Unbreakable

by Nancy Mehl

  “A Mennie with a gun?” he said. “You gonna shoot me with that, Mennie boy? I thought you pansies don’t like hurtin’ people. Seems you’re breakin’ all them religious rules you made up.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Jonathon said, his voice thick with pain. “But I will not let you shoot my friend. And I won’t let you hurt Hope.”

  “No, Jonathon,” Ebbie said. “This isn’t the way. Put the rifle down.”

  “Yeah, put the rifle down, Jonathon. Besides, if you try to shoot me, you’re gonna kill this pretty little lady.” Tom laughed. “Don’t look to me like either one of you has a chance of stoppin’ me.”

  “You don’t understand something,” Jonathon said, his voice flat and emotionless. “My rifle isn’t for looks or because I think it makes me look like a man. I can shoot the wings off a fly if I want to, and I can take you down without touching Hope. Easy shot. Let her go, or I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

  I felt Tom’s grip loosen a little. Then it tightened again. “Maybe I don’t understand what a crack shot you are, Mennie, but I do understand somethin’ else.” He swung the gun back up and put it next to my head. “You shoot me and my finger will twitch. You might get me all right, but you’re gonna kill her deader than a doornail. Now toss your rifle on the ground. Now!”

  If Jonathon gave up his gun, Tom was either going to throw me into his truck and take off, or Ebbie was coming after me in an attempt to get help. Tom would certainly shoot him. Maybe both of them. My eyes locked on to Jonathon’s, and I could see in his face that he knew how serious our situation was. Almost imperceptibly, his focus slid down to the big heavy flashlight I had pointed toward him. When he gave me an almost indiscernible nod, I knew what he wanted me to do.

  Although fear tried to put me back under its power, I prayed for courage and drew on every ounce of strength I had inside me. Without allowing myself to think about it, I swung the flashlight up and hit Tom in the face. When his hold on me released, I fell to the ground. Then I aimed the light right into his eyes, trying to blind him. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I saw Tom point his gun at Jonathon, and I screamed. At the same time, Ebbie yelled and ran toward me.

  Suddenly, a shot rang out. It frightened me so much, I dropped the flashlight. Someone cried out, and I screamed again. Who had Tom shot? I watched as Ebbie fell a few feet away from me. I reached for the flashlight, shining it at Tom as if it would protect us from his next bullet. The look on his face was a mixture of surprise and alarm. Then without warning, the gun fell from his hand, landing right next to me. He dropped to the ground and grabbed his shoulder. Blood poured out of a large wound.

  All I could hear was an odd sound that seemed to go on and on. A wailing. It took several seconds before I realized it was coming from me. I scrambled to my feet. Ebbie! I ran over to him, falling on my knees next to his body.

  “Ebbie? Ebbie?”

  I heard a mumbling sound as he pushed himself up to his knees. “I-I’m okay. I stumbled over a rock.”

  “You weren’t shot?”

  “No. Jonathon shot Tom.”

  I swung the light toward Jonathon, who was standing in the same spot, an odd look on his face. He shook his head. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t have time to pull the trigger.”

  “That’s ’cause it was me.”

  The three of us looked behind us. Sheriff Ford stood there with his gun drawn, a terrible look on his face. “I wasn’t sure until tonight that my boy was part of all the stuff happenin’ in the county, although I suspected it.”

  He turned his head to look at me. “I knew he was the one who threatened you and that other guy on the road because I was followin’ him. That’s the real reason I showed up when I did. But when I confronted him he told me it was the only time he’d ever done somethin’ like that. That he had nothin’ to do with the rest of it. I wanted to believe him. I tried.

  “But after the fire, I started worryin’ again. That’s why I followed him tonight. He’s not the only one who’s been up to no good. His rotten friends are behind a lot of it. Them boys is all goin’ to prison, I promise you that.”

  “But . . . you just shot your own son,” I said. “How could you—”

  “He was gonna kill you,” the sheriff said simply. “I had no choice. It had to stop. I couldn’t let it go on anymore.

