by Ruth Reid
“I’ve answered enough questions.” Mattie headed toward the house, the woman practically chasing after her.
“We would like to inspect the premises,” the woman said.
Mattie stiffened. Inspect for what? Don’t ask. She proceeded up the porch steps, responding over her shoulder, “I don’t invite strangers into mei home.”
“I’m Erica Davis, an investigator for Child Protective Services, and this is my partner, Bo Lambright.”
Mattie turned to face them. “Jah, I met Mr. Lambright at the hospital.”
Ms. Davis opened her handbag and shuffled through it. “Here’s my card. Feel free to call the office and validate my credentials.”
Mattie raised her chin. “I don’t own a phone.”
“Well, it’s part of our investigation to view the premises,” the woman persisted.
Mattie paused at the door, her body blocking the entry from Ms. Davis, who appeared ready to barge in the house uninvited. Mattie steadied her gaze beyond the woman at Bo Lambright, who seemed more reasonable. “I answered all your questions in the hospital, Mr.—”
“Bo.” He moved toward the porch. “And I appreciate your willingness to do so.”
“Then why are you harassing me, at mei home? In front of mei children?”
“The investigation is incomplete,” the woman answered for him. She fanned her face with her hand. “It’s hot out. May we continue this conversation inside?”
“You can say no, Mrs. Diener,” the man said, climbing the steps and stopping next to his partner.
The woman investigator shot him a glare, which did nothing to alter his set jaw or stony expression. Ms. Davis shifted her attention to Mattie. “He’s correct. But we won’t be able to close the case until we inspect the living conditions and talk with the children.”
“Talk with mei children? Nay, I couldn’t let you do that.”
The nosy woman cocked her head. “What are you hiding?”
The man groaned under his breath. He reached for the coworker’s arm. “Erica,” was all he had to say for her to face him. “Let me handle this.”
Ms. Davis squared her shoulders. “Good luck.”
Ignoring his coworker, Bo moved in front of the woman. “You don’t have to let us come in to inspect the house. But it’s true. The case will remain open until we complete the paperwork.”
“We’ll get a court order from a judge,” the woman spouted.
Court order? Judge? Her stomach roiled. “I-I don’t understand.”
“You’re under investigation for child abuse.”
“What!” Mattie’s knees weakened, and she clutched the handrail.
The man’s face tensed, then relaxed once Mattie had steadied herself. Ms. Davis opened her mouth, but Bo Lambright cut her off. “We’re bound by law to respond when charges of abuse are filed,” he said calmly. “At this point, it’s still in the investigational phase.”
“Is this about the blisters in mei sohn’s mouth? I told you I don’t know what caused them.”
“I’ve written down your statement, but we still need to inspect the living conditions and interview the children.” His soft tone sounded apologetic.
Ms. Davis wormed her way closer, interjecting, “We have the authority to remove the children from the home if we deem necessary.”
Mattie’s gaze shot over to Bo. “Is that true?” Why was she asking the man? He’d hunted her down. Tears pricked her eyes, distorting his image.
He cleared his throat. “You have the right to have someone you trust present during the interview. Do you have a family member or friend you’d like to attend?”
Her legs wobbled again. She leaned against the handrail, thoughts swirling.
“Mrs. Diener?” He moved closer.
Her ears rang with a high-pitched squeal. She was hot. Thirsty. Her mouth coated with a metallic taste. Nothing felt real. Black spots filled her vision . . .
The woman’s eyes rolled back and she collapsed before Bo could catch her. He knelt beside her. “Mrs. Diener?” He placed his hand on her shoulder, gave her a shake, then eased her onto her back. The red knot forming on her head would throb when she woke up. He gently shook her shoulder and called her name again, but she didn’t respond. Now what? She’d made it clear she didn’t want them inside. He should have insisted they wait for a court order. Instead, he allowed Davis’s unwillingness to walk to the tenth hole in heels when a golf cart wasn’t available to waste a good part of this day. He debated the ramifications of an illegal entry for half a second before ignoring the legalistic warning and gathering her limp body into his arms.
