So, though she’d been charmed by Charm and relieved to get away from the scrutiny here, she was glad to be back in her comfortable surroundings. As she continued walking, she looked with longing at the entrance to the Millers’ farm. Before everything had happened, she would’ve been tempted to trespass and cross through the middle of it. The Millers didn’t care for people walking through their fields, but most people went through, anyway. Their land was vast and underutilized. The Millers were older and just couldn’t keep up with their large property like they used to. But instead of selling it to one of the many young Amish couples desperate for farming land, they’d selfishly clung to their property.
As if giving it away would diminish their importance.
Instead, their intent to keep it for themselves had made everyone feel like it was fair game. And because of that, no one had really been surprised to hear that those English girls had decided to smoke in the middle of it.
The Millers’ land had lately become something of a spot to do things in private.
She’d even heard that Perry and Frannie had met there more than once.
Remembering when he’d come home from one of their meetings so angry, she flinched . . . sensing his anger and feeling it all over again.
“Perry, what happened?” she’d asked when he’d stormed up their driveway.
To her surprise, her brother had answered immediately. “Frannie Eicher . . . she left me.”
Left? Warily, she said, “You mean that she doesn’t want to see you anymore?”
With a jerk, he shook his head. “She said I changed.”
He had. “What did you say?”
“I said if I changed, that was good. And she should want to change, too.”
Everyone knew Frannie to be one of the most easygoing women in the area. “I’m sure if you go visit her and explain that you were tired . . .”
“Tired? I’m not tired.”
Ah. So his red eyes and antsy moves didn’t stem from lack of sleep. Once again, she chided herself for being so childish and naïve. Like her parents, she’d been happy to see only what she wanted to be true.
“If you aren’t tired, then what is wrong with you?” she blurted, finally ready to hear the truth. “Why are your eyes so red and glassy?”
“I’m fine. My eyes are fine.” His voice turned hard. “Deborah.” When she’d been little, she’d truly hated her name. She had thought it far too big and old-sounding for a girl her age.
When she’d told Perry that, he’d promptly called her “D”—rarely ever addressing her by her first name.
But now, he had a new edge to his voice. She should’ve heeded it. “You are not fine,” she’d pushed. “You’re acting so harsh. Nothing like the Perry we know and love.”
He’d frozen, then looked at her like she’d just said the best thing in the world. “Gut. The last thing in the world I want to be is the Perry you knew. I’d rather die than be the way I used to be. If I’m acting harsh, then that means I’ve stopped letting others take advantage of me. That’s something, ain’t so?”
He’d pushed by her then, walking into the house, past their questioning mother. He’d closed his door and hadn’t come out until late the next day.
At first, her parents had blamed his disappearance on her. On something like sibling rivalry. Later, they were sure she’d known more than she was letting on. Of course she had. She remembered feeling so trapped, so torn. But if she told everything she knew, then she’d be betraying someone who trusted her.
Still walking, still fretting, Deborah scanned the area, hoping to see anything to take her mind off the dark memories. About a block from her house, she saw Abby Anderson, the girl who had found Perry’s body. Because she was Walker’s sister, Deborah had seen her from time to time. But they’d never had the occasion to talk.
Maybe they could now?
As the girl unabashedly stared right back, Deborah realized that Abby was probably thinking the same thing.
Eager to continue to face things instead of avoiding them, she stopped. “Hello. You’re Abby, right?”
“Yeah. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.” Perhaps thinking of the funeral, when a few Englischers had stayed to the back of the crowd, she bit her lip. “I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve talked.”
Amazing how even recalling the funeral could still make her choke up. “How are you?”
Abby looked at her feet. “I don’t know. Still shaken up. Would you be upset if I said that I’m sorry I found Perry?”
“I wouldn’t be upset.” Actually, she was so tired of talking around her problems, talking around the circumstances of Perry’s death, it was a relief that someone mentioned him outright. She almost smiled.
Noticing the way her features relaxed, Abby frowned. “I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?”
“Nee. It’s just that I started realizing that of course you wouldn’t have wanted to find my brother the way you did. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t know why I found him. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to understand why God led me to that spot.” Her voice lowered. “It was so scary.”
For the first time, she saw the event through Abby’s eyes. “I imagine you were terribly frightened.”
“Frightened and afraid.” Still not looking her way, Abby added, “And so alone. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so alone.”
Deborah thought that was curious, for sure. She’d heard that Abby had been with two friends. Had they abandoned her? Though she’d just been feeling alone herself, she dug deep and tried to offer solace. “I’ve come to realize that some things are God’s will and that it isn’t up to us to wonder why we are put in difficult situations. Or wonderful-gut ones. Sometimes all we need to know is that it is His will.”
“And you believe that?”
“I have to. If God isn’t involved in our lives, then we are completely alone, and we can’t have that.”
