His Guilt

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  A bottle of Gatorade was missing from his refrigerator.

  Mark wondered if his culprit had been Calvin or if there was another person in Horse Cave who was anxious to uncover all his secrets.

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if there was. He doubted it was Sheriff Brewer, but there were likely other people who were suspicious of him.

  Maybe even someone like James Eicher, who’d acted so angry when he’d spotted him at Blooms and Berries on his first day at work.

  He wasn’t sure what the intruder had been looking for, however. He didn’t have anything worth stealing and the house was so run-down that anything that was removed could be considered a blessing.

  Ever since Mark had gotten home two hours ago, he’d been pondering the possibilities over and over. It was a futile exercise for the most part, however. There were too many people he didn’t trust, and they no doubt felt the same way about him.

  Bending down, he picked up another armful of worn and dilapidated linoleum that he’d pulled off the kitchen floor. At last, it was all removed. After he sanded and stained the wood floor, it was going to look terrific. Knowing he was responsible for the transformation would feel good, too.

  Pushing open the back door with his shoulder, he carefully navigated the two steps down to the cement pad leading to the old garage, and at last dropped the offending materials in the pile.

  His shirt was soaked with sweat. Was the temperature ever going to cool off? Stretching his arms, he bent from one side to the other. He needed the moment to relax before he went inside to shower, grab something to eat, then mentally prepare himself to return to the Cains’ house.

  Rolling his shoulders, he exhaled, attempting to ease the knots that had formed there as he thought about Waneta and the way she made him smile.

  He wasn’t sure exactly how to be the type of suitor Waneta needed, but he was certainly going to give it a try. He would do just about anything in order to make her happy.

  “Hey, Mark!” Lora Weaver called out from the top of his driveway.

  Turning to her, Mark tried to summon some kind of welcoming expression. He wasn’t sure why she’d come over, though. They’d been friends when they were young, but it had been more out of necessity than a real liking for each other. Now it seemed like they were polar opposites.

  “Hey, Lora,” he said at last.

  As he imagined her reasons for stopping over, the only one that made sense was his brother. And that made him stop. He needed to say something about Calvin hurting her. “I’m glad you stopped by. I wanted to talk to you about Calvin, and see how you were feeling.”

  She interrupted him. “What’s this you’re doing?”

  Feeling confused, but willing to let her lead the conversation, he pointed to the pile of old flooring. “Working on the house. Pulling off old linoleum. It’s a miserable job.”

  “I bet. What was underneath it? Concrete?” she asked as she walked closer.

  Glancing at her face, he noticed that her eyes were red and there were faint lines of strain around them. Maybe the sheriff had been wrong. Maybe she’d been hurt worse than anyone realized.

  But since her expression was so pinched, so earnest, he bided his time and continued talking about the house. “Actually, I found wood floors underneath. Oak in good condition, too.” Unable to help himself, he rolled his eyes. “Only my parents would have placed linoleum over perfectly good hardwood.”

  She smiled tightly. “At least they cared about the place at one time, right?”

  She had a point. “Yeah.”

  Reaching out, she fingered a yellowed, curled corner of linoleum. “Now that all this ugly flooring is out, I bet your place is going to look a lot better.”

  “Hope so.”

  “Of course it will. I mean, it couldn’t have looked much worse,” she joked.

  Maybe it was because he was still stewing on the fact that someone had been inside, but her comment struck him as odd. “How do you know that?”

  She looked at him curiously. “No reason. I mean, it’s true, right?”

  “It is true. But I’m wondering why you’d say such a thing. It ain’t like you’ve been in here in years. Or have you?”

  “Of course I haven’t.” Sounding hurt, she continued. “Why are you looking at me like I’m the one who put in all that ugly linoleum? I’m only making conversation.”

  “Someone came in my house today without my knowledge. I’m trying to figure out who would do such a thing.”

  “Well, it sure wasn’t me.” She rubbed her palms on the tops of her thighs. Today she was wearing a long beige cotton skirt, white T-shirt, and flip-flops. It was close to being what any girl of their acquaintance who was dressed conservatively would usually wear. It was far different than the tank top and tight-fitting jeans she’d been wearing the first time they’d talked.

  He wondered if it was a coincidence, or if she’d dressed like that purposely in order to remind him of their past.

  Just as quickly, he disregarded that idea. He really was becoming paranoid. He needed to get a grip on himself. But first he needed to bring up the subject she seemed intent to avoid. “Lora, I wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry that Calvin hurt you.”

  “You know it was Calvin?”

  “Jah. Sheriff Brewer told me. He said that Calvin was partying over at your house a couple of nights ago.”

  “Partying is a strange word to describe it, considering that he hit me.”

  Mark flinched. He was not his brother’s keeper, but even now old habits seemed hard to shake. “I really am sorry. I hope you are healing?”

  “Yeah. It’s all right.” She tilted her chin toward the fading sunlight. “I’m still bruised, but the swelling’s gone down.”

  Looking at the lingering discoloration on her cheek and around her eye, he felt even worse. “I really am sorry. I can’t believe Calvin would hit a woman.”

