by Leslie Gould
When we were young, Timothy and I had been close. He’d even had a pet name for me—Toad. But by the time he turned sixteen he’d turned against me. He’d always teased me, sure, and that I didn’t mind. It was the mean streak he developed once he started partying that I couldn’t stand. He criticized and bullied. Made fun of me and others. Always put himself first, even though we’d been taught the exact opposite. He’d always been a little moody, but the last few years he’d changed into a troublemaker.
As a child I thought of him as Timothy the Terrific. Now he was Timothy the Terrible.
“I’m going to go tell him I need to go home—now.” I gave Hannah a quick hug and stepped out from under the tarp.
Timothy, who was wearing jeans, a torn gray T-shirt, and a baseball cap over his dark-brown hair, stopped behind the crowd gathered around Mervin and Martin’s cousin’s booth.
“Hey!” Timothy called out as he jumped up and down.
At the sound of his voice, Mervin froze with a trivet in his hand.
As Timothy yelled, “Hey!” a second time, Martin spun around.
I started to walk toward them, but Hannah grabbed my arm. “Don’t,” she said. “Let them figure it out.”
A couple with two little girls, each wearing braids, stopped at our booth. The husband picked up a jar of Hannah’s jam, and the mother asked to see my potholders. I took a sampling out for her, and she said she’d take ten, which left me with only two unsold.
As I made change from my pocket, I could make out Timothy’s voice but not his words.
“What’s going on over there?” the woman asked, turning toward the commotion, a daughter hanging on either side of her.
“I’m not sure,” I answered.
She directed her attention back at me as I handed her the bag of potholders. “Have you seen that young man’s hope chests?”
I shook my head.
“They’re masterpieces. I ordered one for each of my girls. Wish I’d had something like that growing up.”
I nodded. So did I. Not having been given a chest—Kashta—of my own was one of the biggest disappointments of my childhood.
“We’re hoping to order one of his mantels sometime,” the husband added. “His work is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The group that had gathered around the booth started to disperse—thanks to Timothy, I was sure. I grabbed my basket and started toward my brother, who now stood with his feet spread apart, pointing his index finger at Martin. Timothy towered over both of the twins, looking exactly like the bully he was.
Mervin stepped in front of his brother as Martin shifted his foot forward. I couldn’t see what happened next, but Mervin stumbled backward, probably shoved by Timothy, and then fell with the trivet still in his hand over one of the chests on display, crashing into the mantel behind it. The upper piece shifted.
Martin darted forward, lunging for the top piece, just as Timothy shoved him too, sending him flying into the booth, straight at the mantel. The whole thing toppled over, followed by the sound of splintering wood.
CHAPTER
2
I froze in the middle of the pathway. I’d seen Timothy stir up trouble plenty of times but never destroy something of value. How dare he? He’d been intentional about shoving both Mervin and Martin into the mantel. Now it lay in ruins.
“Come on,” Timothy called out, running toward me, his baseball cap flapping in his hand, a wild smirk on his face.
He flew past me as Martin struggled to his feet and took off after Timothy, his head now bare. I put my basket down and shoved my hand into my apron pocket and took out my rubber-banded wad of money.
As Martin reached me, I grabbed his arm. “Take this,” I said, shoving the bills into his hand. “And tell your cousin I’m sorry. Timothy—”
“—is a creep.” Martin tried to pull away from me.
I held on tight. “He can be, jah,” I said. “But going after him is only going to make things worse.”
“You shouldn’t have to pay for what he’s destroyed.” Martin took the money anyway.
“He’ll pay me back.” Somehow. Someway. I’d see to it.
Martin nodded at me. “See that he does.” He held the money up. “This should help Jonathan—at least he wasn’t here to see it happen.” Martin told me good-bye and headed back to the booth.
I followed him. Mervin was trying to lift the mantel, but Martin told him to leave it as he showed Mervin the money.
