His sudden movement had knocked his hat to the ground.
“The bear killed her.” He pressed his lips together, trying not to break down. He didn’t want to cry anymore. He just wanted people to believe him. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me? It was the bear.”
NINETEEN
umm! You must kumm!” Ruthie called.
Remy swung toward the door of the stables, wishing the young girl hadn’t interrupted just when Simon was beginning to open up. This was the first time he’d even looked her in the eye since she’d arrived, but because he trusted Sadie he’d talked about that night.…
Of the bear that killed his parents.
As Ruthie called again, Remy’s mind quickly went back to the accounts she’d read—the brief mention of a bear or wild animal attack—though none of that added up to two people who’d been found murdered by handguns. And yet, Simon was set on what he’d seen.
How could a bear be involved and still add up with the facts of the murders?
Remy had been hoping he’d say more, but that window was closed now as Simon pulled away from Sadie and tugged his hat on so that the brim covered his face.
“You must see this with your own eyes!” Ruth raced to a halt before them, the grin on her face belying the urgency in her voice.
Sadie lifted her chin, her annoyance apparent. “What’s wrong?”
“Remy’s car is here, and you must come see it!”
“Why such excitement?” Sadie rose and brushed off her skirt. “You’ve seen cars before, haven’t you?”
“But this one is stretched out so very long.” Ruthie’s arms spread wide. “Like a piece of taffy that’s been pulled and pulled.”
“Oh, dear. Sounds like a limo,” Remy muttered as she moved to the barn door and looked at the sleek white vehicle parked in front of the house. “Yeah. Herb sent a stretch limo. That’s embarrassing.”
“Ah. It is a very long car. Is there something wrong with a limo?” Sadie asked as everyone gathered at the stable door, blinking from the winter sunlight.
“It’s just so showy, like my father.”
“We have all ridden in cars before, but none quite like a long noodle!” Sadie’s comment spurred laughter from the group.
“I think it was kind of your father to send you this long noodle car.” Ruthie took Remy’s hand and pulled her toward it. “Let’s go look at it together.”
“I’m glad you find it amusing,” Remy said.
“What she’s really saying is that she wants a ride,” Sadie said as they all scampered toward the car.
“Me too?” Simon’s voice was hopeful now, without a trace of the grief that had ravaged him moments ago.
“Oh, I would love a ride!” Ruthie exclaimed.
“Are we going for a ride?” Susie called from the front door of the house, where she and her twin spilled out to examine the vehicle.
The door opened again and Adam stepped out, a black silhouette against the white of the house.
He was back … back in time to say good-bye. Remy’s heart hitched at the prospect of stealing a moment alone with him.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Look!” Simon pointed down the lane. “Remy’s big white car is here.”
Leah clapped her hands together. “And we want to go for a ride.”
“Just down the lane?” Ruthie begged. “Could we, Remy? Please?”
Gravel crunched under Remy’s muck boots as she crossed the driveway. “I think that would be fine, if Sarge doesn’t mind.”
Seeing Remy, the driver killed the engine and emerged in his white shirt and tie. A graying, dark-skinned gentleman, Sarge was one of Remy’s favorite drivers. His brusque, perceptive manner was refreshing, and she believed he was one of the few people who would tell Herb exactly what he thought when asked.
“Good afternoon, Remy. My stars in heaven, aren’t we a mess.” He eyed her from head to toe, taking in her rubber boots, apron, and mud-splattered dress.
When they were heading out to muck the stables, Sadie had insisted that Remy borrow one of the boxy dresses. “Or else you’ll ruin your fancy jeans.” Remy felt a little odd, being pinned into the gown by Sadie and Ruth, but she figured they knew what they were talking about. As it turned out, they were right.
But Sarge liked to run a tight ship. “What in the world happened to you?” he asked Remy.
“I’ve been doing chores, Sarge.” She smiled, despite the blisters that had formed under the borrowed gloves. “But I have a favor to ask. You’ve got some interested customers here, hoping for a short ride through the countryside.”
