?”
Timothy checked the rearview mirror. “Yes, but you are changing the subject. We were talking about the lawyer. We can’t hire him because we don’t have the money.”
“He said he’d take the case for free.”
Timothy’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“His grandfather grew up Amish.”
Timothy pursed his lips. “Let’s hope he’s sensitive to Amish ways, then.”
Twenty minutes later, Timothy merged onto Interstate 71, and before long, the cityscape came into view. Columbus wasn’t the size of Cleveland, but a familiarity washed over me as I watched cars swerve in and around the beginnings of rush hour traffic.
Timothy glanced at me. “You miss it.”
“Miss what?” I hadn’t made a sound.
“City life.”
I thought for moment. “I miss parts of it. Yes.”
“Like what?”
“Silly stuff, like being able to run to a mall or have every store I could possibly think of only minutes away, and being able to walk to a museum on a whim.”
“You don’t plan to stay in Appleseed Creek long.” There was no question in Timothy’s voice. He stated a fact.
Mabel made a snuffling sound in the back. I used my apparent concern for the dog to cover my confusion. How would he know that?
Timothy slowed the truck as traffic increased. It was four thirty, and rush hour had begun. He idled in his lane while waiting for traffic to clear around Interstate 270. “I don’t miss city traffic, though.”
“What do you like about living in the country?”
You. I caught my tongue before it escaped from my mouth. A blush crept up my neck. I was grateful the traffic occupied most of Timothy’s attention. I breathed in and out. “I like the scenery. I like how friendly everyone is. I’ve only been in Appleseed Creek two weeks, and I feel like I belong. A large portion of that is because of you and Becky.” I turned to him. “Could you ever live in the city?”
He changed lanes. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, but I might for the right reason.”
My stomach flipped. I wanted to ask him what the right reason would be, but chickened out.
Mabel snuffled in her sleep again and kicked her front paws back and forth as if she were chasing Gigabyte in her doggy dreams.
Timothy took the Greenlawn Avenue exit, and before long we were on High Street, one of the main roads that bisected downtown Columbus. He turned right, away from downtown. Grayson Mathews’s office sat south of the city. Scarlet and Gray was out in force on every street, even though Ohio State’s fall quarter was weeks away.
Four blocks south of downtown, Timothy turned into a narrow alleyway that led to a parking lot behind Grayson Mathews’s office, a two-story glass and brick building. Mathews Real Estate Development was emblazoned on the side of the structure.
“I’ve seen that logo before,” I said.
Timothy parked under a large shade tree. “On the Internet, right?”
“No. I saw it on a utility truck the day of the accident, when I took Ruth home. It wasn’t far from your parents’ house.”
“I guess someone from Mathews’s office was surveying the property.”
Mabel jerked awake and followed us out of the truck.
I glanced at Timothy’s precocious pet. “Something tells me this place has a no-dog policy.”
Timothy opened the truck bed. “Mabel. Up!” The shaggy dog jumped into the back of the truck and curled into a ball on top of a painter’s tarp. “She’ll be fine here. We won’t be long.”
I grinned. “I guess she wasn’t done with her nap.”
Timothy laughed. “I swear that dog is part cat with how much she sleeps.” He filled a plastic bowl with water from a disposable bottle. The August air was too hot and humid to leave the dog in the truck even with the windows down. My heart melted a little as I watched the concern he showed his dog. “Stay,” he told Mabel. She didn’t even bother to raise her head, but fell fast asleep.
Timothy and I walked around the building. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I reached around him and hit the buzzer. He frowned. “Why don’t they just leave the door unlocked?”
“This is the big city, remember?”
A woman’s voice came over the intercom. “Mathews Real Estate Development. How can I help you?”
I told her who we were and that we had an appointment with Mr. Mathews. I’d called earlier in the day, telling the secretary that I was a resident of Knox County interested in the planned community he was building outside of Appleseed Creek. She had said Mr. Mathews could meet with me at four forty-five today.
Mathews’s office spoke of his success, with understated, expensive furnishings that reminded me of my father’s office in California—the one I had only seen once. A blonde woman sat at a cherry wood desk angled in one corner of the room. She smiled brightly at us from behind a laptop, a telephone, and a huge vase of sunflowers. “Miss Humphrey?”
“Yes.”
“Won’t you and . . .” she looked at Timothy.
“Timothy Troyer,” he said.
Her smile grew, and Timothy smiled back.
I frowned at the display.
The blonde showed us to the waiting room. I took a seat on one of the leather-padded chairs, and Timothy sat next to me. Now it was the blonde’s turn to frown.
