by Kate Lloyd
“What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s his heart. Surgery is scheduled for Monday.”
TWENTY
A melancholy Saturday followed despite our many customers raving about the minestrone soup. Beatrice was delighted but took no credit.
Stephen finally returned. “False alarm.” His shoulders slumped. “The dog running loose was a poodle mix. Fortunately, its owner caught up with it just as I got there. I helped her get the dog into her car.”
“The poor woman must have been scared sick.” Beatrice patted his back. “That was very kind of you.”
He shrugged off her compliment. “So now we wait. I have a bad feeling about this.”
He turned to me. “Be sure to lock the doors tonight.”
“I have been.”
“Well, fine, but give them one final tug to make sure.”
He held me responsible for the break-in? I wanted to defend myself, but I clamped my lips together.
When I left for the day, I double-checked the back door and secured the front.
That night I heard an owl’s hooting and the rustling of the tree branches in the breeze. And a branch snap. Jake had returned? I slipped into my coat, covered my head, grabbed my flashlight, and went out to investigate.
“Jake?” I whispered. No reply. The air was still, and the sky as black as a never-ending tunnel.
I considered rapping on the big house’s back door to ask Beatrice for help, but she was most likely asleep. I imagined her coming to the door in her bathrobe and shaking her head at my cowardly reaction. Too many times I had succumbed to my fears, but not anymore. I’d prove to everyone, including myself, that I was brave.
Almost at the café, I saw a swoop of light in the interior through one glass wall. I tried the front door and found it unlocked. I tiptoed toward the kitchen and saw a man standing in front of the opened refrigerator.
In the darkness, I bumped into a chair. Its legs scraped against the floor.
“Who’s there?” I said, trying to sound courageous.
The room lay silent.
I inched forward, turned on my flashlight, and pointed the beam over the counter. An Englischer—an older man—crouched in front of the refrigerator. He clutched a sandwich—sliced roast beef mashed between two pieces of bread.
“What are you doing in here?” I put heft into my voice, although he was maybe fifty and large enough to knock me over.
“Answer me,” I said, and I stamped my foot for effect.
When he stood, he was indeed taller than I was by six inches. His shadowed face showed fear, the whites of his eyes glowing. “Please…please don’t call the police,” he said with a whimper. He reeked of hard liquor, like Reuben had once after partying with his friends when in rumspringa, sampling the evils of the Englisch world. Thankfully, meeting Marta had brought a halt to his tomfooleries.
“How did you get in?” I asked.
“When they were building this place, someone left a key in the door one night. I took it and made a copy the next day and then returned the original.”
“But why?”
“I was hungry. I needed a place to sleep.”
My eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. He was skinny. His cheeks were hollow and his thinning hair disheveled.
“Where do you live?”
“Nowhere in particular. Just down the road in a relative’s basement or a barn if his wife gets mad at me. Please don’t tell anyone. They’ll toss me in the slammer.”
“Don’t you have other family?”
“No. I used to…”
Was he feeding me a bunch of malarkey? I didn’t trust drunk strangers. No, I wouldn’t be gullible no matter what he said. I mentally tallied my options, including calling the police. Or Stephen.
Keeping my distance, I put out my hand, palm up. “Give me the key.” I figured Stephen could get the locks swapped out in the morning anyway.
The man dug through his wrinkled trousers pocket. “I must have dropped it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He fished in his jacket pockets. “Oh, here it is.” He tossed the key on a table.
Sandwich in hand, he moved to the back door.
“Stop. What’s your name?”
“Ralph. But please don’t report me to the police. I can’t stand being locked up.”
No booze in jail, I figured. And he’d probably given me a phony name. “One more thing, Ralph. Have you seen a large brown Labrador retriever?”
“Uh—I don’t think so.”