  “It’s my fault, you know. I taught him to despise God ’cause I was mad at Him for takin’ my wife away. I went to church, and I tried to do everything right. Then she ups and runs off with our preacher.”

  He took a deep, shaky breath. “I pounded my hate into Tom for years. It was wrong. I just didn’t realize.” His voice broke. “I just didn’t realize,” he said again.

  Tom moaned in pain, and I moved away from him. Sheriff Ford came over and picked up Tom’s gun, flinging it a few feet away. He knelt down to check on his son.

  “You’re gonna be okay, Tommy,” he said. “Just a shoulder wound. Had to make sure you dropped your gun.”

  Tom seemed to be in too much pain to answer. The sheriff stood to his feet and faced us. I kept the flashlight focused on him.

  “That’s why you seemed reluctant to investigate the attacks,” Jonathon said. “You were afraid Tom was involved.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I wish you’d quit shinin’ that flashlight in my face, young lady. You’re blindin’ me. I’ll turn on my headlights so we can see.”

  I noticed for the first time that Sheriff Ford’s cheeks were wet with tears. I quickly clicked off the light. Within a few seconds, we were bathed in the glow of the sheriff’s headlights. As Ebbie had suspected, the sound of a gunshot had gotten the attention of everyone in town. Papa and Lizzie appeared in the clearing, followed by Aaron. The sheriff got on his radio and called someone.

  Papa hobbled over to me. “Are you all right, Hope? Did he hurt you?”

  I shook my head and reached out for him. As Papa’s arms went around me, I began to weep, and I couldn’t stop.

  CHAPTER / 21

  The next day I slept almost twelve hours. Jonathon and Tom were transported by ambulance to Washington. The paramedics treated Ebbie at the scene.

  Along with lots of cuts and bruises, Jonathon suffered a broken arm and three cracked ribs, but he was going to be fine. Tom was recovering from his bullet wound and would be transported to jail once the doctor decided he was ready.

  Sunday the church gathered together on the lawn in front of the spot where our building had once stood. Pastor Mendenhall talked about how the enemy had come into our town like a flood, but God had raised a standard against him. He spoke about forgiveness, healing, and peace. We prayed for the men who had terrorized our county. All of Tom’s friends had been rounded up and put in jail. Sheriff Ford had turned in his badge and was being investigated for participating in the attacks as an accessory. We prayed for the sheriff too.

  Papa and I visited Jonathon in the hospital. Although Papa still didn’t see eye-to-eye with him in some areas, he recognized Jonathon’s brave attempt to rescue me. He’d driven into town, almost passing out more than once. When he heard me scream, he’d raced to protect me instead of getting the help he needed.

  Ebbie, who had been willing to give his life for mine, disappeared. When I asked about him, Pastor Mendenhall explained that Ebbie needed a few days away for fasting and prayer. Pastor assured me Ebbie was fine, he just wanted to spend some time with God. I understood that. God and I had some sessions together as well.

  After a lot of prayer and contemplation, I came to the conclusion that two men I cared about had made different choices. One chose a gun and the other didn’t. Both men were brave. Both men were willing to put themselves in danger for me. I loved them both for it, and I was unwilling to judge if one was right and one was wrong. I believed with my whole heart that God understood both choices and that His judgment was full of mercy, love, and grace.

  But I did come to one definite decision. After spending time thanking God for his p
rotection, I received the direction I’d been praying for. I finally knew what God wanted me to do. While Jonathon recovered and Ebbie prayed, I sat in the quilt shop and completed the wedding quilt. In the final square I added the name of the man I intended to marry. When it was finished, I folded it and put it in a box, planning to present it to the person whose name I’d stitched into the final square. I’d just put the box under the counter when Papa came in. He’d been over at the saddle and tack store with Herman.

  “Daughter, Pastor Mendenhall is on his way here. He’s asked to speak to us.”