Chapter Forty-One
We didn’t wait for Grayson Mathews long. He entered the room and snapped his fingers, his football ring reflecting the light from the chandelier overhead. “Humphrey? Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Timothy and I both stood.
“Harshberger College,” I said. “I met you in Dean Klink’s office.”
“That’s right. You’re the computer whiz. Welcome, welcome. Benni told me that you are here about the Appleseed Creek project. Are you looking to buy a home?”
I stifled a laugh. There was no way I could afford one of Mathews’s homes.
He didn’t wait for an answer, but instead shook Timothy’s hand. “Your last name is Troyer?”
“That’s right,” Timothy said.
“Do you have any connection to the Troyer Farm in Knox County?”
“It belongs to my family.”
Mathews’s smile grew wider. “Wonderful. I have been having trouble connecting with you and your family. Your name’s not Simon, is it?”
“That’s my father. I’m Timothy Troyer.”
His grin lit up his face, showing off his ultrawhite teeth. “I’m happy someone from the family is here to talk about the project. Let’s go back.” He waved at his secretary. “Benni, hold all of my calls.”
Mathews’s office was three times the size of Dean Klink’s. A chrome and glass meeting table that could comfortably seat ten dominated half of the space. Black leather executive chairs encircled the table. Mathews sat on one slightly larger than all the others. Timothy and I sat across from him, our backs to a window that overlooked High Street.
Mathews folded his hands on the tabletop. “I’m so glad you stopped by. I hope this means your father has changed his mind and is willing to sell. Like I told him, I don’t want to push him off of his land. He’s welcome to live there and sell me a portion. What I’m offering will give him a comfortable retirement.”
Timothy’s jaw twitched. “The Amish don’t retire. At least not in a way you understand.”
Mathews’s expression fell. “If he would like to continue to farm, he will have plenty of room for it.” He wrinkled his nose. “I would have to ask him to remove the cows though. The smell would upset my clients.”
I tilted my chin. “He’s a dairy farmer. How can he do that without cows?”
“He won’t need to. I will pay him more than the cows are worth.” Mathews stood and picked a long tube from a rack beside his desk. He opened it and removed a map of Knox County that covered a third of the table. He ran his fingers along the map until he came to the location of the Troyer farm, outlining it. “This is how much land your father would be able to keep. We are considering purchasing three quarters of your father’s property, which will leave him with over fifty acres of land, more than enough to keep him occupied for years to come.”
Timothy’s jaw twitched again.
“What about the Glick farm?” I asked.
Mathews traced that area and frowned. “The Troyer Farm is on the outskirts, but the Glick Farm is right in the middle of our development plan. We hope to purchase the entire thing.” He rolled up the map. “You know the family, I assume.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
He dropped the map back into the tube, and it made a pop when it hit the bottom of the container. “It’s such a tragedy what happened to the family. I saw it in the Mount Vernon newspaper. However, with what I’m offering, there is an opportunity for the widow and her children to move to town. That must be too much land for them to care for.”
“The bishop has sons. The farm will go to them.” I sat rigid in my chair. “Why would the widow sell it?”
Mathews wrinkled his forehead. “Young men don’t want to be held back by a farm.”
I coughed out a laugh. “I don’t think the Amish agree with you.” When did I become an Amish expert? Two weeks ago I knew virtually nothing about them.
Timothy remained silent, but his strong jaw twitched every time the old football hero spoke.
I continued with my line of questioning. “If the Glick family doesn’t sell, will you be able to develop in Knox County?”
Mathews’s perpetual smile tightened. “Under the circumstances, I believe the widow will sell. It is in her best interest—and in the best interest of her family. This can make her a wealthy woman. She has no idea how much money she’s sitting on.”
“What if she doesn’t want wealth?” I asked.
Mathews looked at me like I was crazy.
Timothy broke his silence. “So the bishop’s death worked to your advantage.”
Mathews’s head snapped up. “No, of course not. His death is a tragedy. I’ve already shared my condolences with the family. I am only offering a way for the widow and her children to rebuild their lives.”
Timothy shook his head. “The Amish rebuild their own lives. They don’t need your help or money.”
I folded my hands in my lap. “You argued with the bishop about the land not long before he died.”
Mathews jumped from his seat. “What are you getting at?”
I shivered inside, imagining what Mathews looked like as a formidable force on the football field. He glared at Timothy. “I thought you were here to discuss my offer for your father’s farm.”
“It’s not my place to speak for my father,” Timothy said. “But he won’t sell. My father won’t want to quit farming. Working on the land is all he knows.”
Mathews’s smile faded. “Why are you here?”