TWENTY-ONE
Today was the day I would venture to Jake’s parents’ farm in Glenn’s buggy to see Amos Miller. So I could arrive before Beatrice, I rushed through my shower and put on my teal-blue dress. With no time to obsess about my hair, I parted and covered my tresses with my kapp and used hairpins to anchor the white head covering. I thought of the verse from First Corinthians directing women to cover their heads when they pray. No doubt, I’d be praying on the way over. Ach, I should have prayed for the Lord’s guidance before getting out of bed.
Through the cabin’s window, I scanned the parking lot and was glad Stephen hadn’t arrived yet to pick up Beatrice—if he were indeed coming.
Outside in the cool morning air, I found the buggy already rolled out of the barn and Autumn in the barn polishing off her breakfast. One of the men working here must tend to her food and water in the owners’ absence. But who had brought out the buggy? Much as I appreciated the effort, I felt as though someone were orchestrating my day. I was under the impression only Stephen knew I was going home by way of this buggy and horse. Maybe he’d asked one of his crew to help me. Or maybe he’d stopped by himself before picking up Beatrice. Perhaps they were ahead of me. I felt my determination to see Amos wavering.
“Hey, Autumn.” I knew better than to approach a horse from the rear without warning. She turned toward me, pricked her ears, and swiveled them my way. “Ready to go on an adventure, girl?”
Speaking to her in soothing tones, I led her outside and harnessed her to the buggy.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and took up the reins. Autumn seemed relaxed. Ach, such a long trip in a buggy using the back roads instead of the highway. The poor mare would be exhausted at the end of the day. Yet Stephen said she needed exercise.
I would pass close by Jake’s parents’ farm on the way to see Mamm and Dat. I figured I should visit my parents’ first, but I opted to visit them after. Dat had always said to tackle the hardest job first. Who was I kidding? I hoped to speak to Jake alone and find out what his plans were.
On a Sunday morning, with fewer cars and even buggies on the road, the trip passed more quickly than I’d imagined. I drove for several minutes behind an SUV, its occupants clicking photos of me until I took a sudden right to dodge them.
Finally, after zigging and zagging, I recognized the Millers’ tall oak tree as I came upon their lane. I wondered how I’d be welcomed by Jake’s mamm. Would Ruth lecture me or turn me away?
Entering their barnyard, I was surprised to see their barn and storage buildings freshly painted white, no doubt by neighbors when they’d heard Amos was in the hospital. The cornfield had been fertilized—I could smell the earthy aroma—and the coffee-colored soil newly turned.
“Whoa, girl.” I pulled on the reins, and Jake stepped out of the barn and took hold of Autumn’s bridle.
“I’ll take care of your horse.” He averted his eyes from mine. Not even a smile after all he’d said the other night.
“Mamm’s in the house.” Jake angled his head toward the back stoop. If this was a prelude to my upcoming reception, I was tempted to head to my parents’ right away. But I’d come this far, and Autumn needed water.
I knocked on the back door and waited several moments. As I was turning to vamoose, Ruth welcomed me with a hopeful smile. “Eva. Come on in. It’s gut to see you.” Her face was a road map of lines, and her mouth was white. She’d aged considerably since I’d l
ast seen her. Poor woman. I had little doubt this transformation was from having her husband hanging on the brink between life and death.
She led me through a dark utility room and into the kitchen. She was wearing house slippers. I untied and kicked off my shoes and left them next to a pair of boots inside the kitchen door.
Ahead, an abundance of baskets filled with muffins, pies, Tupperware housing applesauce and canned peaches, and casseroles cluttered the table. “May I offer you anything?” she asked me. “Ach, our neighbors and church members have been generous, but it’s more than we can ever consume.”
“Nee, but denki for your kind offer.”
“How about tea or kaffi?”
“Maybe later.” I was on a mission of sorts and was determined to get it accomplished.
“Ready to see Amos?” She turned to me, her face as haggard as if all her life had been drained. “I should warn ya, he’s awake, but in a half-dream state. But I was told at the hospital he can hear us. For some reason he’s repeated your name over and over.”
