The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy)

by Beverly Lewis

  Nick's eyes brightened. "No kiddin'? Haunted?"

  "I didn't take her too seriously myself. Not until today." She shared a little of her own recent experiences. "And can you just imagine someone sitting in the doorway each day, blocking the way to the stairs?"

  His face beamed with interest. "Sounds like a real mystery."

  "That's what I thought!" Rose emptied the feed bucket and stood there holding it, a plan twirling in her head.

  And, just that quick, Nick said aloud what she hoped he would. "We should go over there sometime."

  "When?"

  "Why wait?" He pushed his straw hat down hard. "It's been a while since we went riding, ya know." His dark eyes glimmered.

  "Okay, then, let's go tonight."

  "Meet at the clump of old oak trees, past the turn into the bishop's lane ... out on the road." His gaze held hers.

  Same spot where I met Silas. "Jah, I know where."

  Nick was smiling to beat the band; so was she. Rose scarcely knew which was more exciting - trying to solve the perplexing mystery ... or going riding again with her best friend.

  Solomon paced the length of his workshop that Wednesday afternoon, contemplating Bishop Aaron's reaction to the finished bench wagon. The bishop was not a man to shrink back when showing his pleasure for a job done well. Yet Solomon struggled within himself, not willing to take credit for the work he'd accomplished, fearful of sowing the seed of pride. Even so, he'd never seen Aaron so outwardly pleased - perhaps because Sol had done his special bidding and used a few of the old "still gut" boards salvaged from the deacon's barn in the construction of the new wagon. Solomon, too, had thought it an excellent idea to connect the past with the present in this manner.

  On the way home from delivering the bench wagon to the bishop's, he'd taken the shortcut behind Aaron's buggy shed and the chicken coop. There, he came upon Nick and Christian arguing, their faces red with anger.

  Sol had hustled nearer. "Boys ... boys!" He'd had to raise his voice to be noticed. "Just walk away now."

  Nick turned to go, leaving Christian looking mighty sheepish. "Sorry, Sol," Christian had said, wiping his hands on his work trousers.

  "Might be gut to say the same to Nick," Solomon had replied. "Make things right, ya know?"

  Christian had merely scowled over his shoulder as Nick headed for the barn, still saying nothing.

  Always too quiet, thought Solomon of Nick.

  This sort of thing had happened frequently through the years. Nick would say something hateful to his brother - or the other way around. But it was typically Christian who got fed up first and retaliated by hollering the loudest. More recently the feud had heated up to where the bishop confided he rued the day he'd ever brought Nick home. "The boy can stir up trouble with just a look," Aaron had stated.

  Solomon recalled all the afternoons he'd observed Nick with his daughter, working around the animals. Shaking off his niggling fears, he hoped with everything in him that his recent talk with Reuben Good might just remedy all of that. And mighty soon. Both men agreed their children would make a fine match, and Solomon again found himself thankful pretty Rebekah Bontrager had moved away to Indiana before she and Silas were old enough to court. The two of them had seemed awful sweet on each other some years back.

  Brushing off the memory of Nick and Christian's heated squabble, Solomon straightened things up in his workshop. Tomorrow was another day, and he had two orders for pony carts to complete right quick - one from the deacon's son and the other from Emma's second cousin up near Strasburg. He reached for his broom and began to sweep up the last of the debris from the newly finished bench wagon.

  From the moment Hen had seen Brandon that day in the swirling snow and wind, he had determined the direction of her life. She'd viewed him as a welcome escape, and his modern tastes and interests had shaped their years together.

  Yet here she was, finishing up Mattie Sue's little dress and apron and humming "Must I Go and Empty-Handed," a tune Dawdi Jeremiah had often played on his harmonica. She rose and hung up the outfit in her daughter's closet just so.

  Going next to Brandon's and her bedroom, Hen dusted and vacuumed thoroughly. When she was finished, she went into the walk-in closet to organize the shelving unit. Inside, her eyes fell on a plastic container of letters and cards from Amish relatives and friends - a written memory bank of sorts.

