Amish Outsider

by Marta Perry

  Now...now, when he’d hoped he was getting clear of the tragedy, it had broken back into their lives. The reality settled on him like a heavy blanket weighing him down. It would never be over. Never.

  * * *

  ALLIE REACHED OUT to take Cathy’s hand as they headed home from school, giving Cathy a quick lift of the heart. She was used to her younger scholars hanging on to her, but this was the first time Allie had initiated holding hands. The gesture coming from such a shy child meant something special to her.

  Then she noticed the paper Allie clutched in her other hand—her spelling test, with the bright smiley sticker on top. “Don’t forget to tell Daadi and Aunt Verna about your spelling test, will you?”

  Allie waved the lined yellow sheet in answer. “I think they’ll be happy. Aunt Verna helped me practice my words. She said it helped her remember. Do you think she really meant it?”

  “For sure. Your aunt Verna doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.”

  Allie considered that for a moment. Then she gave a satisfied nod. Cathy decided she would give a lot to understand what was going on in that little head.

  “Maybe we’ll see the butterflies again. The tiger swallowtails.” Allie repeated the name carefully.

  “We might.” Cathy was wary of promising something she might not be able to deliver. “They seemed to like those bushes, but they could have found others, too.”

  Allie’s face seemed to droop. “I wanted to see them again.”

  “Me, too. But even if we don’t, we’ll have that memory of what it was like to come upon them. A memory is like having a picture in our minds that we can look at again whenever we want.”

  Silence for a long moment. Allie seemed to be studying the ground ahead of her. “What if we don’t want to see a picture again?”

  Cathy had the feeling she’d missed a step in the dark—surprised and shaken. She shouldn’t be, she told herself. Allie had gone through a terrible time when she’d lost her mother. The child was bound to have some memories she’d rather forget.

  “Sometimes, if remembering something makes me sad or scared, I can stop thinking about it by concentrating hard on a happy picture.” Was that the answer the child was seeking? “Or I might talk to someone about it—a friend, or my mamm or daad.”

  Allie didn’t respond, and Cathy was torn between trying to draw her out and the fear of turning her away by probing. Finally she decided to venture a gentle question.

  “Is there a memory you don’t want to think about?” She held her breath, half afraid of the answer she might get.

  Allie nodded, her fingers tightening on Cathy’s hand even though she didn’t look up.

  “If you want to tell me about it, you can.”

  Allie sucked in an audible breath. “Sometimes...sometimes I’d hear people talking about Mommy when they thought I couldn’t hear.”

  “I see.”

  Cathy’s mind raced. Based on the way Allie phrased the words, she seemed to be talking about an incident in the past. In the weeks after Diana’s death, perhaps? People in the neighborhood would certainly have been talking. She had a spurt of fury at anyone who would do so where a child might hear.

  “Did you ever ask anyone about what they said?”

  “When I did, they lied to me. Everybody does that.”

  That calm acceptance of a wrong twisted her heart as nothing else had. This, at least, she could try to put right, but not by making excuses.

  “You knew some people who told lies, but that doesn’t mean everyone does.” She knelt so that she could be at eye level with Allie. “I promise you that I will never lie to you, Allie. I might not always be able to answer a question, but I won’t lie.”

  Allie studied her face, giving nothing away. Then she nodded. It was a tentative acceptance, but at least it was something.

  As Cathy stood, the weight of what she’d promised was almost a palpable burden. Allie had been let down in the past. Whatever happened from here on out, Cathy was committed. She wouldn’t disappoint this child.

  They walked on, but it seemed to her that the silence between them was an easier one now. Allie actually started to skip when they neared the spot where they’d seen the butterflies.

  “There are some,” she declared. “Look, Teacher Cathy.”

  “That’s right. Not as many as yesterday, but aren’t they pretty?”

  They stopped, watching, just as they had the previous day. And just as he had then, Michael appeared, coming along the path to meet them.

  But today there was no relief at seeing them, and no wonder at the sight that held them there. His face was strained, the skin taut against the bones.

  It hurt to see him look that way, and the cut ran deeper because she knew she couldn’t help. Michael’s happiness was out of her control, but when she saw the spontaneous way Allie ran to him, waving her paper, she saw that this, at least, she could do. Help Allie. Her responsibility, always, was to the children in her care.

  The love in Michael’s face when he responded to Allie eased the tension, at least for a moment. He glanced up and held his smile an instant longer for Cathy.

  “It looks as if we have a gut speller on our hands.”

  “Every word was just right. She tells me her aunt Verna helped her.”

  “She used to help me, but I didn’t usually get a smiley sticker. I think I might not have studied enough.”

  “Aunt Verna says practice makes perfect,” Allie observed, taking the paper back and smiling at it.

  “That’s it, then.” Michael touched her cheek gently. “I should have practiced more. Aunt Verna will be wonderful glad to see your paper.”

  “She will.” Allie’s confident assertion almost sounded like her cousin Ruthie, and it brought a smile to Cathy’s face. “I’m going to go show her, okay?”

  “Okay. Just watch where you’re going so you don’t trip.”