Her frailness caught him by surprise. After seeing the boy, Bo had thought the child’s growth had been stunted. He’d seen it before in malnourished children living on the streets. Now the boy’s size made more sense. His mother was a lightweight.
“Open the door, Davis.”
Davis opened the door and stepped inside.
Entering the house, Bo located the sofa in the sitting room. He gently lowered her onto the quilt-covered cushion. “Can you find a rag in the kitchen and wet it, please?”
Davis left the room.
Bo scanned the area. Oak floors. Simple furnishings. Bare walls. Uncluttered.
“Here you go.” Davis handed him the wet rag. “I would have made an ice pack, but there’s no refrigerator or freezer. The stove looks to be a hundred years old, and the only things I found in the cabinets other than dishes were several jars of what looked like dried tea leaves, a package of noodles, rice, peanut butter, and a shelf full of jars marked Honey. That’s it.”
“Stop searching. We’re on a tightrope as it is, entering without permission.” He gingerly placed the cool cloth on Mrs. Diener’s forehead. He should have been prepared to catch her. She probably wouldn’t still be out cold if he had. He’d seen her face whitewash with shock. Davis needed a lesson in tactfulness.
“This room is rather drab. I’d paint it something bright. Yellow.” Davis gazed at the ceiling and turned a circle. “Add crown molding and more light . . . Yes, definitely more light. This is inadequate . . .”
Bo ignored Davis’s rambling and focused on Mrs. Diener.
She mumbled something and left the room, only to return a moment later. “They really don’t have electricity.”
“It took you awhile to figure that one out, Sherlock.”
Davis cocked her head. “Now, how would I know anything about the Amish? It’s not like we attended the same boarding schools together.”
Or the same political circles. The Amish didn’t vote so it wouldn’t matter if their lumber mill was located in her father’s voting district.
She motioned with a head bob toward Mrs. Diener. “So, how’s the patient doing, Doctor Watson?”
“I don’t know. Sure seems like she would have come around by now.” He knelt by the sofa.
Davis leaned over his shoulder. “Unless she’s faking it.”
“She’s not faking.” The woman didn’t want them in her house, surely she wouldn’t . . . want them anywhere near her children. He shot up from his knees. “I don’t hear the kids, do you?”
“I’ll find them.” Her heels clacked against the plank floor as she left the room.
The children needed to be located, and Davis being a woman would make it less intimidating for them once they were found. A child’s shrill cry broke the silence. Bo rushed down the hall and stopped at the opened bedroom door.
Davis stood with her hands on her hips and tapping her shoe on the wood floor. “They’re under the bed. And you’ll never guess what’s in the other room.” She didn’t give him time to answer. “A wooden structure filled with straw. I think they have livestock in the house.”
“Anything in the crate?” Bo moved closer to the bed and knelt. He spotted the children and waved. “Hiya, Nathan. Will you come out from under there and bring your sister, please?” Bo glanced over his shoulder at Davis’s tapping shoe, then traveled the length of her le
gs up to her face and met her gaze with a stern look. “You think the toe tapping is helping?”
“You don’t have an issue with barnyard animals living indoors?”
“What are you doing in mei haus?” Mrs. Diener’s narrowed gaze darted between him and Davis, landing back on him. “Why are you looking under mei bed?”
Bo pushed off the floor and stood. “Your children are under there. How’s your head?”
“You can’t take them.” Her eyes welled with tears.
Bo backed away from the bed. “I think we’ll get going.” He looked hard at Davis, who had crossed her arms and resumed tapping her foot. “Don’t you agree, Erica?”
“No, I don’t.”
If he had to pull rank on her, he would. Bo came up beside her. “You and I need to have a word.”
Davis marched out of the room and stopped halfway down the hall. “We still have information to gather. This is an investigation.”
“It’s not going to happen today. She has the right to have another person present, and we’re going to give her the opportunity to make those arrangements. Besides, with that knot on her head, she’s in no condition to answer our questions.”