“Why would he want to see me? Does Amos blame me for Jake’s going away?”
“I don’t think so.” She blinked, the whites of her eyes bloodshot. “I wanted to see you too, dear.”
But why? Did she think Jake and I were getting married? Nothing made sense.
A hospital bed stood in the living room beyond the kitchen. Amos was a big man, but he was hardly visible under the blankets and quilts. All I could see was a pale, bearded face and closed eyes.
Ruth touched his arm. “Amos, look who’s come to see us.” He blinked his eyes open. When he noticed me, his face came alive. “Eva?” His voice was a mere sliver.
“Yah, it’s me.” I expected harsh words, but the corners of his mouth lifted a smidgen.
“Look! He moved his hand.” Ruth sounded ecstatic.
Not knowing what to do, I placed my hand on his, the first time I’d ever been within six feet of him. His hand wavered, as if trying to grasp my fingers.
“You’re the only person he’s reacted to, Eva. Not even me, his frau.”
“Amos?” I said as his fingers went limp again. A moment later, he sank back to sleep.
“Please stay. Don’t rush off,” Ruth said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Amos thinks you’ve brought our Jake home, is what I’m guessing.” Her face was drawn, her skin gray. “Eva, please talk Jake into staying. I can’t run this farm by myself. Our dochders live in Indiana and have large families. Their husbands are busy managing their dairy farms. I’ll have to sell.”
“Is money the only reason?”
“Nee. I want our son back. I’m not strong enough to take care of Amos even with the community’s help.” She lowered her chin. “Now it’s my turn to help someone in her time of troubles.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ach, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She grimaced. “I’m a big blabbermouth.”
I heard the heavy tread of a man’s footsteps entering the room.
“Denki for coming, Evie.” Jake spoke as if he hadn’t seen me minutes ago. Maybe the whole Miller family had gone ab im kopp.
I was afraid to look at Jake, to be sucked into the vacuum of his deep-blue eyes.
“I was just leaving.” I pivoted away from the bed.
Jake looked to his mother. “Has Dat improved? Did he speak to Eva?”
“Amos recognized her, I’m sure of it. But then he drifted back to sleep.” She turned to me. “The doctor said Amos may do this for days. Or weeks. We’re expecting a therapist to arrive tomorrow to help Amos recover his motor skills, if he ever does. A frontal lobe injury can change a man forever.” Her lower lip quivered. “Will you come back, Eva?” Her words trembled as if she were restraining a sob.
“I can’t. I work every day except Sunday.”
Her fingers clammy, Ruth took my hand. “Then please come to supper after work.”
“I don’t want to cause Amos or you distress…”
“You won’t, dear. I’ll send Jake to fetch you.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “He drives a car now. It’s parked around behind a shed where no one can see it.”
“Nee, I can’t,” I said. “And I must be leaving now to see my parents.” I spun and walked right into an attractive late-teen Englisch girl. Her streaked, ash-blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes were ringed with makeup that made her look like an owl.
Jake cleared his voice. “Evie, this is Brandy.”
“Oh?” My gaze homed in on her prominent abdomen. She was dressed in leggings and a loose blouse, no doubt trying to camouflage the fact she was with child.
“Hi, there,” Brandy said.
Despite my shock, I put my hand out to shake hers when she extended it.
“She’s…she’s a friend, Evie. Nothing more,” Jake stammered.
I pivoted to Ruth and caught her look of distress. “So they claim,” Ruth told me, her voice lacking conviction.
“It’s true, Mrs. Miller,” Brandy said. “I had a boyfriend, but he beat me up.” She lifted her hair from her forehead to reveal an ugly yellowish-green bruise, and then she pulled up a shirtsleeve to reveal more bruises.
“Brandy told me her parents booted her out.” Ruth moved closer. “I said she could stay with us if she’d help around the house and with Amos.”