Finally, Abby stared at her. “I suppose.”
“I suppose that, too.” Deborah smiled and felt a warmth spread inside her when Abby returned the smile. Impulsively, she spoke. “You know what? I’m on my way home, but would you like to go to Mary King Yoder’s instead? A slice of pie sounds like a good idea.”
After a moment’s pause, Abby nodded. “I’d like that.” When they started walking in the direction of the restaurant housed in a somewhat rough-looking trailer, Abby spoke. “Deborah, this is nice.”
“What is?”
“Meeting you out of the blue. Having you not hate me.”
“I would never hate you for finding my brother’s body.” She paused, thinking about what Abby had said, wondering why she had to be the one to find her brother’s body.
“You know, I’ve wondered time and again why the Lord picked my brother to take the path he went on. I’ve been angry and hurt and I’ve prayed.” Deborah thought about continuing, but she didn’t have any more to add. She had done all those things—but so far, they hadn’t seemed to make much of a difference.
“Did you get answers?” Hope shone in Abby’s eyes. “Did God talk to you?”
Deborah considered lying. It would be the kinder thing, surely, to offer Abby some sort of hope in an almost hopeless situation. But she was so tired of lying. And keeping secrets. She just didn’t think she was capable of covering up one more. “Truthfully? No.”
“Oh.”
“But that doesn’t mean He won’t,” she declared. If she’d learned one thing since hearing about Perry’s death—and then discovering what was in his room—it was that sometimes hope was the only thing a person was able to cling to.
Chapter 10
“Some say a fool can’t be trusted. I prefer to say that a fool can’t be trusted twice.”
AARON SCHROCK
Frannie Eicher was
bored. She had now been in her beige hospital room for twenty-four hours, and that was twenty-three hours too long. There was truly no reason to still be trapped there. She felt fine now. Almost good.
Okay, good was stretching things a bit. Her face was bruised and swollen, and there were too many cuts on her face to count. Above all that, her eye ached. She was more tired than she could ever remember being, and her brain felt a little fuzzy.
But all that aside, she was definitely well enough to be released from her side of the beige, sterile room. After Luke left, the walls seemed to close in on her, making her feel like she was trapped in a closet.
More than anything, she ached to open a window and have the fresh air fan her face and cool her worries. But the nurse had told her that the windows were not made to be opened.
As her roommate’s voice grew louder on the phone—truly the woman had more friends and problems than a whole congregation—Frannie gritted her teeth.
Which is how the doctor found her.
“You’re looking pretty upset, Frannie,” he said after checking her pulse and reading her chart. “Is the pain worse?”
“Nee. I just don’t like being here.”
His worried expression eased. “You’d be surprised how many people tell me that. No one likes being in the hospital.”
“The windows won’t open and my roommate is chatty. Don’tcha think I could leave now?”
Dr. Carlson looked up from the notes he was taking. “You’re really chomping at the bit. Are you sure you feel ready to be on your way?”
Hope filled her tone. “Oh, yes. My eye will soon be better, right?”
“It’s healing, and the pain should lessen every day.” He looked at her chart again. “I see here that you’re only taking Ibuprofen now. That seems to be taking care of the pain?”
“Jah.” She’d take the dull pain that remained over the feeling of being trapped.
He glanced at her chart again. “The stitches can come out in a week. You can come back for that, or perhaps you have someone who could remove them for you?”
“Yes. We have a local midwife who’s had some medical training. She’s given children stitches. Perhaps she could take them out, too?”
“Most likely.”
All that news sounded hopeful. “So you will let me leave? Soon?” She was proud of herself for not saying immediately.
His lips twitched. “I didn’t say that.”
“What are you saying?” She felt crestfallen. “What are you waiting for?”
To her irritation, his half-smile turned into a broad grin. “You are an impatient patient, aren’t you?” he asked, making a little joke. “Frannie, before I sign your release form, I’d like to know what you’re planning to do when you get home.”
The question caught her off guard. “What I’m planning to do?”
“Yes.” He looked at her steadily. “I want to know what you intend to do for the next few days.”
It sounded like a trick question, but she didn’t see how it could be. “Well, I run a bed-and-breakfast, you see. It’s called The Yellow Bird Inn. It was once my aunt’s.” Though she knew her mouth was running, she couldn’t seem to stop. “The Yellow Bird is not too big of a place. There’s only six bedrooms. But it keeps me plenty busy, with cooking and cleaning, and organizing things.”
He shifted. “Cooking and cleaning and organizing?”
Though she could have sworn she heard a note of dismay in his voice she got so excited about getting back to the inn, that her mouth just kept moving. “Oh, jah. I have become a pretty good innkeeper. And I even have guests, now.” The good Lord knew that wasn’t always the case.
“How many guests?”
“Three rooms are full up.”
He gazed at her once again, then scanned her chart. “Your inn sounds very nice.”