  She sat down on the floor and began to sort through the stack for the ones written by Arie before she was courted by her husband, Elam Zook - before Hen had married Brandon.

  She lost track of time, savoring the memories of her childhood - of playing dolls with both Rose and Arie, making cookies to exchange at Christmastime, and sitting in the back of the Preaching service, helping new mothers with their babies. Wonderful years, she thought. She glanced up and was surprised to see Mattie Sue wearing the Amish dress and apron. On her head was the small white Kapp. The sight took her aback.

  "I tried to make my hair like yours and Auntie Rose's," said Mattie with a frustrated smile. "Can you help me, Mommy?"

  "Sure, honey." She left the letters on the floor and went with Mattie into the master bathroom to find a brush and comb. "We'll do the best we can to make a bob." Mattie's hair was long enough, but her bangs would have to be pulled back with bobby pins.

  When Hen was satisfied with Mattie's hair, she set the prayer cap back on top of her daughter's head. "If you want to look like a real Amish girl, leave the Kapp strings untied," she told her.

  "Well, I am a real one, aren't l?"

  "Half of you is, yes." She leaned down to kiss her darling girl.

  "Which half, Mommy?" Mattie Sue looked down at herself.

  Hen couldn't squelch her laughter. "Aren't you something!" She held Mattie at arm's length, then picked her up and twirled her around, the dress billowing out.

  Just as Hen set her down, the front door opened. And before she could stop her, Mattie Sue dashed out of the room. "Daddy, Daddy! Look at me!"

  A long pause ensued. Then she heard Brandon say flatly, "That's nice, honey ... now, where's your mother?"

  In that moment, it dawned upon Hen that she might have underestimated the coming chaos her Plain cravings had the power to create.

  There was not a sound in the air but the rustle of leaves as Rose crept out to the barn. High in the haymow, she found the hidden work trousers and pulled them on under her dress. Then she hurried to George's stall.

  In a few minutes, she led the horse quietly down their lane, not wanting to cause attention by trotting past the kitchen windows. She'd seen Dat sitting near the lamp at the table with Mamm, reading aloud The Budget. Rose was not disobeying any creed by riding her father's driving horse - most church families she knew let their small children ride them occasionally for fun. But when a girl became a young lady, such frivolity was frowned upon - and she was certain her parents would disapprove of her doing so with a boy who was not her beau. And one with both feet out of the church, too.

  The ridge of hills to the east was dreadfully dark as she made her way up Salem Road to meet Nick. The moon, if it were visible, would've helped greatly, but a heavy cloud cover blocked any hope of light. If George hadn't known the way so well, Rose might've been nervous about coming this far as she headed to the spot where Nick would surely be waiting with a flashlight.

  She would have trotted right past him and his waiting horse if Pepper hadn't whinnied in the blackness. "Nick?" she said, wishing he wouldn't pull tricks on her like this. "Where's your flashlight?"

  "It's more fun this way," he replied.

  "Maybe for you." She could scarcely make out his outline as he sat atop the horse. She waited for him to take the lead up the right side of the road, with the flow of traffic, although there was rarely a car down here at this hour.

  "Bishop wanted to know where I was headin'," said Nick as they rode side by side. "He caught me leading Pepper out of the barn."

  She wondered if he ever referred to the bishop as his
father to the man's face. But with Nick's irritable mood, it wasn't a good idea to bring that up now. When isn't he tetchy?

  "Does he know you took Pepper riding last Friday morning, too?" She wanted to see what he'd say, having thought repeatedly it was Nick who'd brazenly ridden past Aunt Malinda's little Dawdi Haus.

  He laughed. "Oh, so you did see me."

  "You're crazy, Nick. You're goin' to get in trouble with the bishop, for sure and for certain."

  "What he doesn't know, he won't have to worry about." He paused. Then he said, "Which way to the haunted house?"

  "Not far. I always go up Bartville Road." She pointed toward the west.

  "That's fine, but let's take the shortcut," he said, "through Bridle Path Lane."

  She wasn't sure she wanted to ride down that narrow road on such a dark night. "Nick ... why?" she protested. "You know how jittery I get. And there's no moon to light the way."

