“I won’t let that happen. You go inside and lock the doors.”
Jemima’s face reflected concern, but she hurried away, ushering Abigail ahead of herself, clearly protective of Simeon and Heidi.
Roy walked toward the car.
“I came for what’s mine: Heidi and my laptop.”
It made sense to give her the laptop, maybe convince her to take it and be on her way, but a check in his gut said not to turn it over either. “I can’t do that.”
“Both are mine, and I want them.”
“Not happening, Tiffany. Get in the car and leave.”
She motioned to the driver. He got out, carrying a baseball bat.
Tiffany crossed her arms. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Apparently it does.”
The man came closer, tapping the bat against his palm. Roy had no idea what to do, but he was grateful that his sister had hustled the children inside. If need be, she’d use her phone and call the police. Roy straightened his shoulders and stepped toward the man, hoping to catch him off guard, maybe cause the man to back up or think twice.
The man raised the bat, looking as big as that green man the Englisch called the Incredible Hulk.
“Hey!” Jemima called.
Roy didn’t take his eyes off the man with the bat, but when Jemima hurried in front of him, he saw that she held Abigail’s phone out in front of her, turned sideways. “I’m recording every bit of this—livestreaming it to the police station’s Facebook page, actually.”
The man lowered the bat and pulled his baseball cap down farther on his head, casting a shadow across his face. “Hey, I’m just here to play some baseball with Amish friends. They play ball regularly. Everybody knows that.”
“We’re not in the mood for that today,” Roy said. “You and the bat, get in the car.”
The man hesitated, and Tiffany nodded. He got in the car, and Roy breathed a sigh of relief as gratitude welled up for the smart, strong woman his wife was. And his sister. He was sure she had a part in coming up with this plan. The two were a powerhouse of ideas.
“What do you need, Tiffany?” Jemima asked.
“Put that thing down.” Tiffany pointed at the phone.
Jemima lowered it, but Roy doubted that she’d shut it off. They didn’t have an internet provider, so she couldn’t be streaming the encounter. Recording a video, yes. Streaming it, impossible. But Tiffany and her hulk didn’t know that.
“I want Heidi and my laptop.”
“As I’ve already said, you’ll get neither,” Roy countered. Anger from nearly a year of putting up with her nonsense stirred. He’d been so focused on holding his family together and making sure he was doing his best by his wife that he’d stuffed the anger with Tiffany away into a dark room and locked it.
Tiffany scoffed. “I will get Heidi.”
“You abandoned her,” he said.
“I had postpartum depression, and I left her in good hands. The law would understand that. Besides, you have no claim to her at all.”
“You abandoned her.”
“No, I left her with friends, and you took her from them. You had no right to do that. She’s not yours.”
Roy’s brain seemed to freeze. Was she saying he wasn’t the father?
“Please, just get in your car and go home.” Jemima’s voice jarred him back to reality.
“I won’t. She’s not his, and I have a legal right to her, so I’m not leaving without her.”
Jemima’s eyes met Roy’s, looking for answers. He understood how she felt. Why would Tiffany show up out of the blue and say that Heidi wasn’t his? Did Tiffany simply say whatever suited her at any given moment? If so, what was going on that it now worked for her to say Roy wasn’t the father?
Surely that wasn’t true. He’d been completely positive that Heidi was his. Where were the results from the DNA test he’d had more than five weeks ago? The lab said to expect them within a few weeks, but he hadn’t thought about them until now.
Tiffany folded her arms. “You’re a smart man, Roy. How long will it take for you to put the puzzle pieces together? She’s mine, not yours. If you don’t want trouble with the police for kidnapping her, go into the house and get her and the laptop.”
Jemima’s face showed bewilderment. She looked from Roy to Tiffany.
“Oh.” Tiffany leaned in. “I bet he told you the story he and I made up if you discovered we’d been together—that he didn’t remember anything. But he does, and we had our good times, far more than he’ll ever admit.”
Jemima’s eyes moved to his, searching for truth.
“Jem, she’s willing to say anything that would make you walk into our house and hand over Heidi.”
“He’s smooth, ain’t he?” Tiffany added.
Roy pointed at the car. “Get in and go. Now.”
Tiffany angled her head, studying Jemima. “You know what I’m telling you is true. We spent all that money, your money. We had a great time. The plan was he’d leave you. Then guilt got the best of him and he chickened out.”
Jemima’s face was taut as she moved to the car. She opened the door. “You need to go, please.” She gestured into the vehicle. “We need time to think and adjust to this news.”
Tiffany stayed put.
“I’m asking you to please leave and give us some time.”
“I’ve got a right to her. She’s mine, solely mine.”
Jemima drew a shaky breath. “But you said she was Roy’s, and we’ve taken good care of her. I’m asking for time out of respect for the naive wife you’ve put through so much.” Jemima’s voice was soft, maybe in hopes of gaining what they needed: time.
Tiffany chuckled. “Okay.” She looked at Roy. “I’ll give you one day”—Tiffany held up her index finger—“but I’m not leaving here without my laptop.”
Tiffany stared at him, but Jemima didn’t look his way.
He shook his head. “No.”
