The Amish Wonders Collection

by Ruth Reid

  The light in the library was on when he pulled into the drive. He went through the side entrance of the house and paused at the door of his mother’s library.

  She looked up from a stack of papers and removed her reading glasses. “You’ve had a long day. I’ll warm something up for you to eat.” She pushed the chair away from her desk and stood.

  “No, don’t get up. I’m not hungry.” He took a seat in the blue floral wingback in front of her desk, cupped the back of his neck with his hands, and sighed.

  “I know that expression.” She folded her hands as she always did, giving him time to compose his thoughts.

  He directed his attention to the fireplace and studied the fake logs. He wasn’t sure how much to tell her. Other cases he’d been able to talk with her on legal matters.

  “Bo? Is everything all right? You rushed out of the house as though you were chasing a fire this afternoon. I thought this was your day off.”

  “It was.” He motioned to the paperwork she’d been reading. “What has you up so late?”

  “I promised to read over a few legal proposals the county attorney drew up for the ballot next fall.”

  “Increasing taxes again?”

  “No. This should help stimulate growth in the area. More businesses, more jobs, better roads.”

  He chuckled. She was already sounding like a politician. “So, in a roundabout way of saying it, you plan to increase taxes.”

  “More businesses and jobs will mean more taxpayers to share the burden.” She sounded as though she’d rehearsed the statement.

  He leaned forward. “Commissioner Nettleton, how do you plan to bring more businesses to this county?” Their area was known for tourism. Camping and hiking in Hiawatha National Forest, boating and fishing in the numerous lakes and rivers, and snowmobiling and ice climbing in the winter, but not many new people planted roots in their neck of the woods.

  “Great Northern Expeditions is a fracking company who has shown interest in our area. Places where they’ve drilled in the past have experienced exponential growth. Many new businesses, increase in jobs . . .”

  “Increase in sinkholes.”

  “Not always.” She shrugged. “Great Northern Expeditions has one of the better track histories. They’ve kept extensive records.”

  “I’m sure.” He lifted his brows. “How much have they contributed to your campaign fund?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I haven’t cashed the check yet.”

  He pushed off the chair. “I think I will make a sandwich.”

  She trailed him to the kitchen. “I’ve arranged for Josh to come by three times a week to help George with the grounds, on a trial basis of course. He’s out of school for the summer, and he offered to wash the outside windows and trim the rose bushes. I thought his first assignment could be planting those impatiens we bought. George’s knees are still giving him problems, and I know you’ve been busy at work. Besides, hiring a foster child looks good for my image.”

  “You’ve fostered a kid for sixteen years and have written some pretty stout checks. I think your image is pristine.” He winked. “That is until you hook your name to that drilling company.”

  “Yes, well, fortunately for me, the area they want to drill first doesn’t have many registered voters.” She praised the drilling company for its history of hiring local people and remarked about the benefits for the area restaurants and lodging.

  Bo removed the packages of sliced ham and Swiss and the jar of mayo from the refrigerator. Same thing he’d made to eat prior to going to Badger Creek. Untwisting the tie on the loaf of bread, his thoughts drifted to Mattie sitting in the waiting room, dabbing her puffy eyes with a wadded tissue. “Nathan started vomiting,” she’d said. Nothing about bruises. Nothing about him getting trampled by a horse. Did she think no one would notice? “Doctors don’t know if the boy will make it. The boy’s battered,” his boss’s words echoed. Battered.

  “What do you think about Josh painting the boathouse?”

  His mother’s question pulled him back to the present. “Ah, yeah, sure.” He dipped the knife into the mayo, clinking against the side of the jar as he removed a glob.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me about Josh?”

  “No. He’s a good kid.” He spread the mayo over two pieces of bread, then piled it with shaved ham and two slices of cheese. He would make a point to remind Josh that smoking wouldn’t be tolerated, nor would the use of foul language. Now that Bo’s mother had taken an interest in Josh, he wouldn’t have any reason to run away or hang out with the pool hall crowd again. His mother would keep him busy manicuring the grounds.

