A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  “It’s a metabolic disorder that’s common among the Old Order Amish.” Adam rubbed his chin, the sweet spot where his soul patch used to be. “Glutaric aciduria type one, they call it. Her body has trouble processing amino acids. So when the amino acids build up in the body, they can be toxic, especially to the brain. But a lot of the times, the condition weakens the body and the baby dies from a cold or measles. Something simple.”

  Remy’s eyes opened wide as she glanced at Susie. “Sounds serious.”

  “It can be. We had two siblings who died from it, both when they were toddlers. David came right after me, but I remember little Deborah, who was born between Mary and Sadie. She seemed just fine as a baby, but died before she turned two from the flu. Mamm was heartbroken for the babies she lost.”

  “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

  “Now, they can screen newborns. That’s how Susie was diagnosed.”

  “And the expense … without health insurance, it must be astronomical.”

  “We’re very fortunate to have Dr. Trueherz. He’s working on a research grant, so most of Susie’s medical care is free, as long as we travel to his clinic.”

  Adam watched her soak it all in. Granted, it was a lot to absorb—down to the very name of the disorder. But Remy seemed unfazed.

  “And Susie is beating it?”

  “It’s being controlled by diet. She takes riboflavin supplements and follows a very strict diet that avoids amino acids.”

  Eyes bright, Remy smacked the knees of her jeans. “Good for her. She deserves a little celebration, right?”

  “You don’t know Susie.” Adam raked back his hair. “For her, every day is a celebration. It’s all one big party.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Adam felt a slight sting on his upper arm, then realized Remy had snapped her finger against him. “Hey …” he growled. “We’re a nonviolent society.”

  “Don’t dis your sis. You need to appreciate her exuberance.”

  “I didn’t dis anyone.” He rubbed his arm, thinking that he didn’t need her approval but wanting it nonetheless.

  As the door opened and the schoolkids barreled in with greetings for Remy and gasps of delight over Susie’s good news, he mulled over his own twisted feelings. He wanted Remy to leave, but at the same time he wished she would sit back down beside him. That was the thing about Remy that both attracted and frustrated him.

  His feelings for her defied logic.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  s day gave way to evening, Remy felt a stab of guilt. An entire afternoon had passed, and she still hadn’t talked to Adam about permission for the article. Here in the kitchen, Simon and Mary had no idea she was observing them for her piece, and although that made her feel a little dishonest, she kept telling herself she would be vindicated when she straightened things out with Adam.

  Which she would do … right after dinner.

  Right now he was busy in the barn with the rest of the family, who had filed outside for the afternoon milking. Although the sudden exodus had drained the kitchen of noise, the warm, cozy atmosphere prevailed. The aroma of fresh-baked cookies gave way to the smells of onions, meat, and vegetables cooking down to a savory stew, along with two loaves of bread Mary had somehow slid into the oven during the earlier commotion.

  Her current task was to help Simon with his schoolwork. Adam had explained that the boy was being kept at home for the next few weeks, until the threat of “nosy journalists” faded.

  That had twisted the knife in Remy’s guilty heart.

  While Simon leaned over his paper, inscribing neat columns of the “nine” times table, Remy noticed that night had fallen beyond the kitchen window. The end of the day had come too suddenly, with sunset occurring early this time of year. What had happened to her plan to tell Adam everything the moment she saw him?

  Her timing had been off. First, Adam had been gone. Then the children had dozed off leaning against her, sandwiching her between sleeping angels. Mary’s honesty had spoken to her heart, and then Susie’s joyous news had educated her on an entirely different facet of King family life.

  Arlene’s voice crowed in her head: “Excuses, excuses.”

  Every time she came in contact with this family, she abandoned her journalistic ambitions in exchange for the possibility of friendship. God help her, she was falling for this family.

  Her forearms propped on the table, she turned back to Simon, who put his pencil down and handed over the paper with a proud grin.

  “All done.”

  “Good job. Now, you’ve got geography. A unit on the fifty states, right?”

  “He’s to learn the fifty states, and draw a map of one of them,” Mary said.

  “I can help you with that.” Remy reached for his elementary primer to locate the map section in the back. “I still remember my states, but you’re on your own with drawing the map. Everything I draw looks like a sick lamb.”

  “That’s okay. I already chose my state. Florida.” While she tried to locate a map, he began to draw, his lips puckered in concentration.

  “Florida might be a tough one,” Remy said. “Personally, I always liked Colorado or Wyoming. Simple rectangles.”

  “I can do Florida. It looks like a small gun.”

  Remy’s mouth dropped open at his comment.

  Stirring a pot on the stove, Mary didn’t seem to hear.

  Remy stared at Florida on the map. “You’re right. The shape does resemble a gun.”

  “A handgun,” Simon said with a quiet confidence that was chilling. “That’s what the bear had. A real gun in his hand, and a picture of one on his head.”

  “What?” Remy’s heartbeat accelerated at the thought of Simon sharing details from the crime scene. Was he being truthful, or just imagining things? “You said the bear had a picture of a gun on his head?” A tattoo? “How did you see it with all his hair?”