  I nodded. Although I wasn’t sure what our pastor wanted to say, I imagined he was checking to make sure Papa and I were all right, since we’d both been through a very traumatic experience. Of course, Pastor Mendenhall had too. It had taken him a few days of rest to recover from the smoke he’d inhaled in the fire.

  The door opened and the pastor came inside the shop. “Hello, Hope,” he said, smiling. “Your father told you I need to talk to both of you for a few minutes?”

  “Yes, Pastor.”

  “Why don’t we sit down.” Papa pointed toward the table and chairs in the corner near the front door.

  “Thank you. I’m still a little shaky on my feet. Sitting for a while sounds wonderful.”

  “Can I get you some lemonade?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No thank you, Hope, but I appreciate it.”

  We gathered around the table, and Papa and I waited for our pastor’s words of consolation. But what came out of his mouth was something we couldn’t possibly have prepared ourselves for.

  “When I got up this morning, I found a letter shoved under my door at home,” he began. He reached into an inside pocket and took out an envelope, which he put on the table in front of him. “I am not going to read it to you because there are a few things inside I feel I should keep to myself. However, the author of the letter asked me to deliver her message to certain people. That is what I’m doing right now.”

  “What do you mean, Pastor?” I said. “Who wrote this letter?”

  Pastor Mendenhall touched the envelope with his long fingers. “Sophie Wittenbauer.”

  I frowned at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  He smiled at me. “After I explain you still might not understand, but she has some things to say that are important for all of us to know. Even if we cannot comprehend how they could be true.”

  Papa and I glanced at each other. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what our beloved pastor was talking about.

  “I apologize,” he said. “I am being very cryptic, and I do not mean to be.”

  “Why does Sophie need someone to talk for her?” Papa asked. “Where is she?”

  “She is gone. Sophie has left Kingdom, and I am not sure she will ever return.”

  “She’s gone?” I said. “Where did she go?”

  “That I do not know.” He sighed and shook his head. “Our church was not burned down by Tom Ford or any of his . . . companions. It was Sophie who set the fire.”

  I gasped. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Sophie was afraid that Jonathon was going to dissolve their association. More than anything in this world, she wanted to feel as if she belonged to something. She got it in her head that if the church caught on fire, we would blame the same people who burned the other churches. She was right, of course. To her way of thinking, if we really believed we were in danger, then the patrols would continue and Jonathon would remain in her life.” He sighed deeply. “She did this in league with Tom Ford. That young man put the idea in her head.”

  My mind had gone numb. “Tom Ford? I don’t understand.”

  “Tom and Sophie knew each other from school. When Tom saw her in town the day his father brought him here, he knew he could use her to get what he wanted. You. He used her anger at you, and her attraction to Jonathon, and she fell right into the trap. Tom realized she needed to feel important—a part of something. So he convinced her that he needed her. That she was special to him.”

  “But . . .” I couldn’t come up with a coherent sentence. In my mind I saw Sophie talking to Tom through the window of the sheriff’s car. Then I thought I saw her again at the fire, hiding from me as I came down the street.

  “I know it is hard to believe,” Pastor Mendenhall said.

  “Wait a minute,” Papa interjected. “How could Sophie and Tom meet to make plans? Tom did not have free access into Kingdom.”

  Pastor shook his head. “No, but nothing kept Sophie from walking across the fields and meeting him out on the road. There may be only one way to drive or ride into Kingdom, but anyone can walk here if they cut through farmland.”

  “So Sophie set the fire,” I said. “It’s so hard to believe.”

  “Yes, Tom taught her how to do it.”

  I frowned. “But Tom hurt Jonathon. Sophie would never have allowed that.”

  Pastor sighed. “Sophie’s letter does not explain everything, I am afraid, but I think that the original idea was for Sophie to distract Jonathon or Roger whenever Tom wanted to get into town. Unfortunately—”

  “Jonathon forbade Sophie to patrol with him,” I finished.