  Michael watched her run ahead and then fell into step with Cathy. “She’s doing all right?” It was a question, not a statement.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Every day she’s a little more outgoing. And her schoolwork is excellent.”

  “I’m glad to know we have one scholar in the family. I seem to remember spending too much time looking out the window.”

  “Boys tend to do that.”

  She wondered if she should tell him a little of what Allie had said. At some point she’d have to, she supposed, but she was reluctant to do it now. Allie had just begun to confide in her. She didn’t want to betray that fledgling trust.

  And she couldn’t ignore the concern she felt about Michael himself. Already his expression was slipping back into that stiff, bitter set, as if he braced himself against a fresh onslaught.

  When the silence had stretched too long, Cathy knew she had to speak. “Something has happened to upset you. If it helps to talk about it...” The rest of that sentence slipped away. It was nearly the same thing she’d said to his daughter.

  He shrugged. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Although...” He frowned, seeming to consider. “Maybe you should hear this. I just realized it might concern you.”

  “What is it?” She tried not to let herself think what his serious tone might mean.

  “I had a call from a friend of mine—a neighbor of ours back in Harrisburg.” His expression grew even grimmer, if possible. “He said that the police have been around the neighborhood again, asking questions.”

  She could see what he was thinking, but... “That might not mean they’re focused on you, ain’t so? They could be looking for any clue to who else might have been to the house that night.”

  “You do like to look at the bright side, don’t you?” His gaze softened just a little. “Even if you’re right, there’s worse. He also said that a private investigator is looking into Diana’s death.”

  It was
Cathy’s turn to frown, trying to comprehend the significance of that news. “Private. That means someone hired him, ain’t so?”

  “Right. The question is, who? Who has the interest and the money to pay someone to investigate?”

  “You’re thinking of Diana’s family.”

  It made sense, she guessed. It seemed odd, now that she thought of it, that as far as she knew the Wilcox family hadn’t made any effort to see Allie, at least.

  “I haven’t seen or heard from them.” He echoed her thought. “But I can’t think who else would do it.”

  Her thoughts were already spinning in a different direction. “The man who came to the school—could he be part of that?”

  If it were possible for his face to grow any more rigid, it did. “If he is, it has to stop. No matter what I have to do.”

  He clamped his mouth shut, leaving her afraid to wonder what he meant by that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BEFORE MICHAEL COULD regret telling Cathy anything about the private investigator, Allie came running back to them. She grabbed her father with one hand and Cathy with the other, so that she could skip along between them.

  “Aunt Verna says that was an excellent paper. She put it up on the refrigerator so everyone can see it.”

  “That’s a wonderful gut idea.” Cathy swung their clasped hands.

  “Right—wonderful.” What was wonderful was the way Allie beamed at Cathy’s praise—cheerful, smiling, her face lit with pleasure. Even her brown eyes sparkled.

  If this was the result of bringing her home to River Haven, then he’d done right for once. Now he had to figure out how to stay here. Here...and out of jail.

  Allie let them go suddenly. “I have to go help Aunt Verna. She says you and Teacher Cathy should come and have lemonade and cookies. I get to help pour the lemonade. Come quick.” She smiled and corrected herself. “Komm schnell. You will, won’t you?”

  She was looking at Cathy, and he saw that she could no more turn Allie down than he could.

  “We’ll both be there in a minute,” she said. “I’d love some lemonade.”

  Allie raced off again.

  Michael watched her go, but his mind was on Cathy. He’d had no right to burden Cathy with his problems. Divorce...murder...investigators...those things were as far from Amish life as missiles and moon landings.

  He felt her gaze on him. “Would you rather I didn’t come?”

  “No... I mean, yes, I want you to have lemonade and cookies. Why would you think that?”

  She seemed to find her smile. “You were looking pretty grim there for a minute.”

  “Not about you. Never about you.” The words were out before he could stop them. Not that he wanted to when she was looking at him with a smile in those beautiful blue eyes. “Just wondering what I can do about...” He let that trail off. You weren’t going to bring her into your sordid problems, remember?

  But Cathy seemed to take it for granted that he’d discuss it with her. “I just think maybe you should talk to Chief Jamison about it.”

  He was shaking his head already before she’d finished. “If there’s anything I’ve learned it’s not to volunteer anything to the cops.”

  “Why? Surely Chief Jamison should know if this private investigator is snooping around his town.”

  “That’s not how it works.” Michael’s jaw tightened painfully. “After I found Diana, I wanted to help so much that I poured out everything—what we’d said, what I’d thought and even the trouble our marriage was in. But I learned. They twisted everything I said around to turn it against me.” He seemed to feel again the constant barrage of questions. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Chief Jamison isn’t like that.” She leaned toward him, intent on changing his mind. “He’s always been fair and honest with the Leit.”

  “This is different. You don’t understand.” He shook his head. “Look, forget about it. It’s not your concern.”

  Cathy drew back, attempting to hide the hurt she felt. But he could see it in her eyes and the slight tremble of her lips.

  “You aren’t my business, but my scholars are. Anything that affects you will affect Allie.”