“Denki, Addie,” Mervin called out. “That will help. With our grandfather ill and Jonathan’s family not farming here yet, he’s supporting the family.”
In the background Timothy revved his Bronco and then honked the horn.
“You’d best go.” Mervin stepped out of the booth, his eyes sympathetic.
“Jah.” I picked up my basket. “Please don’t try to retaliate,” I said. “It isn’t our way.” I couldn’t help pointing it out, even though Mervin knew it as well as I did. We’d been taught that since we were babies.
“Maybe you should talk to Timothy about that,” Mervin said.
I nodded. “I will. And to my Daed.”
Martin snorted. “A lot of good that will do.”
My face grew even warmer.
The horn blared again.
Feeling defeated, I gave a half-hearted wave to the twins, called out a good-bye to Hannah and Molly, who’d retreated back to their tables, and cut across the flattened pasture to Timothy.
“They’re jerks,” he said as I opened the back door and put my basket on the seat.
“They’re not.” I climbed into the front of the yellow jacket on wheels, feeling as if I were part of a hive gone wild. “Even if they did tell you to keep away from their cousin. Tabitha, right?”
He scowled at me. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Hannah told me.”
Timothy stared straight ahead, but venom filled his voice. “Then she’s full of it.”
I shook my head.
Timothy gripped the steering wheel tighter. “And so are all the Mosiers. Always have been.”
“Don’t say that.”
“And the one that does the carvings? He’s the biggest loser of all.”
My anger with my brother neared the boiling point. “How would you know?” I fastened my seat belt, glared at Timothy until he fastened his too, and then stared straight ahead. “Besides, you’re the one who instigated it.”
He gunned the car, spinning out as he sped toward the highway. “No—the Mosiers started it years ago.”
I knew my parents didn’t think highly of the Mosiers, but I had no idea what was behind the hard feelings. “What happened between our two families?”
“You don’t know?” He had a smirk on his face.
“No, I don’t.” And I was pretty sure he didn’t either.
“Well, I’m not going to be the one to gossip about it. And don’t ask Mamm or Dat. It will just make them mad.”
I’d ask Aenti Nell. “Regardless of all that,” I said, “I heard you’d had too much to drink last weekend. And you were definitely the instigator today. You should apologize . . . and stop this nonsense.” I stared straight ahead. “I gave the twins money to cover the damages. You’ll have to pay me back.”
He let out a snort. “I wasn’t the one who knocked over that stupid mantel. And you didn’t ask me if I wanted you to pay for it.”
“I’ll talk to Daed about it, then.”
He snorted again. “Good luck with that. He doesn’t care.” He turned left instead of right at the stop sign.
“Where are we going?”
“By Sam and George’s.”
I sighed. Our older Bruders were renting a trailer from an Englisch family down the road. I hadn’t seen it yet . . . and had no desire to. “Is that why you came early?”
“Nah, Mutter wants you home.”
“Why?”
“She’s worried about the barbecue tomorrow.”
Her anxiety was definitely getting worse.
Timothy accelerated on the straight stretch.
I grabbed the door handle as my heart pounded. He hadn’t had an accident—yet. I couldn’t fathom why not.
His phone rang, and he fumbled it out of his pocket.
“Let me get it,” I said.
He ignored me again, answering the call and holding it against his ear.
I could hear George’s voice, asking where we were.
“Five minutes away,” Timothy answered.
“We’re not staying long,” I shouted so George could hear.
Timothy ignored me, said good-bye, and plopped his phone in the console between us.
I wiped my forehead with the hem of my apron and pointed the car’s vents toward my face, trying to maximize the little bit of air coming out.
I’d have to tell Aenti Nell about the broken mantel to explain why I didn’t have her money. I’d tell Daed about what Timothy had done, because someone needed to put my brother in his place, and as much as I wanted to, I knew whatever I said wouldn’t make a difference.
