A Sister's Hope

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  Roman massaged the back of his neck. “We don’t know for sure that the person who’s done vandalism here is the one who rammed Ruth and Martin’s buggy off the road. That could have been a hit-and-run driver who’d had too much to drink on Christmas Eve or was speeding and lost control of his vehicle in the snow.”

  Rosemary slowly shook her head. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  Roman shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. These attacks have gone on longer than I thought they would. Now that irritating land developer’s back in the area, asking to buy my land.” He grimaced. “When the attacks first began, I was convinced Luke was doing them.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m not so sure. It’s possible that the land developer hired someone to do the attacks so he could scare me into selling my land.”

  “I’ve been thinking that, too.”

  “I haven’t ruled out the possibility that Luke’s somehow involved,” Roman said. “That fellow seems sneaky, and I know he hasn’t liked me since I fired him for being late to work too many times.”

  “Do you have any other suspects?”

  “At first I thought it might be Steven Bates, who got mad at me after the set of cabinets Luke delivered fell off the wagon. But then after Luke started acting so weird about things, I figured it was probably him.” Roman crossed his arms. “At least we know it’s not that reporter fellow, since he’s moved out of the area again.”

  “We can speculate until the sheep are all sheared, but we won’t know anything for sure until this mystery is solved.”

  He clutched her arm and shook his head. “I don’t want you playing detective; you could get hurt.”

  She laughed. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t need my big brother watching out for me.”

  “You may not be a little girl, but you’re a woman whose curiosity could get her in trouble if this person gets wind that you’re trying to catch him.”

  She patted his hand in a motherly fashion. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine, Roman. Just keep the faith and put your trust in God.”

  He drew in a deep breath and offered up a silent prayer. I do trust You, God. I just don’t trust my nosy sister to keep out of trouble.

  As Martha headed for the barn on Monday morning, a week later, she spotted Ray Larson standing near the fence that divided their property. He held a pair of binoculars and seemed to be looking at something in their yard.

  I wonder what he could be looking at, and what’s he doing up so early on such a cold winter day?

  This wasn’t the first time Martha had seen Ray with his binoculars trained on their place. Maybe I should ask what he’s doing.

  She shook her head. I’m being paranoid again. I need to feed my dogs and get back in the house so I can help Mom with breakfast. Then I’ve got to clean my room and do a few other chores before I leave for Aunt Rosemary’s.

  Martha unlocked the barn door. The familiar odor of sweet-smelling hay and horseflesh greeted her. She lit a gas lamp and carried it to the back of the barn where her kennels were located. All the cage doors were shut, including Fritz’s, which she’d been securing with a piece of wire every night. Since Fritz wasn’t getting out anymore, she knew for certain it hadn’t been foul play.

  She smiled when Heidi’s pups bounded up to the door of their cage. They were old enough to sell now, so she would run an ad in the paper later this week. Polly’s pups would be ready soon after that. With any luck, Martha would soon have some money in her bank account.

  As she got out the sack of dog food and began the feeding process, she thought about the article Gary Walker had written about her kennel business several weeks ago. Gary might be gone now, but the article he’d written could still influence someone’s decision about whether to buy one of her puppies or not.

  I’m glad that irritating reporter took a job in California, Martha thought as she put the bag of dog food away. At least we know now that he wasn’t responsible for the attacks.

  Rosemary had just set a kettle of soup on the stove to heat when she heard a horse and buggy pull into the yard. She looked out the kitchen window and saw Martha climb down from her buggy.

  A few minutes later, Martha entered the house through the back door. “Something sure smells good,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen.

  “It’s cheddar chowder.” Rosemary motioned to the stove. “I took the recipe from one of my favorite Amish cookbooks, and I got the cheddar cheese at Heini’s the other day.”

  “I’m sure it’ll taste as good as it smells.” Martha hung her coat over the back of a chair. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Rosemary shook her head. “The table’s set, and I’ve got some rolls warming in the oven. So if you’d like to have a seat, we can visit while we wait for the soup to finish heating.”

  “Okay.” Martha plunked down in the chair where she’d draped her coat.

  “How were the roads? Has the snow melted any?”

  Martha nodded. “There was just a bit piled along the side of the road from the snowplows.”

  “Winter will be over soon. Hopefully we won’t see much more snow before spring comes.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Rosemary knew she was sharing idle chatter, but she wasn’t quite ready to talk about what was really on her mind. Should she tell Martha what had been said when she’d visited with Roman last week, or would it be better to begin by asking Martha some questions—find out how much she knew about the attacks?

  “Last week at Heini’s,” Martha said, “you started to tell me something, and then you stopped and said you’d tell me later, when we were alone. I’ve been wondering what you wanted to say.”

  Rosemary turned down the burner on the stove and took a seat across from Martha. “Since the sheriff hasn’t done anything about the attacks, and since your dad isn’t making any effort on his own to find out who’s behind them, I’ve decided to do some investigating of my own.” She paused. “And since you said the other day that you were trying to find out who’s responsible for the attacks, I was wondering if you had made a list of suspects.”

  Martha nodded.