“Convenient, isn’t it?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s not calculating.”
Davis lifted her brows. “You don’t know women at all.”
“I know my job.” And at the moment they were breaking every rule in the book. Mrs. Diener could have his head on a silver platter.
“That’s right. You staked your reputation on this case.”
More than just his reputation. His license was on the line. They should have obtained a court order, or at least waited until they talked with the physician. He turned and walked back to the bedroom. Mrs. Diener was sitting on the floor clutching her two children. Bo cleared his throat. “We’re going to leave now.”
She ignored him.
“We’ll be back on Monday around ten. You’re welcome to have someone here to oversee the interview with the children.” Bo’s throat tightened at the sight of tears streaming down her face. He wanted to say he was sorry for putting her through this, but he couldn’t. She would receive fair treatment; he would make sure of that. But he wasn’t going to get attached. Not to her—not to her children.
“Well, this was a wasted trip,” Davis said once they were outside. “Had I thought to call the physician’s office I would have known they closed early on Fridays. And I should have gotten a court order—even if I’d had to sit in the club’s lounge until nightfall to get the judge’s signature.”
“Perhaps.” It would save him from having to answer why they broke protocol should Mrs. Diener file a formal complaint. Bo trekked toward the driver’s side of the car. As for the court order, he had hoped to avoid involving a judge, considered it a blessing that the judge was on the far side of the course and the carts were all taken. This case should have remained closed. An animal’s cry stopped him from opening the car door. He scanned the area. The buggy horse was grazing in the field. The animal bleated again. Baa. This time he was sure the sound came from the greenhouse. “I’ll be right back.”
The greenhouse held an array of plants at various stages of growth. Clippers and tools hung on a pegboard above the wooden worktable. Other miscellaneous garden tools and watering cans were neatly placed on a shelf. He looked to the floor when he heard the lamb’s cry again. The tiny creature wasn’t more than a few weeks old. “Where is your mamm, little guy?” Bo didn’t want to leave the lamb alone with broken pieces of a clay pot scattered over the floor. He picked up the animal, and it nuzzled his ear.
Carrying the lamb inside the barn, the scent of hay filled his senses. Memories of his youth flashed before his eyes—of sweating from mucking out the horse stalls and rubbing his itchy back against the support beam to get relief from the hay dust. He passed the horse stalls, the harness tack hanging on a nail, and the bins of grain. The only empty pen was in the back of the barn. The ewe was nowhere to be found. It must have orphaned the offspring shortly after birth. Even so, the lamb shouldn’t be alone. Sheep are flock animals and often become stressed when separated from the herd. Bo held the lamb a moment longer, then gently lowered it over the slat fence, releasing it on a mound of hay. Heaviness saturated his heart. It was tough to be separated from the flock—orphaned.
Chapter Nine
Mattie spent Saturday morning washing the walls, windows, and floors. Everything had to be in order. Every nook and cranny spotless before the state workers returned on Monday. Not that her home wasn’t clean already. She took great pride in keeping a tidy home. Besides, hard work gave her a new focus.
Mattie dipped the scrub brush in the soapy water and arched her back, stretching her taut muscles.
“You expecting company?” Alvin’s voice rang out from the other side of the screen door.
Mattie pushed off the floor, scrub brush in hand. Her dress was soaked with mop water and soapsuds. “Hello, Alvin.”
His eyes opened wide. “What happened to your head?”
She touched the knot. “I banged mei head on something. It’s nothing.”
“That’s gut.” He flipped his thumb over his shoulder. “I stopped by to check on that sick lamb, but it isn’t in the barn.”
Mattie met Alvin on the porch. She would have invited him inside if the floors were dry, but he didn’t always kick the mud off his boots when he entered and she didn’t want to have to mop a second time. As it was it would take half the day to get the wood floors ready for a new coat of wax.
“I moved Snowball into the haus the other day.” Mattie used the front of her apron to dry her hands. “She still requires a lot of coaxing to take the bottle.” And Mattie didn’t like traipsing out to the barn in the middle of the night to feed the lamb.