Daed was the only one who could make Timothy stop, but my brother was right. Daed didn’t seem to care about my Bruders’ wild ways. Although my family was more isolated than my cousin Cate’s, when it came to the Rumschpringe time, my parents were far more lenient than some—when it came to the boys. My Daed ignored my Bruders’ vehicles, late nights, and grumpy mornings. My parents were too tolerant, mostly denying my Bruders’ shenanigans. I guessed Daed had been on the wild side as a Youngie too, and that’s why he put up with it.
When it came to anything concerning the Mosiers, Daed bristled—like when he thought I was interested in Mervin and forbade me from seeing him. He definitely had a part in the mysterious rift between the two families.
Hopefully though, learning Timothy had destroyed someone else’s property would get Daed’s attention.
The Bronco bounced as Timothy turned onto a dirt road. Over a knoll, a trailer house came into view beside a scraggly oak tree. My two other older Bruders were rebellious, but not like Timothy. Samuel, the oldest, was almost twenty-five, unmarried, and still not a member of the church, which I was sure bothered my parents, but they kept quiet about it. He’d always been easygoing—too much so. He wasn’t a leader, and Timothy had him wrapped around his little finger. There were times when I thought of my oldest sibling as Samuel the Simple.
George was next. At twenty-two, he had an Amish girlfriend, Sadie, and I hoped he would join the church soon and settle down. He was quick to laugh, plus kind and giving. I thought of him as George the Generous.
Timothy turned into the driveway of the trailer and parked next to George’s old blue truck. He opened his door. “Coming in?”
“No.” I stared straight ahead, my seat belt still in place.
“Get off your high horse, Addie,” he said, climbing out of the car.
I didn’t answer, but when George bounded down the wooden steps and flung my door open, I couldn’t help but reconsider. He grabbed my hand, his deep brown eyes twinkling.
“Addie! Come see our place.” He wore his dark hair so cropped no one would guess he’d grown up Amish. At just under six feet, he was the shortest of my Bruders but the most muscular. They were all as strong as teams of oxen, broad like my Daed, although none of them were quite as big as he was. All were built for farming and barn raisings, although currently, Samuel and George were picking up shifts at a shed manufacturing business.
George was my favorite of my older Bruders, and I missed him—even though I didn’t care to see the dump he now called home. For him, though, I unfastened my seat belt and headed up the steps. Timothy was already inside, taking three cases of beer from Samuel. I was tempted to say something—Timothy wouldn’t be of legal drinking age until his next birthday—but held my tongue.
“Ach, you two,” George said. “Do you have to do this in front of Addie?”
Samuel nodded at me, flicking his long brown bangs from his eyes as he did, but didn’t answer. Timothy ignored George, flexing his biceps as he hoisted the cases against his chest.
“I’ll give you a tour,” George said, leading the way into the living room. I had to squint coming in from the bright sunshine into the small cavelike room. Brown carpet that looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned since the trailer came off the assembly line covered the floor. There was a large TV on the far wall, an old couch, and a straight-back chair—that was all.
I followed George into the kitchen, where a lone card table sat pushed against a wall. Dirty dishes filled the sink, and the garbage, in a plastic bucket, overflowed with fast-food bags and containers.
“Want to see the rest?” George asked.
I shook my head, imagining the two messy bedrooms down the hall. “We best be going.”
George’s voice had a hint of teasing to it. “Don’t you want to stick around and help tidy up?”
“I have enough to do at home,” I answered, straight-faced.
“Jah.” His tone was serious now. “I know.”
I smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. “Denki,” I said, “for showing me around.”
Timothy and Samuel had gone outside. The back of the Bronco slammed shut as I started for the door.
“See you tomorrow,” George said, right behind me, giving me a pat on the shoulder when we reached the tiny porch.
“Jah,” Samuel answered. “We wouldn’t skip the barbecue, not for anything.” They hadn’t been coming around the house much lately, but I knew they wouldn’t want to miss the annual gathering of relatives and neighbors.