  “Me, too, and I plan to question everyone on the list.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea, Aunt Rosemary? It could be dangerous for you to go poking around.”

  “That’s what your dad said, too.”

  “You’ve spoken to Dad about this?”

  Rosemary nodded. “I stopped by his temporary shop after I left Berlin last Saturday. I asked who he thought might be responsible for the attacks.”

  Martha’s cheeks turned pink. “He still thinks it’s Luke, doesn’t he?”

  “Maybe. But he’s beginning to suspect that land developer Bill Collins—I think that’s his name.”

  “If Dad thinks it could be the land developer, then maybe he won’t care if—” Martha stopped speaking and stared at the table.

  “Won’t care if what?” Rosemary prompted. “Does this have anything to do with Luke?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you in love with Luke?”

  Martha’s head moved slowly up and down, and the color in her face deepened. “For all the good it’ll do me.”

  “You mean because Luke’s not one of your dad’s favorite people?”

  “That, and I’m also afraid I’m going to say or do something stupid when I’m with Luke.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like blurt out to Luke the way I feel about him.”

  “Maybe he already knows. Maybe he feels the same way about you as you do him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I saw the way he looked at you when we were at Heini’s.” Rosemary chuckled. “I’ve seen that look on a man’s face before, and it’s called love, dear heart.”

  Martha’s face lit up like a full moon. “You really think so?”

  “I do.” Rosemary sniffed the air. “I also think my soup’
s done, so we’d better eat.” She stood and moved back to the stove. “We can talk more while we have our lunch.”

  For the next hour, Rosemary and Martha ate their meal and talked about the attacks. They worked on a timeline and wrote down the sequence of the attacks, as well as any clues, motives, and possible suspects. They talked about Luke and why Martha was convinced he was innocent. Then Martha told Rosemary that Luke was watching for clues, too.

  Rosemary’s mouth dropped open. “He is?”

  Martha nodded. “According to Luke, he’s been investigating for some time, but now we’re working together on this.”

  “Has he gathered any evidence that would point to anyone in particular?”

  Martha opened her mouth but then closed it again.

  “What were you going to say?”

  “Well, I—I promised Luke I wouldn’t tell anyone who he thinks did it. Since he’s not really sure at this point, it wouldn’t be fair to speculate.”

  “I guess you’re right. What we need is some cold, hard evidence.”

  “Will you promise not to tell anyone that Luke and I are working together on this?” Martha asked.

  Rosemary nodded. “Unless I see some reason to tell, it will be our little secret.”

  As Martha headed down the road toward home, she thought about stopping to see Ruth but realized there wasn’t time. She needed to be at work for Irene by three o’clock, and she’d stayed at Aunt Rosemary’s longer than planned.

  But the discussion we had was good, she thought as she gave her horse the freedom to trot. Knowing Aunt Rosemary’s also investigating gives me more hope of finding out who’s behind the attacks.

  A horn tooted from behind, and a truck came alongside Martha’s rig. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized Luke was in the driver’s seat.

  He motioned her to pull over, and then he pulled up ahead and stopped his vehicle along the shoulder of the road.

  Martha guided her horse to the right and pulled her buggy in behind him. Luke hopped out of the truck, skirted around to the side of Martha’s buggy, and opened her door.

  “I’m surprised to see you driving your truck,” she said.

  “My daed returned my keys.” Luke smiled. “I’m heading to New Philadelphia right now to meet a couple of my English friends.”

  Martha’s heart took a nosedive. Wouldn’t Luke ever give up his running-around days and settle down?

  “There’s no reason to look so upset,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not what you think.”

  “How is it then?”

  “My daed read in the newspaper this morning that a couple of outhouses at Amish schoolhouses were tipped over last night. I aim to find out if any of the English fellows I know did it.”

  “What makes you think that they might have tipped over the outhouses?”

  “They’ve done it before—told me so, plain and simple.”

  “It seems that every time there’s another prank pulled somewhere, our place gets hit next.” Martha swallowed a couple of times. “I really have to wonder if those English fellows might be the ones making the attacks.”

  “At first I thought they were, too, since I know for a fact that they’ve pulled some ugly pranks around the area.” He lifted the edge of his stocking cap and rubbed the side of his head. “But that was before I started suspecting Toby.”

  “You don’t really think Toby’s been out late at night tipping over outhouses, do you?”

  “I didn’t mean the outhouses. I’m sure those were done by the Englishers I know. What I’m worried about are the attacks that have been made against your family.” Luke reached for Martha’s hand. Even through her woolen glove, she could feel the warmth of his touch. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, Martha.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I care for you, and I—I wish I could court you.”

  Martha bit her lip to keep from breaking into tears. It seemed like she’d waited a lifetime to hear those words. If only she and Luke were free to court.

  “Your silence makes me wonder if I’ve spoken out of turn. I was hoping you might have feelings for me, too, but I guess I was wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong.” Martha lowered her gaze. “I realized some time ago that I had feelings for you, but I never thought you’d return those feelings.”

  Luke lifted her chin with his thumb, and the look of tenderness Martha saw on his face let her know he really did care for her.