  “It surprised me, too. But then, a lot of surprising things are happening around here these days.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like me coming back last year. Like Calvin showing up. Like you courting Waneta Cain.”

  He didn’t like the new, cool inflection in her voice. “I’m not going to talk about her with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “You and Waneta are too different. You have nothing in common.”

  “Maybe she and I aren’t all that different, Mark.”

  Waneta was sheltered, positive, and honest. At the moment, she seemed like the complete opposite of Lora Weaver, with her tainted past and hard edges. “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree. Maybe one time you were alike, but you are very different now.”

  “You mean I’m very different than the girl I was.” When he nodded, she lifted her chin. “Maybe you are very different than who you used to be, too, Mark. And maybe, just maybe, Calvin and you are a little like me and Waneta. Different on the outside but not so different in your heart.”

  Mark didn’t know how to respond to that. Everything inside of him was wanting to refute her words, to tell her that she was wrong.

  She sighed. “Calvin ain’t here, is he?”

  “Nee. I don’t know where he is.”

  She looked puzzled. “Oh. I thought he was going to see you today.”

  “He did. But he stopped by to see me at work. I told him I didn’t want to talk to him there. I told him to stop by tonight.”

  “Oh. Do you think he’ll stop over?”

  “I doubt it. He wasn’t happy with me. He raced off on his motorcycle with a giant chip on his shoulder.”

  Lora gazed at him sadly. “He’s kind of a lost soul right now.”

  Though he was more than ready to say something scathing, he knew she was giving him the opening that he desperately needed to learn more about his brother. “How can you say something like that, Lora? He hit you.”

  “Yeah, he did. I’ve forgiven him, though. I know he probably feels bad about it. I think he’s in a world of tro
uble.”

  “I’m pretty sure that is the case. He always was a champion of making bad decisions.”

  “Maybe so, but I have a feeling that he’s been reaping the consequences lately. He seems aimless and hurt.”

  “Hurt? By whom?”

  “You.” She shrugged. “Me. The world. I’m getting the feeling that he’s afraid of something, too. You should try to help him.”

  Lora’s words made much sense. They brought back feelings of guilt and loss. How many times in his life had he dropped everything to try to save him? He’d run to his defense in the classroom and on the playground. After church and at home. But all he’d gotten for it was pain and abuse.

  Wasn’t it right that he was putting himself first now? “I don’t know how I can help him anymore. We’re too different.”

  “You may be Amish and he’s English, but that doesn’t mean you can’t love him still. You’re brothers.”

  “I don’t care that he’s English. I don’t even care that he didn’t try to stay in touch after he left. But I can’t be all right with the choices he’s made.”

  Her open expression shuttered. “Well, now I understand.”

  “Do you?” he scoffed. “I kind of doubt it.”

  “You don’t know what it was like, leaving the Amish like we did. Trying to make our way in the world when we had no idea what to do,” Lora retorted. “It was hard, Mark.”

  “Life is hard. It don’t matter what choices a person makes, if you make the choice to live, chances are better than good that each day ain’t going to be easy.”

  Lora shook her head in obvious distaste. “No wonder Calvin never wanted to come back here. You are so sanctimonious.”

  “At least I’m not a drug addict.”

  “Oh, good point. Thank goodness you never did drugs. All you’ve done is beat women.”

  Mark felt his face and neck flush. He fought to show reaction, though he feared he was failing miserably. She’d struck a nerve, and they both knew it.

  Before their conversation descended into an even lower level, he said, “I think it’s time you left. Calvin ain’t here and we have nothing to say to each other.”

  “Jah, I’ll leave. But if I were you, I’d take care throwing all those stones of yours. One day someone is going to throw one back at ya. And it’s going to hurt something awful.”

  Looking at her retreating form, Mark was fairly sure that he’d already had plenty of stones thrown his way. He knew because they truly had hurt. He had the scars to prove it.

  As he went back inside, he pulled out his pocket watch and cursed under his breath. He now had less than fifteen minutes to shower and get to Waneta’s house.

  Food and prayer were going to have to come later.

  Sometime much later.

  CHAPTER 19

  Wednesday night, August 10

  Waneta, I swept the porch and wiped down the railing out there, too,” her mother said. “At least Mark will think we keep a clean house.”

  With exaggerated patience, Waneta said, “Mark has already been outside on the porch. He’s not going to care how clean everything is.”

  Pressing her hands on her waist, her mother looked at her with a knowing expression. “He might, daughter. Men like clean houses, you know.”

  As if women did not.

  It was all so silly. Honestly, her mother was acting as if she’d never had a man come courting before. She had. Several men from their community had sat on her front porch swing over the last few years. She’d never been as anxious about their visits as she was about Mark’s, though.

  Hmm. Maybe her mother wasn’t acting all that out of sorts, after all.

  Then, as she scanned the dining room table and saw two platters filled with snacks and cookies, a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade, and a carafe of freshly brewed coffee, Neeta knew she hadn’t been wrong. This was too much. Mark was going to be overwhelmed and she was going to be embarrassed.