  He couldn’t deny it, but still he shook his head. “Drop it, Cathy. Please.”

  She gave a curt nod. They were still walking side by side as they approached the house, but they might as well have been a hundred miles apart.

  By the time they reached the kitchen, he was berating himself. Why would he alienate one of the few people who believed in him? Sheer perversity, apparently. He stole a look at her face as he held the door for her. She was hiding the hurt now, but he’d seen it.

  “Lemonade,” Allie declared as they came in. “Aunt Verna made oatmeal nut cookies.”

  “Yum.” Cathy had found her smile. “That sounds delicious.”

  Fortunately for him, between Aunt Verna and Allie they carried the conversation, while he sat there and tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

  Aunt Verna switched from cookies to the work frolic at the school the next day. “We’re all prepared to go. I made a gelatin salad, so I’ll bring a cooler. And we can take lemonade as well.”

  “I’m sure there will be plenty of food,” Cathy said. “There always is.” She glanced from Verna to him, and Michael thought she looked uneasy.

  Was she afraid he’d show up, creating problems with those who hadn’t accepted him yet?

  “You don’t need to worry. I won’t be there.”

  “I didn’t...” Cathy began, but Allie interrupted her.

  “Daadi, why aren’t you coming? Everyone is helping.”

  “I...I can’t, not tomorrow.” He couldn’t very well tell her the real reason. “Aunt Verna will go with you, and Aunt Sarah and Onkel Lige, too.”

  “But you should help. Why won’t you?”

  “I’m busy tomorrow. But I’ll go another time and help Teacher Cathy with anything she wants me to do. Okay?”

  Cathy stood before Allie could argue. “That’s fine,” she said, as if the question had been directed to her. “I’ll tell Allie to give you a message when I need some work done. Now, I’d better get home so I can help fix supper.”

  “I’ll walk out with you.” He rose quickly and followed her out the door.

  Once they were out of earshot, Cathy spoke over her shoulder, not turning to look at him. “If you don’t want to help that’s fine with me. But Allie was disappointed. She wants—”

  “I know. She wants me to be like all the other dads, but I’m not. If I show up tomorrow, it might chase other people away.”

  “Ach, that’s foolishness. No one would leave because you’re there.”

  “Always looking on the sunny side, aren’t you? What if you’re wrong? What if Allie saw that I wasn’t wanted there? That would hurt her a lot worse.”

  “You’re borrowing trouble, I think.” She turned now, meeting his gaze. “Are you sure it’s not yourself you’re fearing would be hurt?”

  He stiffened. “I deserve anything that comes to me. Allie doesn’t.”

  Cathy stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to understand what he really feared. Then she shook her head and walked on.

  The question lingered in his mind as he watched her disappear into the belt of trees.

  * * *

  CATHY HEADED TOWARD HOME, the hurt like a weight in her chest. She couldn’t watch people in pain without wanting to help them. If Michael were a stranger, she’d feel that way, but this was much worse, because Michael was one of their own.

  He didn’t believe he belonged—that was at the heart of the problem, she felt sure. He was caught between two worlds, unable to move.

  When she was small, she’d found a dog stuck in a tangle of barbed wire once—struggling to free himself and just making it worse, snapping a
t her when she tried to help. She’d run for Daad, sure that he could make it better. She could still see his strong, gentle hands soothing the creature, talking softly as he pulled each strand loose.

  That was Michael, but whose were the hands that would free him when he was determined to reject help? Her heart sank even further at the thought of the plan Sarah and Verna had hatched to bring him and his father together. And of the role she was supposed to play.

  As Cathy rounded the barn she spotted a car coming up the lane that led to the main road and frowned a little. It wasn’t one she recognized. Instead of going on to the house, the driver stopped as he grew abreast of her. She thought he was going to roll down the window and speak to her, but instead he got out and came over to her.

  “Hi there.” The middle-aged man was dressed casually in khakis and a plaid shirt—he might have been any Englischer she’d see on Main Street.

  “Are you looking for the Brandt farm?” She glanced toward the house, but no one seemed to be around just now. If Daad had been expecting someone, he’d have been on the lookout.

  “Is that where I am?” His face crinkled in smiles. “Well, that’ll teach me to ask directions from somebody I saw at a gas station. He said, ‘Go along the Jonestown Road about two miles. You’ll see a big red barn after about a mile, but don’t turn there. Go on past where the fruit stand used to be, and take the second or third road...’ I ask you, who could follow that?”

  She had to smile at his comic imitation. “Yah, I’ve heard directions like that a time or two. Tell me where you want to go, and I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’d be grateful. I don’t want to spend the afternoon driving around one back road after another. I’m looking for a place that sells plants. Forster Greenhouses, I think it’s called.”

  A sliver of uneasiness crept in. “Are you looking to buy some annuals to plant? I know they have a big selection.”

  “Always like to have some around.” His eyes were oddly opaque, making it difficult to imagine what he was thinking. “Is that far from here?”

  She suppressed her wariness. She was imagining problems where they didn’t exist. “Not far, but you’ll have to turn around and go back to the main road to get there.”