Gary was back.
In an instant the car door popped open and a tall, rangy man emerged, his arms spread wide. “Shandell! It’s you, baby. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Jarred, Shandell stepped back, ducking to a spot where James could no longer see her. “Go away, Gary. I mean it.”
“Aw. Don’t be that way. We need to talk. Come on in the car, where we can have some privacy.” Edging forward, Gary never took his eyes off Shandell as he spoke.
This one has the eyes of a hunter, James thought. Cold, calculating, determined.
The door behind Gary remained open and the heavy beat of music thrummed from the car. Fear clamped around James’s gut like a vise. To his right, Shandell was trying to get to the clinic’s door, but Gary was tracking her, nearly on her.
“You’d best go, friend,” James said firmly. “She doesn’t want to go with you.”
“What are you going to do, friend? Leave a tire track on top of my boot?” Gary’s smile was smug. “An Amish guy in a wheelchair—two strikes against you. I know, you Amish don’t fight. Don’t even defend yourselves. You’d be a waste of my time, but this one—” He made a grab for Shandell, clamped on to her arm, and jerked her toward him.
“Ow! That hurts. Cut it out.”
“Just get in the car and we’ll talk about it.” He tugged on her arm, but she resisted, sitting down in the gravel.
“Why do you make things so hard?” he growled. When she kept trying to free her arm, he braced himself and started pulling, dragging her across the gravel to his car.
James sorely wished he had the full power of his legs so that he could stop this man. But what if he did? He wasn’t going to hurt him. He would not fight him. That was not the Amish way.
But he had to stop him from hurting Shandell. And if Gary managed to push Shandell into his car, there was no telling her fate.
As Shandell protested and Gary tried to pick her up, James turned to the car. He had never driven, but he knew how an automobile worked. Most Amish teenaged boys had some experience with cars. James knew that a key was necessary to make the engine run.
The key.
Moving quickly, he wheeled over to the open car door and leaned inside. He couldn’t reach around the steering wheel from his chair—not far enough to get the key. But there was a bar over the door. Gripping the bar with one hand, he rose from his chair and levered himself into the driver’s seat. From there, he grasped the key, pushed it in, and twisted toward him.
The engine stopped.
“Hey! Get out of there!” Gary shouted as he grappled with Shandell.
With the key tucked in the pouch of his chair, James maneuvered himself out of the driver’s seat and wheeled the chair free of the car. Snatching the keys, he wound up as if he was pitching a baseball and threw with all his might. All the workouts with weights had paid off; the keys sailed over the hedges at the border of the parking lot and landed near the savings bank.
Gary looked up, giving Shandell the chance to slip free of his grip and scramble to her feet. “What are you doing?” Gary barked at James, lunging toward him.
After that, everything seemed to happen at once. Rachel steered the buggy around to the front of the clinic, calling for Ranger to whoa when a police vehicle shrieked around her, its lights flashing. Dr. Trueherz and Celeste came storming out of the clinic, their white jackets sailing behind them in the breeze. Two other police vehicles squealed to a stop at the parking lot entrance, and James recognized Sheriff Hank as one of the men who emerged from the Jeep.
Gary put his hands up when the two cops confronted him. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Officers. I’m just trying to talk to my friend here.”
A female cop nodded at the green car. “Is that your vehicle?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and I’d be happy to get in it and get out of your hair, but that guy over there took my keys.”
James expected all eyes to turn to him, but Sheriff Hank interrupted, pointing a finger at Gary. “Gary Anderson, right? I know your plate, make, and model. You’re a film star around here, young man. We’ve got you on camera stealing from a few different merchants in Lancaster County.”
Gary’s jaw dropped. “Now hold on, Officer—”
“Save it for your attorney,” Hank said. “Cuff him and get him in one of the cars.”
James watched the cops walk Gary over to their car. It was over. Although the Amish put no stock in the laws of the Englishers, James felt relief to see this man taken away.
James did a quick check on Shandell, who stood a few yards away, talking with Celeste and the female officer. He could see that her hands were trembling, but otherwise, she seemed okay.
Doc Trueherz pointed toward the bank. “Did you throw his keys over into the next parking lot?”
“I threw them as far away as I could.”
“That was clever thinking. You don’t want to take on a guy like that.”
James didn’t want to take on any man. Raising a hand against a fellow man was strictly forbidden in the Amish faith. “I couldn’t protect Shandell from him, but I stopped him from taking her away.”
“That you did.”
After the police handcuffed Gary and tucked him into the backseat of a patrol car, Shandell felt a sweeping sense of relief. Sweet, safe relief. The police were arresting Gary … taking him away. Removing one enormous burden from her life.
In that moment, she felt as if she could breathe again.
And then everything came rushing at her, fast and furious. They wanted her name and address. Her school or employer. What was her relationship with Gary? What was she doing here in Lancaster County? “If you’ve been staying here for the past few weeks, where have you been living?” one tall cop asked.
Shandell opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to drag her Amish friends into this situation involving the police.
“On our farm,” James answered for her. “She’s been staying in the sugar shack at the back of the orchard.”