Alvin lowered his head and shuffled his boots from side to side. “A ewe doesn’t usually orphan her offspring unless the lamb is ill. Maybe you should consider putting it down.”
“I couldn’t do that. It would break Nathan’s heart.” She recalled the fit he gave her when she tried to get him to leave the greenhouse without the wooly creature.
“Sheep aren’t pets.” Alvin frowned. “The earlier Nathan learns he’s not to become attached to the livestock, the better off he’ll be. It’s just a fact of life that some of the weaker ones don’t make it.”
Weaker ones don’t make it. An image of Andy in his weakened state invaded her mind. The doctor had warned her his lungs were filling with fluid, but she hadn’t wanted to believe he would lose his battle before he reached thirty—or before he saw his unborn child.
“Sorry, Mattie, if the news is too hard to hear.”
“Danki, Alvin, but I don’t plan on giving up on the young’un just yet.”
He eyed her, his lips straight, then changed the subject. “I-I was wondering . . . since there isn’t Sunday service tomorrow that maybe—maybe you would like someone to take you visiting?”
“I, um . . .” Alvin had never asked to take her anywhere before. His brows lifted, making it even more difficult to find a valid excuse. “I wasn’t planning to go anywhere tomorrow. Nathan’s been sick and I thought he could use another day of rest.” After the cleaning frenzy today, she, too, would need a break.
“Another time?”
“We’ll see.” Mattie smiled nervously. This was it—starting over. She was ready, wasn’t she?
The golden flecks in his eyes lit. “Danki, Mattie. I’ll be seeing you.” He turned and clambered off the porch with more spring to his step.
Bo tossed the bedcovers aside, dressed, then hiked up the basement steps. He slipped down the hall and into his father’s private study. Although his father had passed away several years ago, his study remained untouched. Medical journals and old textbooks lined the massive bookshelves.
Bo lounged in the leather wingback chair behind the grand mahogany desk. Think like a doctor. He flipped open the laptop, typed “barnyard diseases”
into the search field, and hit Enter. His father had an extensive assortment of textbooks and magazines, but Bo would rather surf the Internet instead of sift through articles. He scanned the results, particularly for diseases contagious to humans. His dream last night had been confusing. At one point, he’d been searching for a lost lamb, then the dream merged with images of Mattie and her children covered in leprous spots, hovering in the dark after being cast out of their Amish district. He wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but after remembering the lamb inside the greenhouse, it had spawned the idea to look for barn-related diseases humans could contract. He scanned the topic index of one Internet journal, spotted an article about hoof-and-mouth disease, and clicked on that page. Viral infection. Highly communicable. Cattle, swine, goats . . . and sheep. Thank You, Jesus. He tipped the lampshade to remove the glare on the screen. “Characterized by fever, blister-like erosions on the tongue, lips, and mouth.” Trailing the sentence with his finger, he stopped. Not transferable to humans.
Bo sank back in the chair. He was sure God had prompted him to get out of bed and do research, but every article he found so far was a dead end.
Keep looking.
He searched for other zoonotic diseases, finding related articles on sheep transmitting ringworm, bacteria causing diarrhea, and several other infectious diseases. But nothing that would explain the blisters in Nathan’s mouth.
Morning rays filtered into the room when he came across the pox-virus Orf. A study in England found 23 percent of sheep farmers had been infected . . .
“How long have you been up?” His mother entered the room, a confused look on her face.
“A few hours.”
She strolled around the perimeter of the room, gazing at the numerous photographs of his father and the various orphans he’d treated through the years while on mission trips. “Martin sure had a heart for orphans,” she said with a sigh. “I thought about having this room repurposed, but I could never figure out what to do with it.”
Bo closed the laptop. The last time she had spent any amount of time in here, he’d found her weeping uncontrollably. Of course, she steeled her emotions immediately. The judge in her had an innate ability to suppress outward signs of weakness. Bo turned off the lamp and stood. “Are you hungry?”