  Bo took a bite of his sandwich.

  “Did Erica get ahold of you? She called shortly after you left this afternoon.” She lifted her brows and paused for affect. “She mentioned something about your reputation being at stake.”

  “I saw her.” He took another bite.

  “Well?” She shifted her stance. “What did she mean?”

  “I followed my gut on a case and . . . I was wrong.” Snowballed was more like it, but it wasn’t just his reputation at stake. According to Norton, the boy might die. Bo had the opportunity to sit on the case—keep it open the full thirty days—and he did his best to persuade the doctor to drop the complaint. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “You lost your objectivity?” She removed the milk container from the refrigerator and unscrewed the cap.

  “Yeah.” He snorted.

  “What went wrong?”

  The circuit judge came out of retirement. Not that he minded. He was used to the manner in which she helped him profile a case. She had taught him a lot. In hindsight, he should have talked with her prior to letting his gut take control.

  Bo stared at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand. No longer hungry, he tossed it in the trash can. “I let my guard down. A widow with two small children . . . An Amish woman got one over me.”

  “I see.” Her shoulders sagged like she had been given fifty-pound bags of sand to hold. She closed her eyes a half second.

  “It’s just that I’ve never had . . . I mean . . .” He was stumbling for words, and she keenly analyzed what he was and wasn’t saying. This wasn’t new. He was used to her tactics. She had taught him more than his college professors about interpreting hidden meaning and picking up inflections in speech and nonverbal clues. But her silence was uncharacteristic.

  “I’ve never had to remove an Amish child from the home,” he said. Whatever happened within an Amish district was kept private. The father administered discipline, and more often than not, the mother withheld any objection she might have no matter how harsh the punishment. In this case, the father was absent. Mattie Diener had the sole responsibility to administer discipline. Bo couldn’t shake the doctor’s comment about depression, maybe even a bipolar disorder in the woman’s background.

  “And there wasn’t another way?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” He tossed the knife in the sink. “I think I’ll turn in.” He kissed his mother’s cheek. “It isn’t anything for you to worry about. Good night.” He took a few steps and stopped. “Thanks for giving Josh a shot. You’ll like him.”

  Downstairs, in his remodeled basement apartment, he sat in the recliner and closed his eyes. The moment he did, an image of Mattie came to mind. Her wide-set blue eyes held the depth of her soul. Helpless. Afraid . . . betrayed. She’d called him for help. Why? Did she think he could get the charges dropped? The widowed mother had cracked. Even the doctor had said she was prescribed antidepressants—why didn’t he pay closer attention to the facts? Mattie’s image warped into Amanda’s and the same blue-eyed, frightened expression caused a shiver. He couldn’t fail the child.

  God, Amanda doesn’t have any idea what’s happened. She’s frightened. What was Mattie Diener thinking, inflicting such forceful punishment on her son? Bo ran his hand over the scar on his upper arm. He remembered the beatings. Being punished for
not working fast enough—being good enough—holy enough. Most of the time his father used a worn leather strap to teach Bo. His bruises ran in narrow strips. The beatings made it painful to sit down—sometimes to move at all. Once the end of the strap caught his ear—but only once. His fingers absently rubbed the thin scar on the side of his earlobe as if he could push the memory away.

  Bo pushed off the chair. Until now he’d done well to keep his past buried—it needed to stay that way. Norton needed to hold Davis’s hand through this case—not him. He rubbed the back of his neck; the corded muscles had tightened. He slid under the bedcovers, his head sank into the feather pillow, and his heavy eyelids closed.

  “Your heavenly Father loves you, Boaz.”

  A reassuring calmness washed over him. He’d struggled for years to accept God’s love and to understand it was not something he had to earn.

  “Feed My lambs.” The voice echoed. “Bring My little lamb back into the fold.”