“I could handle that.” Sarge squinted as he scrutinized the group. “As long as we can shed the muddy boots.”
“Of course.” Sadie pulled off her oilcloth apron and turned to the house. “Anyone who wants to come for a ride must first find clean shoes.”
Susie gave a little leap, clasping her hands together. “Can I go?”
“I want to ride in the very long car, too!” Leah said. “May I come along?”
“Hold on.” Adam held his hands up, effectively stopping the moment. “There’s nothing sinful about riding in a car, but let’s remember that it’s the Sabbath, and—”
“That’s right!” Susie’s hands flew to her cheeks. “We should wear our Sunday bonnets.”
“I’ll get shawls and bonnets,” Leah said as she rushed back toward the house. “And what about a warming brick?”
“The limo is heated.” Sadie shot a glance at Sarge. “Isn’t that right?”
“A comfortable seventy-one degrees.”
“I’ll need a hat,” Simon said. “My Sunday hat. And shoes without mud.”
Sadie shooed them on, and the children raced back to the side porch to change. “We’ll just be a moment, finding proper shoes and all,” Sadie explained, backing away.
Sarge nodded, then turned sharply and marched toward Remy, who shivered in the cold, arms crossed in an attempt to hold some warmth in her body.
If Sarge felt the cold, he didn’t show it; he stood with his shoulders back, his head high. “That goes for you, too,” he said, staring down at Remy’s mucky boots. “I’m not in the business of importing cow patties into Philadelphia.”
“I might need a little more time to get cleaned up, but I’ll be ready when you get back. I’ll wait for you in the house,” she said, walking past the shiny white stretch limo. “And what’s with the stretch? Is the Lincoln in the shop?”
“Your father got tired of the underwhelming. His new mantra appears to be ‘Spend it like I got it.’ ”
“Sounds like Herb.” She headed up to the mudroom to get cleaned up. “Thanks for giving my friends the ride, Sarge.”
“No problem.”
On her way to the house, Remy noticed that Adam had vanished. Great. Throughout the morning she had wanted to talk with him, and now that there was a moment, he didn’t seem too receptive. Was he mad at her? Not that she’d defied his authority, but she had stirred up the kids’ enthusiasm. But really, they were so excited, and how often did they get to ride in a limousine?
Something told her he would not be going for a ride.
It didn’t take Remy long to wash up in the water closet downstairs, though she bristled under the spigot of icy water that never seemed to warm up. When she found that someone—probably Mary—had piled her clothes neatly on a chair in the kitchen, she went in search of a place to change. Just beyond the small room with the toilet was a modest bedroom with a double bed and dresser. Since it seemed not only empty but somewhat abandoned, she went inside and closed the door behind her.
Although the sky blue curtains had been pulled closed, enough sunlight filtered in so that she could find her way around. With her clothes on the bed quilt and her shoes on the floor, she quickly unpinned the dirty dress. As she dropped it to the floor and finished dressing, the dresser against the wall caught her eye.
The dark wood had been polished to a smooth luster.
She ran her hand over the top and slid open a drawer, just half an inch, to get a sense of the craftsmanship. It was definitely handmade, a treasure in this dark room. She pulled on her boots, wondering why this room was not being used.
One of many mysteries here at the Kings’ dairy farm. She would have to file that one away behind Simon’s insistence that bears had killed his parents, as well as the actual question of who would commit such a heinous crime.
When she picked up the dress and opened the door, she was startled to find Adam King waiting outside. “Oh, hi. I was hoping for a chance to talk to you before I left.” An understatement, if there ever was one.
“What were you doing in there?” he asked, as if she’d violated sacred ground.
She shrugged. “Changing my clothes. Is that not okay?”
“It’s … it’s not a room we use right now. It was my parents’ bedroom.”
Of course … the double bed, the sense of emptiness. “Oh, Adam, I’m sorry. Is that part of Amish tradition, to preserve someone’s room after they’re gone?”