Samuel turned to Timothy. “Have fun with those Mosiers tonight.”
Timothy tossed his keys in the air. “Want to join me?”
“Maybe . . .” Sam glanced at George, who shrugged. Sam turned back to Timothy. “We’ll see.”
I descended the steps and climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door, hoping Timothy would get the message. He chatted a few minutes longer and then climbed into the car. “Want to go tonight?” he asked.
“No.” I wasn’t that desperate to get out of the house.
“I might need you to stop me from hurting a Mosier,” he teased.
“I really am going to tell Daed about what happened today.”
He glowered at me. “Haven’t you ever heard of sibling confidentiality?”
“You went too far this time. Daed needs to know.”
“I told you he won’t care.”
“I think he will.” True, Daed wasn’t fond of the Mosiers, but he was as nonresistant as any Amishman. He wouldn’t want Timothy destroying property—and certainly not hurting anyone.
“He’d never admit it, but he dislikes the Mosiers even more than I do.”
I looked out my window as Timothy turned onto the highway. My one outing with the Mosier twins, Mervin in particular, is what motivated Daed to push Phillip Eicher my way. At that point, he—or maybe it was Mutter needling him—decided not to leave my destiny in my own hands.
My parents would never meddle in matters of courtship with my Bruders the way they were with me. Maybe if I had Schwesters, they wouldn’t be so focused on whom they wanted me to marry. Then again, maybe they would.
Back when I was little I’d wished I’d been born a boy, because their work seemed like play. As I grew older, I tolerated my work a little more. Some of it I even enjoyed—the quilting, the baking and cooking, and the gardening. The bigger I grew, the easier the cleaning and laundry and sewing became too. But the boys still had more fun, always together, horsing around in the pasture, racing the buggies, and throwing each other into the pond. I worked mostly alone unless I was quilting with Aenti Nell. I enjoyed her company, but most of our conversation centered on relatives and neighbors, while I longed to talk about ideas and feelings.
It wasn’t as if I saw the boys and Daed discussing anything important though. Sure, they talked about their work, but their conversations t
ended to be about which boy did which stupid thing out in the field.
I wanted a Mann, a husband who would listen to me and talk with me about things that mattered. Who would include me in his plans. I wasn’t sure if Phillip Eicher was that man, but perhaps I hadn’t given him enough of a chance.
Timothy pulled out to pass a pickup and then stepped on the accelerator as an SUV sped toward us. It was big and black and barreled down the road. I braced my feet against the floor and took a deep breath, terrified it might be my last.
Timothy yanked the car back into his lane at the last second. An overwhelming sense of helplessness spread through me. I’d just been dependent on Timothy, someone I didn’t trust, for my very existence.
As my fear subsided, the helpless feeling transformed into a sense of hollowness.
Whom could I trust?
Ten minutes later and nearly home, in a shaky voice I managed to say, “I’m not going to ride with you anymore. I’m going to tell Mutter no from now on.”
“What are you talking about?” He stared straight ahead.
“That near accident.”
“Ach, that was nothing.” He scowled toward me. “You need to get over yourself. Life is more than just about what you want. It helps the family for me to give you rides.”
I didn’t respond. Life had never been about what I wanted. I wasn’t pitying myself—it was simply the truth. And the Amish way. We were taught from the time we were little children that we’re not the center of the world. But somehow Timothy hadn’t gotten the message.
He turned down our lane, speeding along too fast but slowed as he neared our Haus and pulled along the far side of the cow barn, where Daed allowed him to park his car. Billy and Joe-Joe came running toward me, shouting my name as I climbed from the seat, pulling my dress from the back of my sweaty legs.
Both boys had mud streaked across their faces like war paint. Joe-Joe held a tabby kitten with both his hands, while Billy held a calico in each of his. Billy stumbled over a rock but caught himself before he fell. The cats squirmed in his hands, and he held on tighter.