“Every subscriber identification module is registered, and of course, all new phones have GPS as well, which constantly tracks the whereabouts of the phone and, presumably, the person it’s with. We could possibly access those logs, but if you don’t need me …”
Glowering at Trent, Callie pulled Max’s leash more tightly and stood. “You don’t have to be so arrogant.”
“It’s not arrogance if it’s true.”
And to think she had been considering kissing him not five minutes ago. “Come on, Max.”
With a slight woof, Max hopped to his feet and trotted by her side. Dogs were loyal and true, and they didn’t try to benefit from every single situation that came their way.
“I’ll run the article by you before I print it.”
She stopped but didn’t turn. Trent was at her side in a second, smiling down at her. “Understand I’m not saying that I’m going to let you edit it.”
And she absolutely refused to smile at the eagerness on his face. At times he did remind her of Max — not the loyalty part, but the enthusiasm.
He wrapped his hand around hers, around the one still clutching the phone. “We’ll work out a compromise as far as whatever information I find and what I put in the article. Face it, Callie — we need each other on this one. I need a follow-up piece on the front page, and you need some help with the technology. Let’s work together.”
She didn’t want to look into his hazel eyes, at the blond hair flopping over his forehead. She sure didn’t want to be amused by him or admit that she needed him, but at the same time he was right. So she slipped the phone into his hand and muttered, “Call me.” Then she tried to ignore the knowledge that he was watching her as she continued walking down the street.
Callie’s attraction toward Trent McCallister — which she did not understand at all — didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was helping Deborah and Esther, which meant helping Reuben. Not that she wanted to be drawn into another murder, but it was beginning to feel as if she didn’t have much choice.
A few minutes later Callie was home. She pulled the mail from her box and sorted it while standing in front of the recycle bin and next to her in-box tray. She’d learned that trick years ago. Junk mail went straight where it belonged. Bills went into the in-box tray. Efficiency simplified life.
Sadly she didn’t have to worry about a third stack since she rarely — correction, never — received personal mail.
The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than she saw a small personal-sized envelope made out in wobbly handwriting to Ms. Callie Harper. She set it on the counter and continued sorting.
Why did companies insist on sending so many advertisements? If she wanted to order something, she’d look online. Oops — except for this one from L.L.Bean. She did love to look through their clothing line — a guilty pleasure that she rarely indulged. She’d keep it and see what her profits were from this month. Setting it on the counter beside the hand-addressed letter, she sorted through the last two pieces of mail. Both were credit card applications she hadn’t requested and went straight into the shredder.
But the letter, now that was a mystery.
She slit the top of the envelope with her letter opener, then poured hot water over a chamomile tea bag. Lately she’d been experimenting with the different flavors she stocked for her customers.
“Let’s go, Max. We’ll read this one sitting down.” Making sure the sign on the door said closed, since it was after six, Callie wound her way over toward the chair near the front windows. On the horizon she could see clouds pressing toward town, clouds that hadn’t been there a short while ago when she’d made her way home from her meeting with Trent, who still hadn’t called with any information.
She sat in the big overstuffed chair near the plateglass windows and watched the wind throw leaves down the street. “Looks like it’s going to get cold.”
Max whined and placed his head across her feet.
“I agree, boy. Now let’s see who would send me a letter.”
Ms. Harper. Have you started looking for my dochder yet? I’m currently in gut health, but can’t be sure how much longer I’ll be on this earth. My age is eighty-nine. Gotte could call me home any day. I know you can find her.
Ira Bontrager
Callie stared at the letter far longer than it took to read its contents. The handwriting was shaky, like that of many of her older customers who wrote out checks or signed her guest book. But the words he’d written were remarkably clear, indicating none of the confusion she’d seen in him when he was at her place a few days ago.
How many days had it been? Tuesday she’d found the old guy on her doorstep, it was Monday when Esther had found the dead girl in Reuben’s pond. Hard to believe how life could change in less than a week. Before then their lives had been traveling along fairly smoothly.
Callie folded the sheet of paper and placed it back in the envelope.