  His conscience answered, “Yes, Lord,” as his body submerged deeper in sleep.

  HE WAS WALKING BAREFOOTED OVER barren land and kicking up puffs of dust as he went. In the place of dry bones, as Bo had come to call it, one could not see beyond the withered remnants of life. He didn’t want to be here. Alone. Wandering. Yet he’d seen the place so many times, the familiarity of it held a certain amount of comfort. Hot air dried his lungs as he moved over the cracked ground in search of a place to lie down. He dropped to his knees. The palms of his hands became calloused before his eyes.

  “I have not called you here to take up a place, but to lead you to the one crying in the wilderness. Now rise and walk with Me.”

  Bo scrambled to his feet. Turning a wide circle, he searched for the speaker.

  “Do you need to see Me to know that I am with you?”

  Bo stopped turning. “No.” His throat quivered. He glanced around the desolate area again for which way he should go. Everything looked the same. Parched open land filled with dry bones. “Which way?”

  Silence.

  Bo looked upward, but a blinding light stole his sight. Disorientated, he stumbled backward.

  A faint cry in the distance broke the silence.

  Bo waited a moment for instruction. “I hope You still intend to lead me, Lord. My eyes feel like they have tar in them.” He shuffled blindly toward the sound. Hours passed, or so it seemed. Fatigue had set in, but the child’s cry propelled him forward. When he finally stopped, so did the crying.

  He stood still a moment, cupping a hand next to his ear. Silence. Now he was blind and deaf. This had to be some sort of test. But what did it all mean?

  “You’re not blind or deaf, Boaz. You’re preoccupied with your surroundings. Now open your eyes and see why I’ve brought you here.”

  A light flashed and Boaz was no longer in the wilderness, but was standing beside a hospital bed, peering down at the purplish blotches covering Nathan Diener’s body. Bo gasped. The boy looked nothing like the child he’d seen just days ago. Dark shadows surrounded his eyes. A nurse stood next to the bed, motionless, as if there was nothing more she could do.

  Bo stepped closer. “What’s wrong with him?”

  The nurse’s eyes held a vacant stare as if she were in a comatose state herself.

  “Nathan?” Bo reached for the boy’s limp hand. A chill rippled over the surface of Bo’s skin, sending the hairs on his arms on end. He turned his head in slow motion and peered at the statue-like nurse. But when the woman lifted her eyes to meet his, it wasn’t the same person. He’d seen those eyes—blue like the summer sky. Where? “Mattie?”

  The woman never blinked.

  He moved closer to the bed, shielding the boy with his arm. “What are you doing here? You can’t help the boy now.”

  “But you can, Boaz.” The same inner voice that walked him through the wasteland of dry bones was prompting him once more.

  Bo lifted his gaze upward. “Who am I that I can do anything?”

  Shafts of blinding light danced across the room as the cool morning breeze came in off the lake and fluttered the window blinds. Bo reached down, untangled the bedcover from around his feet, and gave it a yank. Shivering, he burrowed his head under the blanket and closed his eyes, but the clack, clack, clack of the wind beating the wooden blinds against the windowsill prevented him from falling back to sleep. Bits and pieces of his dream flashed across his mind. Replaying the events—until he saw Mattie standing at the foot of the hospital bed. He bolted upright.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bo filled his mug with the last of the coffee and returned the empty carafe to its holder. A few coffee grounds floated to the surface. Probably should have stopped at the service station on his way into work. He sampled the heavy roast and cringed. The stuff tasted like it’d been brewed last week. He headed back to his desk, pausing next to Max’s workstation on his way. “You make this stuff, Roker?”

  Max glanced up from his computer. “Three hours ago.”

  “Tastes more like three days ago.”

  “Add a few tablespoons of this.” Max pushed the jar of honey across his desk that Bo had given him for his allergies. “It kills the bitter taste, and I hear it boosts your immune system.”

