A Time to Heal

by Barbara Cameron

  They hadn't changed, but he had—in ways they couldn't possibly understand. He tried to talk to his father and to Steve, but they had no frame of reference at all for what he tried to communicate to them. His father had served in Germany, his brother one tour during the early days of Desert Storm.

  They looked away from his injuries and their discomfort when the pain he'd suffered caused them pain. They couldn't understand why he'd put himself through the trouble. Sure, one of the men who served under his command had done something wrong, but couldn't he have looked the other way? Hadn't he considered the consequences to himself?

  "Young man? Young man?"

  Chris blinked and came back to the present. The older woman sitting beside him was staring at him curiously.

  "Can you show me how to print these out?"

  "Sure." He explained the steps and the printer hummed and spit out picture after picture of smiling plump-cheeked children.

  Returning to the computer, Chris logged out of his e-mail account and did a Google search. After inputting the name "Malcolm Kraft," he saw several hundred results come up.Clicking on the first one, he read about the event he was so familiar with, an event that had forever changed his life.

  Funny thing, he thought darkly, how bad things could turn so quickly, how they could go so differently from how you thought they would. How what you did in the name of morality could turn so many people against you, including the most important.

  Why had God let so many bad things rain down on him when he thought he was doing the right thing?

  The story was more than a year old, so he skipped ahead since the events were etched on his brain. What he was hoping to find was that Kraft was still safely tucked away where he should be—prison. He'd felt he had to do this every few months. Too often there were stories of people being released from prison early. Kraft had promised at the sentencing that things weren't over between them. It wasn't wise to ignore the threat.

  Tapping the keyboard, he searched the library system for the book that had been recommended to him by his buddy.Relieved to find they had two copies, he glanced up to see where Hannah was and saw her over in the children's section, looking like she'd be a while.

  He clicked back to his Google search for Kraft and went from one story to the next when he realized Hannah was standing next to him. Quickly he hit the back button and the screen for the book he wanted came up.

  She held out a book called Learn a New Word Every Day. "I think Annie will like this one."

  Sitting down in a chair next to him, she searched her purse for her wallet and pulled out her library card. "I thought you wanted to get a book."

  Chris jumped up. "Sorry, I'll get it and we can be on our way."

  "There's no rush—" she called after him.

  "Nice young man," the woman beside her said. "Helped me print out photos of my grandkids."

  "I see."

  She glanced at the computer Chris had been using and wondered why he'd hit the back button so quickly when he looked up and saw her standing there.

  Repeating his action, she glanced curiously at the list of articles about some man serving time in a military prison. Her heart in her throat, she skimmed the contents of the article quickly, hoping Chris wasn't involved somehow.

  Something moved in the periphery of her vision and when she looked up, she saw him crossing the library, a book in his hand.

  "You said Chris showed you how to print something?" she said to the woman. "Can you show me?"

  "Oh, sure, hon."

  The woman leaned over and used the mouse to click on a bar on the top of the screen and there was a whirring noise from the printer beside Hannah. She looked for Chris and saw him searching a shelf, his back to her. Keeping her eyes on him, Hannah reached for the page printing out and quickly folded it into a square that she tucked into her pocket.

  "Thank you for the help," she told the woman.

  "I didn't think the Amish were allowed to use computers."The woman gathered up her sheets of paper and slid them into a manila envelope and stood.

  "They're allowed for business," she said with a smile. "As long as we don't bring electricity into the home for them."

  Jenny used a laptop for her writing and she had to take it to the barn to recharge it. She'd told Hannah she loved writing in longhand best and then typed her work on the computer.Sometimes when she needed to do research she came to this library; several times she'd brought Hannah and shown her how to look up quilt patterns on the computer.

  Hannah chatted with the woman at the next computer for a few minutes. The woman was clearly enjoying working on the computer since she said she didn't have one at home. That news surprised Hannah. She thought every Englisch person had a computer.

  "Ready to go?" Chris said as he walked up.

  "Yes, sure." She gave his book a curious glance. It was a book that looked to be about a soldier, with unforgiving in the title.

  They walked to the circulation desk and Chris waved at Hannah to go first. She checked out her books and then waited for him to get his.

  But the clerk frowned when Chris asked if he could apply for a card to check out his book. "If you could please step over here so other people can check out their books, sir."

  He did as she asked and Hannah moved out of the way also.The librarian handed him an application. Chris dutifully filled it out and handed it over. When she asked for identification he pulled out his driver's license.

  "This isn't local."

  "No. I'm from Kansas."

  "Are you living here? Can you supply me with some proof of residence here?"

  "He's staying with us."

  "Can you give me proof of that?"

  Hannah shook her head.

  Chris pushed the book toward the librarian. "Thanks anyway."

  "No, here," Hannah said, holding out her card. "I'll check it out."

  "You do realize that you're responsible for the book should it not be returned, ma'am?"

  "Of course."

  The book was duly checked out and Hannah accepted her card back. She and Chris walked out and climbed into the buggy.

  "Maybe I should go buy the book at the bookstore," Chris told her as Hannah called to Daisy to get them moving.