  They gazed into each other’s eyes, until a passing car broke the spell. With an embarrassed giggle, Martha said, “I wish I could stay and visit longer, but I’ll be late getting to work if I don’t leave now.”

  “I understand.” Luke smiled, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll see you soon, Martha.”

  As Martha guided her horse onto the road again, she said a prayer for Luke—that he would quit hanging around his English buddies and join the church.

  Where’s my backpack?” Gideon fussed as he rummaged around the living room on a Friday morning in late February. Ruth sat holding Molly, who had run into a chair after being chased by Owen.

  “Where did you put it last night?” Ruth shouted above Molly’s screams. “You had it out when you did your homework.”

  Gideon pointed to the sofa. “Had it right here, but somebody must’ve took it.” He glared at Josh. “I’ll bet you hid it, didn’t you?”

  “Did not.” Josh grabbed his own backpack that sat near the front door and wrinkled his nose. “We’re gonna be late for school if you keep foolin’ around.”

  “I ain’t foolin’ around,” Gideon shot back. “If you’d help me find my backpack instead of standin’ there lookin’ so smug, we might be on our way to school already.” He stomped across the room, bumping into the rocking chair where Ruth sat with Molly.

  The little girl let out another piercing scream, and Ruth gritted her teeth to keep from screaming herself. With Molly hollering in her ear, she could barely think, much less try to resolve Gideon’s problem.

  Esta’s sheltie darted into the room, with Esta right behind him. “Come back here, Winkie,” she yelled. “Your paws are muddy and you’re not supposed to be in the living room with dirty feet!”

  Ruth opened her mouth to scold Esta for letting the dog in the house, when Owen, who’d been cowering in one corner of the room since he’d bumped into Molly, jumped up and started chasing the dog.

  “I’ll get him for you, sister!” he shouted.

  Esta and Owen darted for Winkie, and their heads collided.

  “Ouch!” Esta rubbed her forehead and glared at Owen. “You oughta watch where you’re going.”

  “I was only tryin’ to help.” His chin trembled, and tears welled in his eyes.

  “Aw, don’t start bawlin’ now,” Gideon grumbled. “It’s bad enough we have to listen to Molly screaming all the time.”

  Esta shook her finger at Gideon. “Don’t be talkin’ about our little sister that way. She’s got every right to cry if she wants to.”

  “All right, that’s enough!” Ruth lifted Molly from her lap and was about to stand, when Winkie leaped over her foot. She bent down and grabbed the dog’s collar. “Get your dog, Esta.” Then she turned to Owen and said, “I want you to take Molly out to the kitchen and find something to keep her entertained.” She looked back at Esta. “After you’ve put Winkie away in the dog run, you and Josh had better head out to school.”

  “What about Gideon?” Esta questioned.

  “He can catch up to you after he finds his backpack.”

  Owen grabbed Molly’s hand and led her to the kitchen, while Josh and Esta rushed out the back door. Gideon stood facing Ruth with his arms folded. “Don’t see why I have to look for my backpack. Can’t I go to school without it?”

  She shook her head. “Your homework is in the backpack, and so are your schoolbooks. You need to think about where you put it last night before you went upstairs to bed.”

  “Put it right there.” Gideon pointed to t
he floor near the door.

  “Well, it’s not there now, so I suggest you think of some other places to look.”

  He stared at Ruth as though daring her to make him move.

  She tapped her foot impatiently. “Do I need to go out to the harness shop and get your daed?”

  Gideon’s face turned red, and he shuffled his feet a few times. Finally, with a disgruntled grunt, he turned and stomped up the stairs.

  Ruth debated about going up to his room to help search for the backpack but decided he might not appreciate it. Instead, she went to the kitchen to see what the younger children were up to. She found Molly sitting on the floor playing with two empty kettles and a wooden spoon. Owen sat at the table coloring a picture.

  When Owen spotted Ruth, he hopped off his chair. “Is it okay if I go upstairs and color in my room?”

  “Don’t you want to sit here in the kitchen where it’s warm and cozy?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Molly keeps makin’ noise with those pots she’s bangin’.”

  “Okay.”

  Owen had no more than left the room, when Gideon showed up carrying his backpack. “Found it,” he announced.

  “Where was it?”

  “Under my bed.” He sauntered out the back door before Ruth could comment.

  Ruth poured herself a cup of tea and headed back to the living room. She needed a few minutes of solitude.

  She set her cup on the coffee table, took a seat in the rocking chair, and closed her eyes. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Maybe I made a mistake marrying a man with five children. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a mother.

  Ruth’s eyes snapped open when she heard a pathetic whimper coming from the kitchen.

  Thinking something must be wrong with Molly, she sprang from her chair and rushed to the kitchen. She found the child sitting on the floor, this time with a kettle on her head.

  With tears streaming down her cheeks, Molly pointed at the kettle. “Fascht.”

  “I know you’re stuck.” Ruth lifted the kettle off Molly’s head and sank to the floor beside her. As she held the little girl in her lap, she started to laugh. With all the serious stuff that had gone on in this house lately, she’d almost forgotten how to look for humor.