“No, it’s just a room. I’m the one who has the issues with it.” He raked his hair back with one hand, his face taut with strain. “It’s my problem. You just do what you need to do.” He turned and disappeared down the dark hall.
Remy stared into the shadows. “Wait … I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
He didn’t answer. The only sound was the receding thud of his footsteps.
Remy wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. She followed him into the kitchen, where Mary sat on the daybed in the corner, reading a children’s book with Katie and Sam. Adam and Mary spoke to each other in Pennsylvania Dutch, and Adam disappeared into the mudroom without looking back.
“Is he always this testy?” Remy asked.
“Every day is a new challenge.” Mary tried to bite back a grin, but quickly changed the subject. “I don’t think they’re back from their car ride yet. Would you like some more coffee?”
“I’m good.” Remy held up the borrowed dress. “Does this go out by the washing machine?” She had seen an old-fashioned contraption in the mudroom, complete with a washboard and wringer, that she assumed was used for laundering clothes.
“Yes. You can put it in the bundle for laundry day.”
Hearing a noise outside, Remy realized Adam was probably stomping off to the barn, where her fancy boots could not tread. “I gotta go. Thank you for everything,” Remy said. “Denki.”
The sound of the Pennsylvania Dutch word stole Sam’s attention away from the book, and he smiled up at her. “Willkomm,” he said in a voice cute as a chipmunk.
Mary laughed. “That’s right, Sam. You are welcome, Remy.”
Out on the porch Remy tossed the dress into a basket of clothes and hurried out the door as fast as her boots would carry her. The sun had broken through clouds, and with the morning frost gone and the wind died down, the day actually showed some promise.
She imagined Adam already off at the farthest reaches of the farm, pretending to mend a fence or move bales from the hayloft—anything to avoid her. But as she jogged around the corner of the house she saw him sitting on a fence near the stables. A spotted brown and white horse stood there as Adam patted its neck.
“You can stop running,” he called without turning away from the horse.
“I need to talk to you, and you were trying to get away.”
“It’s a big farm. If I were trying to hide, I’d be out in the back acres now.”
He had a point, but it didn’t defuse her agitation. Calm down. Don’t attack him. Remy tried to pull her emotions in line as she closed the distance between them. Thoughts of an interview had given way to much more specific concerns about Simon and Sadie, two people suffocating in this culture. She wanted to help them—she wished she could—but how could she, when she could not even keep her own life on track?
And then, there was the pull between Adam and her, as inexorable as the force of a wave knocking them onto the beach. Didn’t he want to talk about it? Did he not feel it?
She decided to start on neutral ground.
“That is one gigantic beast,” she said, eyeing the tall horse—a mighty creature with bulging muscles and clumpy hooves. It was chocolate-colored with splashes of white here and there, as if someone had dropped a bucket of white paint on a brown horse.
“Shadow is a draft horse who doesn’t think she belongs on the team yet,” he said. The horse tolerated Adam for a moment, then turned and moved away. “She’s a good horse. Gentle, great feet, but we still can’t rely on her to work with the others. See how she’s wandered over here, away from the other horses?”
“She wants to be alone.”
He turned to her, his dark eyes hooded, that sleepy look she always found attractive. “No one is ever really alone on an Amish farm. Have you not noticed that this morning?”
“Maybe Shadow hasn’t accepted that she’s an Amish horse yet.”
He jumped down to the ground. “Maybe.”
Remy swallowed hard. This was her chance to segue to the issue of Sadie. “Maybe Shadow just needs some time to find herself. You know … explore her own identity. Her rumspringa.”
“And now I’m getting advice about horses and rumspringa from an Auswendiger.”
When she squinted, he translated. “An auswendiger is an outsider.”
“That would be me.” She gripped the split-rail fence for courage, the wood worn silvery smooth beneath her fingers. “And I guess you’ve also figured out that I’m not just talking about your horse. You know, Sadie and I have gotten close in the short time since we met.”