  "Why should you do that when we have the book now?"

  "'You do realize that you're responsible for the book should it not be returned, ma'am?'" he mimicked the librarian.

  She smiled slightly. "She was just doing her job. It's her responsibility to make sure the rules are followed. You'd understand since you're a keeper of the rules, too, wouldn't you? As someone who'd served in the military?"

  He eyed her oddly. "That's an interesting way to put it.You mean, like I'm used to following the rules, obeying authority?"

  Her left hand slipped inside her pocket to feel the folded paper there.

  "Yeah, I guess so. Where's this going?"

  "Nowhere," she said. "Nowhere at all. Thanks for going with me today."

  "It was fun. Really."

  "You didn't enjoy the visit to the quilt shop."

  "Sure I did. Well, until all of you ganged up on me."

  She grinned. "You mustn't mind them. They love to tease."

  "It's a nice shop. You really enjoy making quilts and teaching there, don't you? I could tell from the time we walked inside."

  She nodded. "At first, I did it to help out—"

  "Because you always help when someone needs you."

  Frowning, she looked at him. "Of course, that's not a bad thing."

  "No, it's not," he said slowly. "You're a good person. But I wonder how much you do for yourself."

  "And what about you?"

  "Me?"

  "You're a good man," she said. "You could be having a vacation instead of helping Matthew."

  Their glances locked and something passed between them, unspoken but powerful. When Hannah looked away, she saw that they had traveled several blocks. Good thing Daisy knew her way, she thought. If she
'd been driving a car, Hannah knew she'd have gone off the road.

  "You've already thanked me. Everyone has. It's no big deal.I had plenty of time off when I was in the hospital."

  That shuttered look came down over his face again and he was silent for the rest of the journey home. When they alighted from the buggy, she gathered the library books in her arms and he carried the package of quilting material to the front door for her.

  When he went to turn away, she stopped him, her hand on his arm. "You forgot your book."

  "Oh yeah, thanks."

  Their hands touched and she quickly pulled hers back, causing him to bobble but catch the book.

  11

  Hannah approached the library computer with some trepidation.

  Her computer skills weren't the best. She'd learned what little she knew from Jenny. She supposed she could have asked Jenny for help in looking up more on the article. But what she was looking for was information on Chris and talking to Jenny about it felt like a violation of his privacy. And computers and such were just supposed to be used for work . . .

  She shook her head at the thoughts, especially the privacy issue. The fact was, it felt like a violation of privacy for her to do it. It was a failing of hers that she wanted to know about him, wasn't it? If he wanted her to know this about him, he would tell her. She didn't know why she was so intrigued by him. When she'd seen him walking to town, she'd been upset, thinking he was leaving town. But he'd stayed longer than he'd probably intended to as it was.

  And when he did leave, she wouldn't hear from him again.They weren't friends now. He wouldn't call. He wouldn't write.It was doubtful he'd ever come here again.

  Nonetheless, she couldn't seem to stop herself from typing the website from the bottom of the printed page into the address bar and calling it up. She began reading the article— the part after the first page. Apparently there was a trial of U.S.serviceman Malcolm Kraft in Afghanistan. He'd been charged with a crime against a citizen of that country. Kraft said he wasn't guilty, that he'd never been anywhere near the crime scene even though there were witnesses. Kraft claimed Chris had it in it for him and that the witnesses were Afghans who hated the Americans who were there.

  However, after evidence of something called DNA, Kraft admitted he'd been with her. He claimed he'd been drunk and had smoked pot, insisted the relations he'd had with the woman had been consensual. A military court found him guilty.

  Hannah studied the photo of the man who appeared to be in his early thirties. He didn't look like a bad person to her, just like any other young Englisch man dressed in his military uniform and standing with his wife at his side. She looked closer at the little boy Kraft held. He appeared to be around three years old, and he sucked on his thumb as he stared, his expression confused, into the camera.

  Another article followed, telling how a week later, there'd been a fire in the barracks. Everyone had gotten out but Chris, who was supposedly determined to make sure none of his men remained. A support beam fell on him and he sustained burns on his back, an injury that would have sent him stateside for treatment, but he'd refused. He insisted he would stay and complete his tour. Questions had been raised about whether the fire had been intentionally set—an investigation found no proof.

  Then in a third article, a month later, just days before Chris was to finish his tour of duty and fly home, his armored truck was hit by a roadside bomb and he and another soldier were severely injured. He was sent home for treatment and to recover from injuries and related infections.

  There the articles ended. Apparently Kraft was still in prison, serving ten years for his crime.

  Poor Chris, Hannah thought as she printed out the remainder of the articles. He must have felt—maybe even still feels— like Job with his many trials and tribulations. It must have been devastating to feel compelled to pursue prosecution of one of his own men and then to have his superiors refuse to back him up. How awful it was to wake and find your sleeping quarters on fire, fear for the lives of others, then find out the blaze may have been deliberately set.

  And how horrible to get so close to finally getting sent home only to get injured and have to spend so much time recovering in a hospital? No wonder he was taking some time now to travel, to do as he pleased.