  Bo eyed the thick golden substance. The simple label read Made by Mattie. He couldn’t help but wonder who was checking on her bees and tending her livestock. Bo pushed the jar back to Max. “No thanks.”

  “Were you in court again this morning?”

  “No,” Bo said, pulling the office chair away from the desk. “I spent the morning disputing unauthorized purchases on my credit card with the bank. Seems the man who lifted my wallet has a taste for pricy items. He’s been busy shopping online the last twenty-four hours.” Bo shook his head. After receiving Mattie’s call from the hospital, he’d forgotten all about calling to report his card stolen. “By the time these charges get resolved, I don’t think I’ll want another card.”

  His friend snickered. “You say that now, but we live on the cusp of a cashless society. You realize that, don’t you?”

  Bo took another drink of the coffee. The second sip wasn’t any better. “I’d rather not think about a cashless society.” It’s sad that a man’s word and simple handshake no longer held any power. Except amongst the Amish; they still bartered by verbal agreement. Mattie’s words came back to him. “I didn’t harm mei child. I give you mei word.” At the time, Davis had scoffed at Mattie’s promise—even he pushed it aside. Promises didn’t hold up in court. She’d find out soon enough that she needed something more than her word to stand on. But that wasn’t his problem. Other than testifying in court regarding the report he’d filed, he planned to distance himself from the case. Someone else could be assigned to follow up on the little girl he’d placed into foster care.

  “Heard about the Amish case you’re working on with Erica Davis.” Max wagged his brows. “How did you manage to get Erica for a partner?”

  Bo shrugged. The less he said, the less he would have to explain.

  “Long drive through the country . . . hmm.”

  Bo lifted his mug to his lips, then lowered it. “The case can be reassigned if you’d like to take over.” He choked down another drink.

  “What do they call an Amish person who’s gone off the deep end? A lost lamb or a black sheep?”

  Bo’s jaw muscles tightened.

  “I heard she beat her kid until he was black and blue from head to toe.”

  “Purple.” Bo’s words left his mouth unchecked. Other than in his dreams last night, he hadn’t even seen Nathan. The hairs on the back of Bo’s neck stood on end.

  “Hey.” Max motioned to the lit interoffice button on Bo’s phone. “You don’t hear your phone ringing?”

  Bo snatched the receiver. “Lambright.”

  “You got a minute?”

  His boss really meant Get in my office now, but Norton seldom barked over the phone. He waited until he was face-to-face behind closed doors.

 
“Sure.” Bo took another gulp of coffee before marching down to Norton’s office. “Don’t let this be about the Diener case,” he mumbled to himself. How was he going to explain already being at the hospital? By now, Norton would have discovered dispatch hadn’t sent Bo to the hospital. Mattie Diener needed someone to vouch for her, and he was a sucker for a woman sobbing. He was a sucker, all right.

  As Bo neared the office, he overheard his boss’s muffled voice. Bo poked his head around the partially opened door. Norton waved Bo in without breaking his conversation with the caller. Inside the office a half second, Bo figured his boss’s call was regarding the Diener case. He eased into the chair facing Norton’s desk and studied the man’s stiff jaw. His face turned redder by the second. Whoever Norton was on the phone with was doing most of the talking.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll look into it, sir.” Norton’s voice was strained. He massaged his temple.

  Bo started to perspire. He loosened his tie, finding it hard to breathe in the stifling office. Budget cuts had kept the thermostat on seventy-five during the summer. The fan blowing on Norton’s desk didn’t offer much reprieve.

  Norton hung up the phone, pushed away from his desk, and stood. He crossed the room and pushed the door closed with a thud, then returned to his chair and crossed his arms. After what felt like eternity, he said, “The doctor wants a full investigation.”

  “There will have to be. The woman was arrested.”

  “On you.” Norton’s tone hardened.

  “Me!” Bo jumped to his feet. “Why me?”

  “Apparently you coerced her into dropping the initial complaint.”