There were times she felt much less alone here than she ever had while living in Houston. When the shop was open and people were stopping in, Callie felt a part of the community, even though she’d lived in Shipshewana less than six months. Through the mess with Stakehorn few people had really seemed to believe she could be guilty of murder, and most had been vocally pleased that she’d permanently taken over her aunt’s shop.
But when the shop closed and everyone went home to their families, Callie sometimes did feel alone. Occasionally it seemed she’d traded her life in Houston for an identical life in Shipshewana, only planted in different soil.
Perhaps that was her own fault.
Trent had asked her out twice, and both times she’d made excuses and said no. She’d wanted to say yes. She’d wondered what it would be like to spend time alone with him. The entire situation reminded her of her junior year in high school, when she’d had a crush on a guy in her homeroom class, but never had the courage to let him know.
Trent seemed to understand there was an attraction between them. Callie admitted it to herself occasionally, so why did she always back off when the opportunity to investigate those feelings arose? She’d caught herself comparing him to Rick, but she also compared Andrew and Shane to Rick as well. She supposed all widows did that. There was a physical attraction between her and Trent, but in other areas they seemed like complete opposites.
Was physical attraction enough to make a relationship worth pursuing?
If you had to think about even pursuing a relationship, was it worth chasing down? She’d always thought a relationship was butterflies in your stomach and something that you couldn’t live without, not something you put on your calendar — like a dental appointment.
As Callie checked the automatic lighting outside the shop to be sure it had turned on and straightened a few items up and down the aisles, she admitted the problem was probably within herself. She wasn’t sure that she was ready to move into another relationship.
Maybe she was.
When Trent touched her arm or looked into her eyes she thought she could be.
Sometimes she’d even wondered what it would feel like to see Andrew Gavin on a personal level. He seemed to understand what she was thinking and feeling, and he wasn’t always interested in what he could gain from a situation.
But then she’d feel herself pulling back, which was why she’d turned Gavin down when he asked her out to the movies, to the concert over in South Bend, and to the police barbeque. One part of her really wanted to go, but the other part … the other part was scared.
“Come on, boy. Let’s go home.” Max barked once, then bounded up the stairs to their apartment.
Callie stopped at the mirror at the top of the stairs to study her reflection. Her hair was a bit of a mess, had been since she’d started growing it out. Her eyes still took up too much of her face, but the chocolate-colored sweater she wore accented them well.
All of that was cosmetic though.
What she saw in the mirror was the same thing she saw between
the lines of Ira Bontrager’s letter: a reflection of herself, a reflection of her loneliness.
She couldn’t find the old guy’s daughter. She had no illusions about that. Even if the girl had existed, which Callie somehow doubted, the police would have found her if it was possible. Surely he had notified the police if he’d actually lost a daughter. What more could she do than the officials? Maybe she could somehow ease the loneliness that she’d sensed in him.
For whatever reason, the man’s son wasn’t able to help him, maybe he wasn’t even able to spend time with him.
So beginning tomorrow, Callie would.
Chapter 19
SAMUEL THANKED THE TRUCKER for the ride as he let himself out of the eighteen-wheeler. He’d purposely avoided smaller vehicles. Didn’t want to end up thumbing a ride from anyone he knew.
There was no way he was ready to face friends — today would be difficult enough.
He carried his one bag over his shoulder. He’d left Katie’s bag on the doorsteps of a less prosperous-looking Amish home on the outskirts of Middlebury. Hopefully someone there would be able to use the clothes. It had hurt him to leave them, but he told himself that Katie would have been glad to know they were helping make someone else’s life easier.
As soon as the farm came into sight, a sweat broke out across his forehead. He’d stopped in a gas station last night and shaved off the beard. Not that it was very thick yet — despite what Katie had predicted.
The memory was a sharp ache in his side, like the cut of a knife.
He raised his hand to his cheek, as if to remind himself that it was real, that it had all actually happened. But the envelope in the bottom of his pack proved the last week hadn’t been just another nightmare.
As he walked toward the farm, toward Katie’s parents, he rehearsed again the story he planned to tell them. Lying didn’t come easily, but he couldn’t think of another alternative. And it was wrong. He knew that. It certainly wasn’t the Amish way to lie, but in this case not lying would hurt Katie’s family more, would be an even bigger sin. Samuel had worked through his options, and he didn’t see that he had any other recourse available.