Shandell hoped that was enough information to satisfy the police, but then the head guy stepped in and started asking questions. Sheriff Hank was tall, and the navy cop uniform with the bright gold star on the chest made him seem intimidating as he towered over Shandell. How long had she known Gary Anderson? Had he hurt her just now?
“I’m a little sore,” she admitted, “but mostly scared.” She rubbed the side of her hip that had been dragged over the gravel. “He wanted me to go with him, and he’s very pushy that way. Controlling.”
Something sparked in Sheriff Hank’s eyes. Sympathy? With snow-white hair and crinkles at the edge of his eyes, he seemed like a man who could see through to the truth. A wise man. “I have a feeling you can help us out, young lady.”
“I’d like to help.” She hadn’t done anything wrong; why was she so scared? Suddenly, her vision was blurred by tears and her throat felt thick and her legs were wobbly beneath her. “I gotta sit down.”
To her surprise, Celeste was right there with a wheelchair for her. “Sit, honey. You take it easy.”
“Hank, this young lady is a patient of mine,” Dr. Trueherz said. “If you want to talk, you’re going to have to step inside the clinic and take it in measured doses.”
“My pleasure.” The sheriff cast a look at the police car, where they had Gary in the back. “You know me. I’m always glad to step away from the drama. You guys head inside, and I’ll finish up with James and Rachel.”
As Celeste wheeled her inside, Shandell overheard one of the cops ask the sheriff if they should send a unit out to the Lapp orchard to investigate.
Investigate what? Was she a suspect now?
Shandell turned back to look at her Amish friends. Rachel stood beside James’s chair, the two of them facing the sheriff with respect and a little fear. They didn’t deserve this. Now her friends were in trouble because of her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. A little sob escaped her throat as th
ey approached the door. This time when she cried, tears streaked down her cheeks.
James frowned when Rachel turned the buggy down the lane that ran to the Lapp orchard. This was not going to be a good afternoon. The thought of facing his father squeezed his chest with dread, and each trot of the horse made it wind tighter, as if in a vise. He knew that the news of his involvement with the young Englisher girl had beaten him here. Most of Halfway would be talking about the thief who had finally been arrested, and the young woman who had been hiding out at the Lapp orchard. Shandell had asked how word could travel so fast without a telephone or Internet in the house, but James knew how folks reacted to a bit of news. They made a stop on the way home, hitched up a buggy, or wrapped up some cookies to take to their neighbor. As Doddy used to say, big news had strong wings.
“It’s a juicy story,” Rachel had admitted as they talked it over on the way home. “I imagine tongues are wagging now.”
The gossip did not concern James nearly as much as his father’s reaction did. He had been foolish to think that he could keep such a thing hidden. He should have told his parents in the beginning, when it all seemed so simple. A young woman had needed help, and the Lapp orchard could give her shelter.
“Look at that,” James said as they passed the orchard. Down the row of the plum trees, he could see his younger brothers working with Albee, most likely spraying for black knot. In the pen outside the barn, Mark was working with one of the horses, probably his beloved Rowdy. “It looks just like every other day. You’d never know that all hell was about to break loose.”
“We gave food and shelter to a girl who needed it,” Rachel said evenly. “It was an act of charity, not a sin, even in this strange situation.”
“Mmm.” James loved the purity of her heart, but Rachel’s explanation would not wash with Jimmy. For Rachel’s sake, he prayed that her parents would recognize her goodwill. “Do you think your parents will understand?”
“Ya. They don’t like secrets, but they will see past that chip in the cup.”
James was glad to see that his parents did not wait on the porch or come running out after him. At least they did not see the situation as an emergency.
As Ranger trotted up the lane, Mark climbed out of the pen and came to greet them. “Do you need a ride home, Rachel?” he offered. “I’ve been practicing driving the buggy, and Mamm says I’ve got it down.”
“No, denki. I’ve got my scooter here.” Rachel climbed out of the buggy and stood watching as James swung his legs around and eased his body to the edge of the open carriage. Getting out was much easier than climbing in.
“Here you go.” Mark handed him his two canes, which he kept stashed in the back of the buggy.
As James moved to the compact wheelchair, he noticed his brother staring.
“Dat says I’m to send you to his office, soon as you get home.” Mark pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “Does it have something to do with the Englisher girl who was sick?”
James nodded. “I’ll tell you about her sometime—the true story.”
“I’ll be heading home,” Rachel said, touching James’s shoulder, “but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I hope so, James thought as he watched Rachel walk away, the skirt of her dress billowing in the breeze. Such a fine, kind woman.
Years ago, Jimmy had set up his office in a small outbuilding behind the barn. As James rolled closer, he could see his father’s silhouette inside the window. He would be sitting at his desk, steaming like a tea kettle. Bracing himself, James pushed open the door and worked the chair over the lip at the threshold.
“James?” Jimmy wore reading glasses low on his nose, though he didn’t seem to be engaged in any of the five or six piles of papers on his desk. “Kumm.”