  Now she understood that brooding air about him sometimes . . . that look of vulnerability in his eyes when she'd asked him if she could give him a lift to town and when he'd seemed hurt that Josiah was being unfriendly.

  She didn't want to assume too much from just these articles—Jenny had talked to her about how people in her old world were so influenced by newspapers and television—but she wondered how Chris had been affected by how others had turned a cold shoulder, had shunned him at the trial. Had it felt like that was continuing here, with Josiah?

  And she herself had been unfriendly, suspicious of him when he'd first arrived. She felt shamed at the memory. While she'd since behaved differently and had thanked him for helping Matthew, she wondered if it was enough to make up for her earlier behavior.

  A teenager came to sit in front of the computer next to her.He typed some keys on the keyboard and started playing with a video game. He leaned over and looked at her screen.

  "I thought you people weren't interested in war," he said and popped his gum.

  "We don't participate in it," she said, clicking the back button to look at other articles related to the case Chris had been involved in.

  "Oh," he said, and he turned to play the video game on the computer.

  Hannah knew that wasn't allowed on the library's public computer, but it wasn't her way or that of the Plain community to tell others how to behave.

  She glanced through some of the articles and printed another and then, glancing at the clock, saw that she should be leaving to teach at the store. Logging off, she gathered up the printouts and left the library.

  Hannah woke instantly when she heard the creaking of the stair step.

  Slipping into her robe, she found her slippers—the nights were getting cooler—and walked to Phoebe's room. The door was ajar and the bed empty. Going downstairs, she made certain to make plenty of noise so she didn't startle the older woman.

  "Did I wake you?" Phoebe asked, turning from the stove."Sorry, I tried to be quiet."

  "It's that creaky fifth step."

  Phoebe sighed and took the kettle to the sink to fill it. "I don't even hear it these days."

  "Maybe we should take you into town for another hearing test."

  "Doc says I don't need a hearing aid. At least, not yet. It's just certain sounds I don't hear."

  Hannah sat at the table and propped her chin in her hand."So what's keeping you awake tonight?"

  Shrugging, Phoebe sat down while the water heated up."Sleeping through the night just gets a little harder each year."

  When she started to rise, Hannah motioned her to remain seated and went to fix the tea herself, a soothing chamomile should help Phoebe sleep.

  They sat, drinking the tea, talking quietly.

  Phoebe glanced at the kitchen window. "A harvest moon," she said, tilting her head to study it. "My favorite. It's my favorite time of the year, really."

  Hannah stirred her tea. "Did you used to go for hay rides with your husband, John?"

  Smiling, Phoebe nodded. "He was such a sweet mann. And, may I say, a romantic one. He wrote me a poem on each anniversary."

  Hannah's eyes widened. "I didn't know that."

  "I'll show them to you sometime."

  "I'd like that."

  She watched Phoebe's smile fade and reached out to grasp her hand. It felt frail, like bird bones.

  "What's wrong? What's made you look so sad?"

  "Sometimes I think all people remember is how stern he was with our sohn, Luke. They were two hard-headed men."

  "Jenny's daed was hard-headed too?"

  Nodding, Phoebe sipped her tea. "They disagreed about most everything but especially about Luke being baptized.I kept telling
John that Luke needed to find his own way and the Plain life might not be for him. In the end, Luke left and—and—"

  "You felt like part of your heart went with him?"

  Tears welled up in Phoebe's eyes. Some things still hurt even though much time has passed, Hannah thought as she hugged Phoebe.

  "You're a sweet kind," Phoebe told her after a moment. "I missed him, but when he came to visit a little while later, he was so happy. I couldn't feel sorry for myself any longer. And when he brought Jenny . . . oh, my, what a gift he gave me each time he left her to visit for the summer."

  "I remember the last time she was here, when she and Matthew had a crush on each other," Hannah said, resuming her seat.

  She tasted her tea and found it had cooled, but she didn't care. "It was so wonderful to see her come back again and find out that she and Matthew had never forgotten each other, that they were still in love."

  "I know. And now they're married and living right next door."

  Hannah found her thoughts traveling next door, but not to Matthew and Jenny. She got up and put her cup in the sink and saw that a light shone from the bedroom in the dawdi haus. As she watched, the back door opened and Chris came out and sat down in the chair on the back porch.

  So, he couldn't sleep, either.

  "Phoebe?" She turned and sat again at the table. "What would you do if you knew something about somebody, but you were afraid to tell because it made someone look bad?"

  Was it her imagination that the older woman turned pale? She grasped her hand and found it trembling. "Are you allrecht?"

  "Ya, of course. What do you mean?"

  "You'll think badly of me."

  "No, I wouldn't," Phoebe said.

  "See, you're already looking at me like I've done a bad thing."

  Phoebe took her cup to the sink and stood looking out at the night. Hannah wondered if she saw Chris. Phoebe's eyesight wasn't the best these days and she'd left her wire-rimmed glasses upstairs.

  "I was at the library the other day and I looked up something about Chris."

  "Oh." She turned and faced Hannah.