  Nick chuckled. Feeling uneasy, Rose looked at the sky, hoping the heavy clouds might blow over. "We've never, ever gone that way," she continued.

  "Then I think it's time. Look, if you don't make yourself go, you'll never conquer your fear."

  "Maybe bein' fearful's a gut thing," she said.

  "Well, I won't let the goblins get ya," he teased in a low tone. "You'll just have to depend on me." His laugh was a nervous one, and he seemed somehow different tonight, even for him.

  "I'm turnin' back if you don't quit scarin' me." Rose meant it, although she might not find her way home without his help.

  "Aw, Rosie ... are you really so afraid?"

  As they turned left on Bartville Road, all she could think of was Mamm's accident. Too soon, they were making a jog right onto the dreaded Bridle Path Lane.

  When they were only a few yards onto the dirt road, the threequarter moon appeared, creating eerie shadows on the trees and thick underbrush that lined the right side of the road. The ravine created a forbidding world even in the daylight, and Rose remembered the bishop's grandchildren's stories about this stretch of road. "Sure hope the hobgoblin's not out tonight," she said, trying to humor herself as they moved along.

  "Haven't run into him yet, and I've been here many times ... even when the moon's in its darkest phase," Nick said, sounding confident, like he felt at home here.

  "Him ... so, the hobgoblin's a fella?" Rose laughed a little. "Is there such a thing as a girl goblin? I s'pose you'd be knowing that, as well. Was it your Mamm who taught ya such things?"

  Suddenly Nick coughed, attempting to clear his throat.

  "You all right, Nick?"

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "You don't sound it."

  He huffed loudly. "Just stop asking me, will ya?"

  "I know you, Nick Franco, and there's something bothering ya."

  He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I don't want to talk about it."

  "About what?"

  He sighed loudly. "I found out my mom died this week."

  "Oh, Nick. I'm so sorry." Rose felt the air go out of her. "I shouldn't have said - "

  "It's not like I even remember her."

  "Still, she was your mother."

  He hurried the horse, motioning with his head for her to keep up with him.

  "You must feel very sad."

  He shrugged. "Just more alone in the world, but so what?"

  "Well, you're not alone," Rose said. "You have a gut life with the bishop and Barbara ... and their family."

  "I'm an add-on."

  She shook her head and slowed her horse. "I'm sure they feel like you're their son, same as Christian."

  "Well, you don't live under the bishop's roof."

  "No, but I know how they've cared for you ... raised you like Christian and the girls."

  "Don't mention his name to me anymore."

  "Ach, Nick. .."

  "I mean it. He's never been anything but spiteful to me."

  Rose rode silently. The atmosphere was oppressively dank and dismal from more than just the overcast night. Several times Hen had shown her where Mamm's buggy had flipped over, but Rose was thankful she couldn't see well enough to recognize the spot now. She felt keenly aware of even the smallest movement in the shadows.

  "I really wish you'd brought your flashlight," she said, her voice trembling.

  "Your eyes should be used to the dark by now."

  She wanted him to slow his horse to a walk instead of trotting on this precarious section. The road was a mere tunnel now beneath the trees overhead. "How'd your mother die?" Her voice sounded thin.

  "Bishop didn't say."

  "But she was sick for all these years, jah?"

  Nick made no answer, and Rose knew she'd best be still.

  After what seemed like nearly an hour, they made a right turn onto Pumping Station Road, then went northeast to Fairview Road. Rose's heart slowed its pounding when they were once again on a paved open road. Yet Nick remained quiet as they went, till eventually they arrived at Hollow Road and turned right, not far from Jackson's Sawmill Covered Bridge. Mr. Browning's house was just a stone's throw away.

  "Let's not go too far into the lane," she said, leading the way now. She stared at the gleaming second-story windows, a contrast to the attic dormer windows, which were as dark as the night sky.

  "What're we lookin' for?" Nick sat tall on his horse.

  "Anything peculiar."

  "Like ghosts?"

  Again she shivered at his tone. "Can't you be serious?"