“Oh, it is! You should come one day and stay for the night. Each bedroom has its own bathroom. All the furniture is Amish made, and Amish sewn quilts are on every bed. Outside, we have a nice garden and some walking paths. I just painted the outside yellow.”
“You did?”
“Well, me and a pair of painters. The men did the high spots, but I painted much of the trim a shiny bright white.”
“When did you have time to paint?”
“Oh, I made time. I’m not much for sitting around.”
A line formed between his brows. “It doesn’t sound like it.”
“It’s impossible, you see, because there really is a lot to do. I’m a gut cook too. Every morning, I make eggs and bacon for the guests. Along with granola and fresh muffins and little quiches.”
“My mouth is watering. I’ll have to tell my wife about it.”
“I hope you do.”
“And who runs it with you?”
She paused. “No one.”
“Ah.”
Ah? Suddenly, he wasn’t sounding all that excited. “I’m a mighty good innkeeper, Doctah. I work hard to keep the place looking nice and clean.”
“I’m sure you do a very good job. I bet your inn is exceptional.” He wrote something down. “When you get home, will you, by chance, still have guests?”
“I hope so.” She bit her lip. “If they haven’t left by now. My friend Beth was going to try to stay and help out a bit. But you never know . . . It takes a lot of work to keep things running right. And she doesn’t cook all that well.”
“So she’s not much help?”
“She is, but Beth has her own job, you see. She’s a babysitter for some women in the area.”
“So you won’t have Beth’s help.”
“No.” As soon as she said the word, she wished she could take it back. Saying she intended to do a lot of work might not have been the best way to assure him she was ready to leave . . .
He crossed his arms over his chest. “So you’re saying that as soon as I release you, you’re going to go right back to work.” He took a breath. “Then, when you do go to work, it’s going to strenuous and you have no help.”
She couldn’t lie. Though she wanted to. “Yes.”
He looked at her steadily. “I see.”
She smiled. “I’m glad we discussed this.”
“You’re staying another night.”
All happiness vanished like a blink of her one eye. “What? But I’m better!”
“You’re better, but you’re far from being healed. I think another twenty-four hours of rest and relaxation will help you.”
Frannie closed her eyes in frustration. She was just about to argue, to do anything she could do get herself out of her half of that beige prison . . . when she realized he’d already gone through the curtains.
“Doktah?” she murmured.
“Oh, he’s long gone, honey,” said the lady from the other side. “You sure dug yourself a deep hole, though. Really fast, too.”
Frannie wanted to ignore her. She really did.
But she was so lonely and depressed, she found herself responding. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if you want to get out of here, you have to tell everyone that you aren’t going to do anything but sit and rest when you get home. That you won’t hardly lift a finger.”
“But that’s not true.”
“That’s why they invented the word lying, dear. So you can make stuff up and pretend it’s true.” She chuckled again, her laugh sounding so warm and full of mirth that they could have been close friends. How strange, since Frannie had never actually even seen the woman.
“I guess I shouldn’t have told him I was going to be so busy,” she admitted. “Next time I see him, I’ll follow your advice. Danke.”
“You’re welcome, dear.”
Then something occurred to her. “Ma’am, if you know what to say, why haven’t you said any of that? Why are you still here?�
��
“That’s easy, dear. Unlike you, I don’t want to leave.”
“Oh,” she murmured, just as the lady’s phone rang and she answered.
What did it mean to be more comfortable with a hospital room than in your own home?
Pushing aside her worries, Frannie focused on the lady sharing her room. Had the woman been so distressed that she could only find comfort in her constant phone conversations? Could she never find peace by herself . . . knowing that the Lord was beside her always?
Though Frannie knew there were times in her life where she was sad, frustrated, and confused, she always knew where to turn when she felt alone. How thankful she was for God’s presence in her life.
Frannie was still sitting and trying to be thankful despite the doctor’s orders when she heard the door open. It was followed by a shuffling from the other side of the curtain.
Since her roommate’s noisy relatives seemed to enter at all hours of the day and night, Frannie half listened. Hoped an orderly or nurse was making plans to wheel her roommate out for a bit.
Getting a break from the noisy woman would be welcome, for sure. When she heard nothing, she found herself leaning a little bit closer to the curtain, listening for a clue of who had just arrived. If the woman was due for more company, perhaps at the very least they would talk about something interesting. For the last hour, the only thing the lady had talked about were her friend’s children, who sounded like the worst sort of hellions. Frannie didn’t understand how telling children “no” could be such a difficult thing.
The steps pattered closer.
Wary, she looked at the curtain. Saw it flutter.
Oh, surely another nurse wasn’t coming in with a needle? She was so tired of getting her blood drawn.
The curtain parted, and she blinked in surprise. “Micah!”
“Yes, it is me. Hello, Frannie.”
“It’s gut to see you again,” she said, smiling.
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