“What?” Tiffany narrowed her eyes.
“We need time to find it,” Jemima said. “We have no use for it, and lots of things were boxed up when we rearranged the house to make room for Heidi.”
Tiffany seemed to believe Jemima, but they knew right where it was, didn’t they? Typically his wife was a stickler for telling the truth. Maybe she felt fudging was God’s way of working against evil, like in the New Testament when godly men were sneaky in avoiding soldiers for the greater cause of doing God’s will.
“Fine.” Tiffany flipped her perfectly done hair behind her shoulder. “You have twenty-four hours, and then I’ll be back for both.” As she got in the car and it went down the driveway and onto the road, Jemima didn’t budge.
“What she said isn’t true, Jem.”
“Don’t,” she hissed. “Don’t give her words merit by defending yourself, and don’t muddy the waters of what we have to get through.” She turned, arms folded tight. “What’s wrong with her? Seriously.”
“A bad childhood, one so damaging that she was hardly the same person from one month to the next. Then she followed that with years of drug use.”
“She’s so jealous of me she can hardly see straight, and she was telling lies left and right, all in an effort to hurt us. Do you think she’s lying about Heidi?”
“I don’t know. But at the suggestion of the social worker, I had DNA tests run.”
“Where are the results?”
“Again, I don’t know. They were supposed to arrive by mail about two weeks ago.”
“I bet it looked like another medical bill and we didn’t notice it. But we’re good at keeping up with bills, so if it arrived in our mailbox, it’s in our house somewhere and we can find it.”
“If not, we’ll call the lab tomorrow, and hopefully someone can read us the results. Or if they will print th
em, we’ll take an Uber to pick them up.” He looked at the clock on his phone. “They’re closed now for the day. There has to be a self-serving reason for Tiffany wanting Heidi back.”
“Hey, Roy!” Aaron called from across the fence. “Are we about ready to work with Skipper again?”
“Not now,” Roy hollered back. “Just make sure the horses are fed and watered, and then go stay with my folks tonight.”
Even on the nights Aaron ate with them, he often slept at Roy’s parents’ place, where it was much quieter.
“You sure?” Aaron asked.
“Ya. Something has come up that we need to tend to, so finish and go straight to my parents’ place.”
“You got it.” Aaron waved and headed back toward the barn.
Jemima intertwined her fingers with his, holding tight. “And her laptop. What’s with that?”
“No clue, but she’s cunning and manipulative. My guess is that it has some sort of information on it and it’s dawned on her that she needs it.”
“If you’re not the father, what she’s done is criminal, isn’t it?”
“I would think so. But if I’m not Heidi’s father and we have to go through the court system, they’ll take Heidi from us.”
“Roy”—Jemima moved in close and looked up at him—“whether you’re the Daed or not, we can’t turn Heidi over to her. You know that, right?”
He gazed into his wife’s eyes, falling in love anew. “I agree. But we’ll need to figure out a way to keep Tiffany from trying to take her.”
“Exactly. But how?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He put his arms around her, and she rested her head on his chest and embraced him. “But what I do know is that I love you and together we can figure out anything with some time and prayer.”
“We don’t have much time, so we may need more heads and hearts involved than just ours.”
“True.”
The back door slammed, and Roy and Jemima separated. His sister strode across the lawn, Simeon on her hip. “Heidi’s in her bed, asleep. The older ones are playing. What’s going on?”
“Here’s one of the people we need.” Jemima put her arm around Roy’s waist, and he did the same. They were clearly in this together, and for that he would be forever thankful.
Roy explained the situation to his sister in short order but cringed as he said that Heidi might not be his. What a grueling, embarrassing journey this whole thing had been. Jemima tightened her embrace, letting him know she understood and that nothing Tiffany said or did could come between them.
Abigail hiked Simeon higher on her hip. “Chris has a video on his phone that might help. He recorded the people who had Heidi saying Tiffany intended to give Heidi to a rich family who would in turn gift her with a lot of money.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before now?” Jemima asked.
“You guys had enough to contend with. Besides, it’s all hearsay. It’s not as if Tiffany is saying it, just some people she knows. But since she’s back and trying to take Heidi, it might be helpful.”
“Is she right?” Jemima asked. “Does that recording prove nothing?”
“Not on its own, but if we had a piece of real evidence, it could be more support. I need to talk to Chris. He knows this situation, and he knows his way around a computer. Think he’d be willing to hit pause on whatever he’s up to and help?”
Abigail shrugged. “I think so.”
“Would you call him?” Jemima asked.
“Me?”
“Because”—Jemima lifted Simeon from Abigail’s arms—“if you call him, he’ll pick up even if he’s in the middle of a fight or at an Englisch church in the middle of being baptized.”
“He’s not going to be in church on a Tuesday.”
“No, but he’ll be busy doing something, and we have only twenty-four hours to find what we need.” Jemima kissed Simeon’s head.
“Fine. I’ll call.” She pulled the phone from her apron pocket and walked away.
Roy and Jemima headed for the house, walking hand in hand. He couldn’t imagine giving Heidi up even if she wasn’t his. Hadn’t God impressed on him time and again to keep her and raise her?