Maneuvering around a file cabinet, James parked himself right in front of the desk. Face-to-face with his father, he saw the changes that usually went unnoticed: new creases in his forehead, puffy eyes, gray sprinkled through his hair. Ya, Dat was getting older, but he had also lost a brother and a father in less than two years. Jimmy rarely talked about those two men, but James knew his father had loved them.
“So.” Jimmy removed the glasses that made him resemble his father. “You hide an Englisher woman in our orchard without telling anyone.”
“It was a simple act of charity,” James said, recalling Rachel’s words.
“You invited an Englisher to live on our farm after I told you it was forbidden. You understood that there would be no outsiders here in our home.” The low husk of his father’s voice was penetrating. “Haven’t I warned you of something like this? Do you know what folks will say when they hear of this?”
“There will be gossip, I know, but maybe some folks will understand the goodwill of helping a person in need.”
“There will always be someone in need. We do our best to help other families in our community. The Amish community. We don’t get involved with Englishers who wander down the road. Where is your common sense, James?” He tapped his head. “Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in that noggin of yours.”
“The Plain People help each other. I know that, Dat. But it would be cruel not to help an Englisher who is right in front of your eyes.”
“The Englishers have their own systems for helping people. Welfares and charities and whatnot. It’s not our concern.” Jimmy leaned forward, his dark eyes shiny with anger. “This girl is not one of us. She is not our concern. She will not be yours, either. And that is that!”
She is already my concern, James thought as his father turned to his file cabinet. James knew that his father would act as James had if he had gotten to know Shandell as a person. Instead, she was lumped in with all rude, fancy Englishers.
Outside the window, James saw a short, spry man walking down the lane with a large spray can in one hand.
Doddy …
What would he say to this problem?
“What we do in life echoes in eternity.”
The voice was clear as a bell, though James knew it was simply a part of his memory. Elmo Lapp had been a man who chose his actions carefully. Good deeds and kindness had the power to echo through the rolling hills, far and wide. In that moment, James appreciated the irony that his good deed was echoing through Halfway in the form of gossip. Doddy would get a good chuckle out of that.
James missed him every day, and he imagined that Jimmy was still sore from the loss of his father. And then Uncle Tom, Dat’s brother, killed in a car accident just months ago. Dat must be reeling from the pain.
And then, there was the young Jimmy Lapp—the boy who had seen his young friend knocked off the road by an Englisher bus. It was the pain of that experience that made Jimmy hate Englishers. James understood that now. But hatred was a dangerous thing. Like an infestation of Oriental fruit moths or aphids, hatred could take hold of a tree and, bit by bit, destroy the entire orchard.
His gaze dropped to the desk, where his father had printed pages of photos and text spread out. James caught some of the words: Our pears are always sweet and delicious! and Try our eat-over-the-sink peaches!
It was copy for a website for Lapp orchards, something Dat was putting together with the help of a Mennonite man who had a knack for computers. Jimmy believed that their orchard needed a website to stay competitive, and James suspected he was right.
“Dat … you work with Englishers every day. Clive, who manages the delivery trucks. And you spend a lot of time with Ira Doscher, getting all this together for the website.”
His father frowned. “Ya, so?”
“If one of these men had a problem, you would try to help them, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Because you know them. You don’t lump them in with other Englishers.”
“What are you saying?”
“It would help if you met Shandell, just once. She would like to thank you, and if you see that she’s a real person who needed our help, I think you would understand. Remembe
r the Golden Rule—”
“You have broken the rules of your parents and your bishop,” Jimmy interrupted. “You have shown disrespect to your father. You have stepped over the line of what’s right and proper. And you’ve taken things from our home for this Englisher to use. That makes you no better than a common thief.”
Borrowing a few cups and forks—James didn’t see it as stealing, but he would not argue the details with his father right now. It would only seem to prove Dat’s point about disrespect.
“I want this trespasser off our land,” Dat said.
“It’s done. She’s staying with Doc Trueherz.”
“And I have half a mind to end your treatment in Paradise until you get it through your thick skull that you are a member of an Amish church and you have promised to live Plain, not all entangled with Englishers. Ya, I think you’ve been spending too much time in town with the Englishers.”
This was exactly what James had feared. This would crush all hope. “Dat, please.” He kept his voice low and contrite. “Please take some time to think before you make that choice.”
“And why is that? Because you think the heat of the moment will cool and I’ll let you do what you like?”
“Not that. It’s because the treatment is helping me, Dat. I don’t fancy spending my days there, with all the exercising and repetition, and you haven’t made it easy for me to get in and out of Paradise. But the treatment is working, slowly but surely. I can stand for more than an hour now, and I’ve taken a few steps with the help of a cane. And I’ve learned how to get myself in and out of a buggy.”
Jimmy sat back in his chair, his head cocked to one side. “And you’ve kept this a secret, too?”
“I held on to it because I was afraid it wasn’t enough, Dat. No matter what I do, it isn’t enough for you. I get half the orchard fertilized and you are disappointed about the other half. I learn to walk a step, and you want a mile.” James rubbed his brow. This was hard to put into words, and he didn’t want to be tripped by emotion. “I was saving it all up, thinking you might be pleased when I could walk again like a normal man.”
A Simple Hope Page 26