  “Bears don’t have hair.” He stopped drawing as he lifted his eyes to her. “Don’t you know they have fur?”

  “Simon?” Pausing over the open oven, Mary glanced over at him. “You know, I thought we agreed to stop talking about the bear. Remember the difference between reality and a made-up story?”

  “I know,” he said with a sigh.

  Mary turned to Remy. “He’s got a great imagination. Most children do.” She proceeded to remove the bread from the oven, the metal racks clanging as they slid along their rails.

  “But I did see him.” Simon’s voice was a murmur, as if he spoke only to reassure himself. “The top of his head was shiny like an apple. And there was a mark like a gun there.”

  A mark like a gun … Remy struggled to make sense of it. She longed to ask him more questions, but she could see that Mary did not approve of the topic.

  Taking a deep breath to slow her racing pulse, Remy leaned closer to take a look at his drawing. “That’s a very good map of Florida.”

  Over at the counter, Mary began to pummel the contents of a pot with a potato masher. She wouldn’t hear their conversation.

  “Simon … did you tell anyone about the map on the bear’s head?”

  “It wasn’t a map.” He frowned at her. “It was …” He waggled his fingers toward the top of his golden head. “Sort of a shape on his head. A red blob.”

  “On the bear’s head,” she confirmed.

  He pressed his fists to his lips, nodding.

  “And did you tell anyone about it?” Fear flickered in his eyes as he shook his head.

  Of course he didn’t. The incident had rendered him silent for months. And after that, he’d been told not to talk about bears.

  “It’s okay,” Remy said, opening a canister of crayons. “It’s okay to talk about things as you remember them.”

  From his frown, he didn’t seem convinced.

  “What color should the state of Florida be?” she asked.

  He chose a green crayon.

  “You know, they call it the Sunshine State.”
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  He didn’t respond, though he grasped the green crayon and began to color. Remy sat with him until it was time for dinner, but the moment was over. He had shut down, withdrawn once again.

  Her heart ached for the young boy, who had been told to keep silent when he seemed to be bursting with pain. This was something she would have to take up with Adam.

  When Sadie walked through the door just before dinner, Remy strode across the kitchen to give her friend a hug.

  “You are the last person I expected to see here tonight,” Sadie said as she threw her arms around Remy. “And in this freezing rain …”

  Remy felt the moisture on Sadie’s cape. “Oh, you’re soaked. You need to warm up.”

  They went to the corner by the potbellied stove, and Sadie slipped off her wet cape with a shiver. “And me on a scooter. It felt like my own personal cloud followed me all the way home.” She lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing blue jeans rolled up to her knees. “These would be a lot more practical in weather like this, but of course, I can’t be going around the house dressed like that.”

  Remy sunk her hands into the pockets of her jeans with a nod of understanding. “I didn’t know you had to work today. This will be a short visit, but I’m hoping to come back, if Adam allows it.”

  “Adam is not the boss of me.” Sadie waved a hand dismissively. “I’m in my rumspringa, remember?”

  “Of course I remember.” In the light of the gas lamp, her damp hair pressed to her face, Sadie looked girlish, like a child trying to look older in her mother’s clothes. Remy felt a stab of regret that Sadie had lost her mother before she could be guided to true adulthood.

  “Oh, Remy, I can’t believe you came to visit.” Sadie looked over her shoulder to be sure no one was listening. “I don’t say this very often, but I think Adam was right about you. Remember what he said when he met you on that train? You really are an Englisher angel.”

  Remy bit her lower lip. Oh, no, I’m just the opposite. Angels don’t engage in deceit and lies.

  “Sadie, there’s something you should know.” Remy paused, wishing there were an easier way to explain this. “I should have told you before this, but I need to explain why I came here in the first place. It started when—”

  “No need.” Sadie cut her off, squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to explain, Remy. I know why you’re here.”

  Remy’s throat constricted. Was it possible? Had Sadie known all along that she had traveled to Lancaster County for a story?

  “God brought you to us,” Sadie said, a light in her amber eyes. “He brought you here, that I know. And I’m sure He has some wonderful things in store for all of us.”

  In the wake of such confidence and faith, Remy remained silent, though the guilt that fell over her shoulders consumed her throughout the meal. As the family bent their heads to silently thank God for the bountiful food on their dinner table, Remy’s eyes strayed to the lovely scene: the soft light of the gas lamp shadowing the starched white of the girls’ prayer kapps, the velvety silence of the house around them.

  A place of peace. She was beginning to understand Adam’s need to protect his family.

  Tonight Remy remained a quiet observer. Adam commended Susie for keeping to her diet all these months. Mary told everyone what a wonderful help Remy had been with the daily chores. Leah and Ruthie expressed thanks for the books Remy had brought them, and Sam gave them a summary of the book Hop on Pop in a fascinating combination of four-year-old diction and Pennsylvania Dutch.

  Despite the warm, festive atmosphere, Remy could not let herself engage in the exchange at the family table. She had a bad feeling about the conversation that loomed ahead. If her gut instinct was an accurate gauge, then Adam would be grateful for an excuse to sever all ties between her and his family once he learned she was a journalist. And with that in mind, she knew she needed to broach the topic of Simon first, while he was still somewhat receptive.