“Jem.” Roy tugged on her hand, and she stopped. “If Heidi’s not mine—”
“She’s ours, regardless of what the tests say. Our goal is to get Tiffany to sign her over to us, but if the officials have to get involved and they take her, we do all we can to get her back. Ya?”
He raised her hand to his lips and slowly kissed it. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Nor I you, husband.” She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it.
Thirty
Abigail ended the call, confused but grateful. Jemima had been right. Chris answered his phone on the second ring. Why was he in the area, and why did he sound honored to have heard from her? She sighed and shoved the phone back into her pocket before hurrying into the house. The children were loud and running around, maybe feeding off the energy of the upset adults.
“Chris is close by, and he’ll get here as quickly as he can.” She left it at that, but she’d like to know if all men gave mixed messages or just Chris. He liked her. He cared about her. He’d left to participate in organized violence for money. It didn’t add up unless he was fractured about who he was.
Jemima was rummaging through stacks of mail. “I knew that if you needed him, he’d come. It’s what the good ones do.”
Abigail wouldn’t point out that apparently Roy had often hurried off to help Tiffany despite how much he just wanted to be left alone. Men’s actions often didn’t match who they said they were or even who they believed they were. They didn’t lie just to the women they cared about; they also lied to themselves.
That aside, she needed to ask Roy a question. Keys rattled in the living room area, and she went that way. “Roy?”
“In here,” he called from the closet.
She went to the doorway of the closet. “Should I take the children to Mamm’s?”
“Nee, but we do need to keep them close until we have some resolution with Tiffany.” He unlocked the gun cabinet and pulled out his hunting rifle.
“What are you doing?” Abigail couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Jemima and I talked while you were outside calling Chris. It’s not against our ways to fire a hunting rifle at the ground.”
“Sure it is. You would be threatening violence.”
“I have no intention of using it on anyone. But firing it will scare them off. That’s not violence; it’s a bluff.”
Someone knocked on the door. Roy started in that direction, gun in hand.
She grabbed his arm. “You put the gun away. Bluff or not, that”—she pointed at the gun—“isn’t how we do things.”
He ignored her and pulled free.
“Hey.” Chris stood inside the door near Jemima.
“Hallo.” Roy motioned. “Kumm. You got here fast.”
Chris’s eyes moved from the gun to Abigail. “Ya, like I told Abi, I was in the area. But we didn’t have a good connection. What’s up?”
The home was filled with tension and it was suffocating. Abigail’s face felt warm from the turmoil of it all.
“Let’s sit and talk,” Roy said.
“First”—Abigail reached for the gun—“get the bullet out of the chamber, put the gun on safety, and lock it in its cabinet, Roy.”
Roy’s hand tightened around the gun. “A man showed up at my house, threatening violence against me in order to take a helpless child from safety into danger, probably for the almighty dollar, Abigail. I will fire this gun, and Jemima will call the police.”
“This house has only moments of calm where the adults aren’t diverted by the needs of one or more children. Distraction is constant, and it’s far more dangerous to ev
eryone you want to protect for a gun to be out and loaded. You forget about it for a few seconds during some minor, normal mishap, and the chance of an unwatched child causing an accidental death far outweighs the chance of anyone rushing inside to snatch Heidi. I won’t stand for it, Roy.”
“He came to my home, baseball bat in hand. Do you understand what Tiffany said? She’s been manipulating me this whole time concerning Heidi, which says she has no sense of boundaries or of right and wrong. What is she willing to do to get Heidi back or hurt me, Jemima, or our children?”
She hadn’t thought of it like that, and she had no comeback.
“So, this man who came here”—Chris sounded warm and friendly—“is he a big guy?” Chris held his hands apart as if telling a fish story. “Massive shoulders?”
“Ya.”
“Really daunting guy, huh?”
“Very. But the plan isn’t to shoot him, just fire the gun and run him off.”
Chris sat in a chair at the kitchen table. “Everything you’re thinking and feeling is justified, including your desire to have a loaded gun on hand. But we need to find the tools that will help us solve the problem, like paper, pens, and brainstorming.” He held up his cell phone. “I have the recording Abi asked about, and she said something about information on Tiffany’s computer.”
The knee-jerk anger seemed to drain from Roy. He looked at the gun and opened the chamber. “I’ll unload it and put it away. Chris is right. We need to focus on figuring things out while taking care of a houseful of little ones.”
Jemima looked at Roy. “I didn’t find it.”
Roy grimaced. “Let’s check near the desk where I pay bills.”
Jemima turned to Abigail. “We’ll be back in a few. We need to search through the mail upstairs. We’ll grab the laptop, pens, and paper too.”
Just like that, Abigail was alone with Chris, something she would’ve preferred to avoid at this point of having closure with him. Still…“Denki.” She searched for more words, but his presence unnerved her. She took the percolator off the stove, filled it with water, and put coffee grounds into the silver basket. “I’m glad you came to help, and I’m sorry there’s been constant drama in this home since we’ve known you. Tiffany seems to be a walking hurricane, leaving chaos and destruction in her path.”
The Englisch Daughter Page 23