  He chuckled. "For you ... anything."

  "Don't be a tease."

  "Then don't be so easy to fool."

  She ignored his comment. "What about the sounds I've heard upstairs while I work?"

  "Could it be a cat? Or a dog?"

  She'd never considered that. "Wouldn't Mr. Browning admit it, though?"

  "Or maybe evil spirits - ever think of that?"

  Her skin crawled. "Will ya stop scaring me?"

  "I don't see any hex signs anywhere," Nick went on, ignoring her. He clicked his tongue, signaling the horse to move forward.

  "Not too close to the house," she warned. "I'd rather Mr. Browning doesn't know we're spyin' on him."

  "On them."

  "What?"

  "Maybe there's someone livin' upstairs."

  "Or ... it could be only my imagination."

  "You do have a big imagination," he replied darkly.

  "It's all the library books I read."

  He laughed softly. "Why read books when you can actually live nights like this?"

  She wondered what he'd say if she revealed something to him that she sometimes pondered. Would he poke fun ... or understand? "It's just that I've been noticing something in nearly all the stories I've read. The main character - usually a young woman - thinks she can have everything she wants. But almost always she finds out the hard way that she can't."

  "Well, sure ... that's because there are different rules in real life than in books."

  "But even so, there's always a choice a girl has to make in every story ... and in real life."

  Nick didn't ridicule her like Rose thought he might. He actually listened, like a good friend. Not like a pesky older brother - like Mose or josh when they still lived at home.

  Quieter now, Rose wondered if Nick would grieve hard the loss of his mother. Was this the reason he'd been so glum last weekend?

  All sorts of unrelated thoughts flitted through her head as she kept her eyes glued to the second-story windows. Maybe Nick didn't like being my errand boy to Silas Good, she thought. Or maybe he dislikes Silas. Then again, who does Nick like?

  At that moment she realized there were four windows all lit up across the second story. "Ach, there are two windows for each bedroom, ain't?"

  "Well, I've got two windows in my room," he volunteered.

  Her brother josh's house seemed to be laid out similar to Mr. Browning's, and each of his upstairs bedrooms had two windows, too. "So, the windows on the right, over the kitchen, could be whe
re another person sleeps."

  "You're not makin' sense, Rose."

  "Mr. Browning's bedroom could be on the left, over the front room. See?" She pointed as she tried to make heads or tails of the upstairs interior.

  "And you think someone's stayin' over the kitchen."

  "Maybe so. I know I heard noises there, overhead."

  Then she saw it - the silhouette of a slender boy with hair cropped all around like her own brothers', standing in the window to pull down the shade. "Goodness, that's not Gilbert Browning!"

  "Nee - no," Nick admitted.

  Rose was stunned. "Ain't seein' things, neither." But now that her suspicions were confirmed, she was more perplexed than ever. Who on earth was living upstairs in Gilbert Browning's house? She thought of the Amish boy Donna had mentioned.

  They turned the horses around and headed out to the road.

  "Can we go home another way?" she asked, too jittery to return to the spooky dirt lane from whence they'd come.

  "We'll cut through Mt. Pleasant Road, then down toward home."

  She had to rely on Nick to see the way back - even George seemed unsure now as they rode through the night. When they arrived on the east side of Salem Road, she realized Nick's "shortcut" down eerie Bridle Path Lane hadn't been a shortcut at all. She trembled as she bade him Out Nacht.

  "You goin' to Singing next Sunday?" he asked her.

  Singing? Nick never cared about the weekly gatherings. He was certainly full of surprises tonight.

  She thought of Silas Good. "I just might for a change. How 'bout you?"

  Nick snorted. "What for?"

  "To meet a nice girl, fall in love, and get married, silly." The former mysterious mood around them had dissipated. She slid down off George and slipped a sugar cube into the horse's mouth.

  "So, we're s'posed to pair up at Singings?" he said comically.

  Now Rose was laughing. She glanced at the house, hoping no one was still up. "You've grown up Amish - you should know all this."

  "Why are you goin'?" Nick pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and shined it on her face.