“She just showed up at your front door looking for work?” I heard derision in my voice.
“No, I came with Jake.” Brandy rubbed her tummy as if she felt the unborn child moving.
“I have to leave.” My mouth was so dry I could hardly speak. “My parents are waiting for me.” I back-stepped toward the kitchen to find my shoes.
Jake shadowed me. “Evie, I’ll walk you to your buggy.”
“I can make it on my own, denki.”
He paid me no heed. “Be right back, Mamm.” He followed me through the utility room, with its washer and wringer and abundance of tools, and opened the door. At the bottom of the porch steps, he trotted to catch up with me and blocked my path.
“Please don’t rush off.” He took hold of my upper arms. “It’s not what you think.”
I wriggled out of his grasp. “Since when do you know what I think?” I sucked in a deep breath of air to clear my head and sharpen my senses. “That I’m dumb enough to believe she isn’t carrying your boppli?”
“It’s not mine, I promise. She wants to hide from her abusive boyfriend, so she hasn’t told him where she is. She hasn’t even told anyone in her family.”
“Why didn’t you mention her when you stopped by?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come—or you would, and we’d have a scene just like this.”
“In other words, your mamm needs my help? You hadn’t come to see me?”
“Of course I wanted to speak to you. Everything I told you was and is true.” He crossed his arms. “Please don’t turn against me. Don’t I have troubles enough?”
“I’d say you do.” I strode into the barn to fetch Autumn, and then we hitched her to the buggy.
Jake took hold of the reins. “Wait, Evie. What happened to the compassionate girl I used to know?”
“Me? You killed her.” I immediately regretted my mean-spirited declaration.
“Hey, I don’t deserve such vicious words. You looked alive and well driving that buggy with an Englisch man the other day.”
I was filled with shame. I’d accused Jake of emotional murder. What exactly had he done other than ditch me? I’d heard the term walking wounded. That’s what I was.
“He’s my boss at the nursery.” I felt compelled to explain. “I came to visit your dat. And I feel sorry for Brandy.” I took the reins from him and steered Autumn out of the barnyard.
TWENTY-TWO
I fretted on the way to my parents’ farm. My disappointment and uncertainty churned like a volcano ready to erupt. But it wasn’t long before I saw our stately windmill, still used for pumping water. I admonished myself for
wasting time thinking about Jake. My concern should be with Amos, even though he had always been overly strict and harsh with Jake, particularly after Jake’s older brother died. Amos made no bones about it: His older son had always been his favorite and could do no wrong.
Entering my parents’ barnyard felt comfortable. My tense arms relaxed until I saw Marta staring at me through the pane of the kitchen window.
I unhitched Autumn and tethered her next to the water trough. Then I skirted the house to the door of the daadi haus. It swung open before I could knock.
“Eva, lieb.” Mamm clasped me in a warm embrace. Dat stood behind her awaiting his turn.
“Gut to see you, Evie.” His bushy beard tickled my ear as he hugged me. “I know it was foolish to think we’d have you here with us forever, but the house isn’t the same without you.”
I looked around and noticed Mamm had done her best to decorate the smallish living area, with its woodstove and bookcase. The barren window ledge would be the perfect place for a potted flowering plant. The next time I visited, I would bring an African violet from the nursery to add color and life to my parents’ new home.
“How do you like retirement?” I assessed Dat’s face and saw no joy.
“I still help out when I can.” His hand moved to his hip. “But it’s time to let the next generation take charge. Reuben has big plans.”
“Like what?”
His head shook as he spoke. “He wants to take out a mortgage and build a shop of some sort next to the barn.”
“If our bishop allows it,” Mamm said. “But you know he is elderly and suffers from gout. The poor man rarely leaves his home anymore.”
I added my two cents. “If you don’t want him to, say no.”
Mamm wrung her hands. “As of last week, Reuben’s name is on the title to the property. We have no say. And we wouldn’t want to interfere anyway.”