I spoke up. “Do you know anything about the accident?”
Mathews stepped back. “The one that killed the bishop?” His eyes narrowed. “Of course not. You came all the way to Columbus to ask me that?”
“I saw one of your utility trucks outside of the town the evening after the accident.”
“So? I have dozens of employees with responsibilities all over central Ohio. One of them must have been out there on a job. Is that a crime?” He set the tube containing the Knox County map on his desk.
“Depends on the job,” Timothy said.
Mathews drew in a sharp breath between his perfect white teeth. “I’m offended by what you are implying. I think we are through here. Benni will show you out. I have work to do.” He opened his office door and slammed it behind Timothy and me.
As we returned to the truck, the sky darkened in the west. Mabel stood in the back of the pickup and barked.
“What’s gotten into her?” I asked. The usually lazy dog stood ramrod straight as if mimicking a pointer. As soon as Timothy lowered the tailgate, she jumped out and ran around, circling the truck.
Timothy grabbed her collar and pointed to the sky. “The weather’s got her spooked. A storm must be coming. She’s terrified of them.” He laughed. “She’s not cut out to be a country dog.” He opened the door to the cab, and Mabel jumped inside without being asked. She wiggled into the backseat and made three loops before finding a spot that suited her. Finally, she lay down, but this time she didn’t fall asleep. Her eyes stayed wide open and worried.
I climbed in too. “Scotch said a big storm was coming.”
“He was right.” Timothy started the truck.
We battled gridlock all the way to US 36, and the sky grew darker with each passing minute.
Timothy leaned out of his opened window. “I hope we can get off the interstate before it hits.”
“How far are we from Appleseed Creek?”
Timothy gave me a small smile. “Depends on the traffic.” He reached into the back of the truck, pulled out an old sweatshirt, and handed it to me. “You look tired. Why don’t you take a nap?”
“I’m not tired.” I rolled it into a pillow anyway. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if Grandfather Zook would talk to us about Grayson Mathews’s offer to buy the farm.
A huge clap of thunder startled me awake, and I banged my head on the passenger side window. The sweatshirt I had been using as a pillow lay on the floor. Mabel whimpered in the backseat.
“It’s okay, girl.” Timothy tried to soothe Mabel, but he could’ve been speaking to me.
A lightning bolt sliced through the dark sky in front of us. Timothy sat up straight in his seat, his tanned hands white at the knuckles.
“What time is it?” I asked.
He kept his eyes on the road. “Six thirty.”
“It looks like midnight.” I leaned forward for a better view of the sky. A large wall cloud floated just west of the truck over a cornfield. The Kokosing River was to our east, its usually clear water churning and foaming.
Fat rain drops began to fall from the sky. Timothy wagged his head. “I don’t like that sky.” In one motion, he turned on the wipers and t
he radio, tuning it to the local Mount Vernon station.
Until eight p.m. Knox, Richland, Ashland, and Holmes counties are under a severe thunderstorm warning. Knox and Richland counties are under a tornado watch until seven p.m.
Another lightning bolt. Another crack of thunder.
Timothy’s leg flexed as he pressed down on the gas pedal.
I stared at the sky. “I’ve never seen a cloud like that before.”
“I have.”
I didn’t find that comforting.
Another crack of thunder and rain started to fall in sheets. The truck began to slow.
I stared at Timothy. “Why are you slowing down?”
He kept his grip on the steering wheel. “There’s water on the road. We could hydroplane.”
We were on a downward slope to the river. Water had formed puddles in the dips and ridges of the road.
“This road floods frequently.” Again, he spoke calmly.
I swallowed. “How far are we from town?”
“Ten miles.”
The emergency warning sound came through the truck speakers like a foghorn.
Knox County is under a tornado warning. It has been confirmed a tornado is on the ground.
My stomach clenched. Mabel leaned her head over the seat, and I stroked her cheek with my hand.
Eyewitness accounts spotted a twister making its way up Glenn River Road. If you are in this area, please take cover!
Through the sheets of rain cascading down my window, I caught sight of a street sign. I only caught the first word: Glenn.
I shouted above the din. “Timothy, what road are we on?”
Timothy hit the brakes and did a U-turn in the middle of the road. My seatbelt tightened across my chest. I tugged it away from my throat.
Mabel started barking, and I clapped a hand over my left ear. Abruptly, Timothy pulled the truck to a stop and threw it into park. “We have to get out of the truck.”
“Out of the truck? Are you crazy?”
Lightning flashed and made the inside of the truck cabin as sunny as a summer afternoon. I could see the distress etched on Timothy’s face.
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