  He nodded. “She had no idea Tom planned to come into town the night he came for you. As you say, she would have never let Tom attack Jonathon. He could have been killed.”

  How could this be true? Sophie had risked the pastor’s life and the lives of others because she wanted some attention? Because she wanted to be near Jonathon? Anger flushed through me. “I can’t believe it. Of all the selfish, self-centered things to do—”

  “I know, I know,” Pastor Mendenhall said. “The realization that people had been seriously hurt and could have been killed finally made her realize she needed help. She seems to be especially distraught that Jonathon was injured so badly.”

  “I thought there was something wrong about that fire,” I said slowly. “The timing seemed wrong. You know, Tom told me he didn’t set the church fire.”

  Pastor nodded. “He was telling the truth.” He looked at us kindly. “I know you are having a hard time accepting this. Sophie knew we would. That is why she chose to go away.”

  “You could have died, Pastor,” I said, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Ebbie could have died. And Jonathon. And me.”

  “Yes, that is true. Thanks be to God for keeping us all safe.”

  “Do Sophie’s parents know?” Papa asked.

  “Yes. I went there first.” He shook his head. “Sophie’s life has not been easy. Her mother and father are not . . . loving. They seem almost glad to be rid of her.” He paused, and I could see his great compassion for the girl who had almost taken his life through her own carelessness. My emotions swung between sympathy and rage.

  “Will they call the police? Sophie’s only seventeen.”

  “No, Hope. They will not. Sophie will turn eighteen in a matter of days.” He folded his hands together, almost as if he were getting ready to pray. “I thought very seriously about contacting the authorities myself, but I have decided to give Sophie a chance to change her life.”

  Papa cleared his throat. “But how will she get along, Pastor? She has no money.”

  “Actually, she does. She went to someone before she left and told them the truth. This person gave her money and helped her to get out of town.” He smiled. “This may sound strange, but I believe Sophie will land on her feet. As I said, there are other things in this letter that I do not feel comfortable sharing. But if she follows through with her intentions, she will be fine.”

  There was no need for me to ask who had given Sophie the money she needed. I knew the answer. Lizzie had helped her just as I had helped Lizzie all those years ago. I wondered if one day Sophie would find the road back to Kingdom just as Lizzie had.

  “As I said, I had my doubts about the fire,” I repeated, trying to take in the reality of Pastor Mendenhall’s revelations, “but the idea that Sophie was invo
lved never crossed my mind.”

  “Sophie had unhealthy feelings for Jonathon,” Pastor Mendenhall continued. “But in the end, she recognized that what she felt for him was not from the Lord. She was afraid that if she did not leave our midst, those urges would continue. In truth, I think her decision was very courageous.”

  I stared at him, wondering how he could call Sophie’s actions brave. She’d left our town with the task of rebuilding our church and our shattered emotions. As if reading my mind, he reached over and patted my hand.

  “Losing our building has brought us together,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Sometimes, overcoming adversity can make people stronger. I predict that will happen in this instance. Besides, I believe we are reconstructing more than just a building. We are the real church, you know. As we work together, I believe God will use this experience to finally heal the fractures of the past. A new church. A new spirit.”

  I loved the analogy and told him so. “Have you told Jonathon about Sophie yet?” I asked.

  He shook his head and sighed. “No, and I am not looking forward to it. Jonathon is the kind of person who will try to take the blame for Sophie’s choices. I am praying that I can help him to see clearly that none of this was his fault. He is a virtuous man. A man of passion. Unfortunately, sometimes passion clouds our thinking.” He chuckled. “Jonathon reminds me of the apostle Peter. He was impatient and full of zeal too.”

  “Pastor, may I ask why you came to talk to us personally?” I still wasn’t sure why he was sharing Sophie’s letter with us, because Sophie disliked me so intensely.

  “First of all, I have no intention of addressing this from the pulpit. I feel that talking one on one to our members might keep them from reacting with anger. But more importantly, I came to you because Sophie asked me to.”