  “Mamm, he’s coming over to sit on the porch swing. Not eat supper,” she chided.

  “He’s a young man living by himself. Of course he’s going to want some food.”

  “She ain’t wrong!” Daed called out.

  When her mother smiled at her, obviously pleased to have her opinion reinforced, Waneta gave in. There was nothing she could do about the refreshments now anyway.

  “It does look real nice, Mamm. Thank you for going to so much trouble. I’m worried that you overdid it, though. You know how you get tired when you overexert yourself.”

  “Bustling around the haus from time to time is good for me.” Clasping her hands together, she said, “Now, what are you going to talk about with Mark?”

  Oh, but her mother was chewing on her last nerve. “I don’t know. Whatever comes to mind, I expect.”

  “I think you should have something better in mind. Don’t you?” She nodded encouragingly.

  That was her mother’s favorite habit. She asked questions in conjunction with either a nod or a shake of the head. When she was younger, Neeta had appreciated the signals; it gave her a very good idea about what response would make her mother happiest.

  But now she only felt the not-so-subtle movements were rather amusing. “Mamm, I’m not going to have conversation starters prepared in my head for Mark. We work all day together and get along just fine.” Okay, that was probably a bit of an exaggeration, but it was still true.

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t talk about work,” she warned.

  “Why not?”

  “Because work isn’t romantic.”

  That was true. Work definitely was not romantic. But she wasn’t about to guide the conversation toward romance! “Daed, help me out here,” she called.

  “Sorry, Waneta, but I’m helpless when it comes to the ways of courting.”

  “Not really. You courted Mamm.”

  “Nee, it was more like I was wandering around town when your mother snagged me. I didn’t stand a chance.”

  Snagged? Her seventy-two-year-old father just admitted that her mother snagged him?

  “Oh! He’s here!” Mamm said, smiling from her spot next to the front windows.

  Sure enough, two raps accompanied her mother’s announcement. Mark had arrived. And not a moment too soon.

  “I’ll get the door, Mamm,” she said as she turned the knob. Hopefully, her mother would take the hint and leave before she said anything to embarrass Waneta.

  “Hey, Waneta,” Mark said. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “Nothing to apologize for. I didn’t even notice the time.”

  “She means that in the best way possible, Mark,” Mamm said over her shoulder.

  “Mother—”

  But instead of looking as uncomfortable as Waneta felt, Mark just grinned. “That’s gut to know, Mrs. Cain. Otherwise, a man might be feeling a bit forgettable.”

  “Want some food?” Daed called from his easy chair. “Gettie’s been cooking all afternoon for ya.”

  His expression went blank. “You have?”

  It was too much. They were being so heavy-handed, he’d probably never come back. “You don’t have to eat anything, Mark,” she said quickly. “My mother just sometimes overdoes things.”

  “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d love something to eat. I’m starving. I didn’t have time for dinner.”

  Giving Waneta a knowing look, her mother stepped closer. “Let me take you to the dining room and get you a plate.”

  “Danke.” After sending an apologetic look Waneta’s way, Mark walked to her mother’s side.

  When she was alone in the entryway, Waneta wondered what had come over her mother. Just a week or so ago she was gossiping about Mark and wanting Waneta to quit her job. Now she was practically planning their wedding. Had he really made such an impression on her when he visited?

  Or, had Mamm truly taken Preacher Eli’s words to heart and was practicing what he preached?

  She was still dwelling on the changes when Mark came bac
k out with a glass of lemonade in one hand and an overflowing plate in the other.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “I really was hungry, though.”

  Now she was the one who was feeling like she needed to offer up an apology. “Nothing to apologize for,” she said. “You just made my mother happy. And I wouldn’t have wanted you to sit on the porch with me swinging while your stomach was growling.”

  “This is going to be the best meal I’ve had since, well, the last time I was here.”

  She laughed. “My mother is a fine cook. I’ll pass on your appreciation.”

  Mark sat down with his plate of fried chicken, sauerkraut balls, pickles, and cheese and crackers. After chomping down on one of the pickles, he said, “I don’t know what happened. The time got away from me.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I’ve been pulling up old linoleum. Then I had an unexpected guest.”

  “Was it your brother again?”

  “Nee. Lora Weaver.”

  “Lora? What did she want?”

  “To talk about my brother.” Looking down at his plate, he ate another couple of pieces of chicken, then said, “Do you mind if we don’t talk about either of them right now? I need a break.”

  Though she nodded, Waneta couldn’t deny that she was feeling awkward all over again. It looked like he still didn’t trust her. Why had he even wanted to come over if he didn’t feel comfortable answering even the easiest question?

  Minutes later, his plate was cleared. He stood up and rested it on the small table on the corner of the porch. After sipping his lemonade, he eyed her warily.

  “Did I just make a mess of things?”

  “By eating? Of course not.”

  “By everything. Inhaling my food. Showing up late. By doing what I just did.”

  “You’ve lost me, Mark. I don’t know what you are referring to.”

  “Because I didn’t explain myself. You look hurt.”

  “That’s not how I’m feeling. I’m . . . well, I’m wondering what we should talk about.”