He nodded.
“Well, I guess I just wanted to remind you what a good kid she is … even if she’s questioning some of the Amish ways right now.”
“Questioning is one thing. But sneaking off on her scooter to be with her Englisher friends? And those trips to the city …”
“You know about that?”
“Of course. I’m not her father, but when Sadie pushes the limits that way, it puts me in a very bad position.”
“I thought she was supposed to be sowing her wild oats. Isn’t rumspringa the time to try new things? Meet new people? She’s following her heart right now, experiencing how things work in the outside world. I give her a lot of credit. Sadie’s got an adventurous spirit.”
“You see? This is what I’m talking about. Your definition of rumspringa is exactly the sort of thing that makes outsiders misunderstand the Amish. Rumspringa is a time when parents occasionally look the other way to give their teenage kids the freedom to date people and find a mate. An Amish mate. It’s not an excuse to run wild, without conscience.”
“Didn’t you leave Halfway for your rumspringa?” Remy knew the answer to that, but she couldn’t resist prodding a bit. “You moved to Connecticut … for a few years.…”
“It was Rhode Island, and just because I made a mistake doesn’t mean I want my sister to repeat it.”
“Of course you don’t. But shouldn’t Sadie be allowed the freedom to make her own decisions? Think about it. She’s not going to decide to get baptized and stay in the Amish community just because her big brother wants it that way.”
“It’s not that simple.” Adam scratched his head under the brim of his hat. “You’re only seeing a small part of the picture.”
“You said I’m an outsider. Wouldn’t that make my observations fairly objective? And I see Sadie on a quest, searching for her identity and for a place where her talents are accepted.”
“And that is exactly what I worry about. She’s too young to understand the cost of pursuing her identity. There are consequences in life … always consequences, and Sadie doesn’t see that.”
“Doesn’t Sadie deserve a chance to learn that on her own?”
He turned back toward the paddock, leaning forward on the fence. “She’s had plenty of chances,” he said darkly.
“Cut that out.” She turned and poked at
him with her elbow. “You can’t dismiss her like that. She’s your sister, and she’s just trying to figure out her place in this world.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” His eyes were a dark storm as he wheeled on her, taking her hands in his, pulling her round so that she faced him.
“What … what are you doing?” She resisted the tug but he won, pulling her arms so that they were face-to-face, their arms stretched wide. Only a sliver of air separated their bodies, and despite the fact that they were standing, fully clothed, beside the paddock, Remy felt exposed and vulnerable.
“Look at you.” His voice was steeped in wonder and frustration. “Just look at you, a tiny lamb who charges into our midst like an angry bull.”
Swallowing back a gasp, Remy dared to look, but Adam was the only thing looming before her eyes. Adam, with his smoky brown eyes and broad shoulders and a clean-shaven jaw of smooth angles. Her fingers ached to touch the thick brown hair that cascaded to his shoulders, to smooth it from his brow and sink her hand into its dark silk. The line of his body swayed just inches away from hers, and for one dazzling second she imagined leaning forward and falling into his arms, into his strong embrace, into his complicated, tortured, solid world.
Would he kiss her?
She lifted her chin and rose on tiptoes, reaching for him as a flower grows toward the sun. When their eyes met, she sensed the pain he was holding back, the subtle ache burning slow like embers that glowed red when you blew away the white ash. How she longed to kiss away the pain, even as she doubted that any human possessed that power. She knew; she bore her own emotional scars.
With a tenderness that stole her breath away he tipped his head down and kissed her forehead. A sweet gesture, almost chaste, except that it closed the space between them and brought her into the heat of his body.
He released her hands and their arms twined around each other, as if by rote, some ancient memory shared by every man and every woman.
Remy closed her eyes. It felt so good to be in his arms.
That was when the horn sounded its boisterous melody—the custom horn of the limousine.
“They’re coming back.” Regret swirled on the sudden wind as arms dropped away and space was restored between them.
A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel Page 15