  “Will you help us with the dishes, Remy?” Ruthie asked as she began clearing plates. “It’s a lot more fun when you do it with us.”

  “I’d like to, but—”

  “She needs to get on the road,” Adam interrupted. “The weather has taken a turn for the worse.”

  “He’s right,” Remy admitted. The last time she’d checked her BlackBerry the forecast had changed, though it was too late to do anything about it.

  “Maybe Remy should stay until the morning,” Mary suggested.

  “Can she?” Sadie brightened as she tucked the bread basket in the crook of one arm. “It’s cold and nasty out there.”

  “She needs to go.” Adam’s tone broached no argument, and the girls continued clearing the table.

  “Right.” Feeling like a condemned prisoner, Remy placed two plates on the kitchen counter, then turned to Adam.

  Her moment of truth.

  “But before I go, we need to talk.”

  “Right,” he echoed, his eyes dark as coal. “Come. We’ll use the front room.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  he wooden chair felt hard, almost skeletal, under Remy as she tried to formulate a way to win Adam over. Her mind went back to her story pitch, about how her article would be written with integrity, revealing the high moral values of his family. It had sounded good, rehearsing it in her car on the way here.

  But now, the pitch would have to wait.

  Her story was low priority compared to the welfare of a nine-year-old boy.

  “Okay …” Adam sat by the chessboard that Jonah and Gabe had just abandoned, the guys leaving the room so that he and Remy could have some semblance of privacy. “What’s on your mind?”

  A dozen thoughts burdened her mind, but Remy gripped the arms of the wooden chair, as if the old, worn wood might lend her some courage, and started with her number one priority. “Before dinner, when I was helping Simon with his homework, he began to talk about the night your parents were killed. I’m not sure, but I think he revealed some things about the killer that you may not have heard yet.”

  Adam winced, his hand on his chin. “I suppose he ran the bear story by you?”

  “More than that. He mentioned some details about how the bear looked. He’s describing the killer, I guess.”

  Adam let out a long, slow breath. “Probably. We’ve talked to a therapist about this. It’s a sort of transference, but we’re dealing with it. I understand your concern, but it’s all in hand.”

  “Is it?” She didn’t want to anger him, but she couldn’t forget the glimmer of fear in Simon’s eyes or the way he spoke under his breath, as if the topic were forbidden. “At the risk of making you really mad at me, I have to tell you I’m worried about him. He needs professional help.”

  “You’re pushing into an area where you are definitely not welcome. Please, just back off.”

  “But I can’t. Simon needs an advocate.”

  “Are you kidding me? He’s got an entire community supporting him.”

  “Good intentions aside, the Amish community might not be able to provide the help he needs. Now that he’s not in shock anymore, he needs to talk about what happened that night. Is he seeing a therapist now?”

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me these questions.”

  “Because, when you think of what he went through, I’ll bet he’s still suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome.”

  Head in hand, he groaned.

  “Is it a matter of money? I mean … I know health care without insurance is ghastly expensive, but—”

  “That’s what you’ve come all this way to tell me, that my brother needs professional help? What are you, a spy from social services?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “A child psychologist?”

  She swallowed over the knot in her throat. “Of course not.”

  “But you drop in here, spend an afternoon with my family, and then tell me my brother needs to see a doctor for his post-traumatic stress?”

  “Adam … slow down. I�
�m trying to help.”

  “We don’t need your kind of help.” He let out a frustrated sigh, then sat back in the chair and tipped his face to the ceiling, as if the answers were inscribed there. “You’re missing something important here, Remy. When Simon was scared silent, friends and family rallied around him. He was surrounded with love, and prayer. We counted on God’s love to heal him. And now, not even a year later, even an outsider like you would have to admit that it’s happening.”

  “But he’s still suffering.”

  In the ensuing pause, she registered the ticking of the wall clock and the dull murmur of female voices out in the kitchen. Comforting sounds, though they belied the turmoil roiling in this room.

  “You’re probing at a wound, a deep family wound.” When he turned to her, his expression was so cold and distant, he seemed a stranger. “Leave it be, Remy.”

  “I’m sorry. But if Simon is starting to remember details from that night, you need to take him to the officers investigating the case.”

  “Sheriff Hallinan questioned Simon, and what good did that do? Now he’s afraid of anyone in a uniform.”

  “He’ll get over that, Adam, if someone works with him. What he won’t overcome is the shame over his grief and the message that he can’t talk about what happened. The poor boy was silent for months. Months. And now he’s found his voice. Simon opened up to me, Adam, and I think he’s crying for help. Help him work through the terrible details of that night—the things he’s remembering now. Those are things the police need to know about, especially if the investigation is ongoing. It might help them find the killer.”

  “We cooperated with the police when it all happened. We won’t stand in the way of their investigation, but it’s not our duty to bring new evidence forth.”

  “Not your duty? He’s your little brother!”

  “The Amish don’t seek justice for a crime. It’s not up to men to judge and render punishment on other men. It says in the Bible, ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged.’ ”