Working on Timothy’s farm was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d left just over a week ago, unable to stomach the thought of spending another season under Timothy’s backward ways.
Now what?
A lifetime making atonement for his and Katie’s mistakes? The old anger burned in him, but he tapped it down. One thing he knew — none of this was her fault.
Katie’s error had cost her life. And what had her mistake been?
Trusting him.
The knowledge of that nearly drove him to his knees.
He paused, caught his breath as Timothy’s silos came into view while the afternoon light slanted across the fields.
His sins, they were much worse. He should have protected Katie, should have been a better husband. For that he was prepared to pay with years.
Placing one foot in front of the other, he continued slowly walking down the lane that led to Timothy’s house. They wouldn’t be home from church yet, so there was no need for him to worry about being seen. It would give him time to think. Time to be sure he had his story straight.
As he neared the old farmhouse, he didn’t see the rambling structure where he’d first met Katie or the fields where he’d worked over a year hoping to earn her father’s respect. Instead his mind went back once more, and he saw their eldest daughter, saw her how she’d looked the morning after their wedding night …
Samuel turned from his place at the window where he’d been watching the sun rise over the countryside bordering the LaGrange Inn. Pink and purple clouds fanned out above the hills that rolled one after another as the sun broke through the morning mist.
Just one thing was prettier than that sight.
Samuel heard her stirring in the king-sized bed across the room. He walked over, sat beside Katie, and combed his fingers through her golden hair — he’d never imagined that she had so much of it. When she’d taken off her kapp and removed the pins last night, it had fallen nearly to her thighs. Thick, the color of wheat, and with a slight curl to it, he thought he would be happy to stare at it for days.
Then she’d taken his hand, and he forgot about her hair.
“Gudemariye,” she said sleepily.
“Gudemariye to you, sweet Katie.” Samuel leaned forward, kissed her softly on the lips. “How did you sleep?”
“Wunderbaar, when I slept at all.” A blush stained her cheeks, but she laughed at the memory and reached for his hand. “Do we travel on to Shipshewana today?”
“First there are some things I’d like to take care of.”
“Like?”
“Like feeding you breakfast.”
“That shouldn’t take long.” When she reached forward and ran her hand down his cheek Samuel felt his heart begin to thump faster. He’d rather stay here, in this room, and forget the list he’d been making by the window. But the list wouldn’t wait. It was important as the man of the family to take care of his wife. It was important to start their marriage out as well as possible.
“We need to return your father’s horse and wagon.”
“I don’t understand.” A frown creased her forehead, and Samuel’s patience began to ebb.
“It’s not right to keep what belongs to him, Katie. He’ll be needing it, and we can get by without one at first.”
“How will you send it back?”
His hand came down hard upon the nightstand, causing the lamp to rattle and Katie to jump. Samuel stood, walked to the window, and forced himself to take several calming breaths. It was only the pressure of starting over. She didn’t mean to question his every move. Turning back toward her, he started again.
“I met a man at the feed store yesterday who has a load he needs to take to Goshen. He said he could catch a ride back and was happy to pay me for the use of the horse and wagon. We can use the money.”
“Won’t father wonder why his horse is coming back, without us?”
“I’ve thought of that, and I prepared a note.” Samuel walked over to the small table in the corner of the room. He picked up the sheet of paper and brought it back to Katie. As he handed it to her, he began explaining even before she could have read to the end. “I know this is hard for you, and I know that you don’t like lying to your dat — “
“Do you really think we can’t tell him the truth now?” When she raised her eyes to his, it felt like a razor was being drawn across his heart.
The razor opened a crevice and doubt began to creep in.
What if they were doing the wrong thing?
What if they were wrong about marrying this way, about moving away from people who could help them?
What if he couldn’t find work in Shipshe? How would he support them then?
Samuel stomped back to the window. “If you don’t trust me, then how are we supposed to build a marriage? If you’re questioning me at every turn, I can’t see how I’m supposed to hold up. It’s not easy figuring our way, you know. “
He didn’t hear her cross the room, but he did feel her arms reach around his waist. She pressed her face to his back and spoke softly, her words like a slow spring rain to a newly planted field. “I didn’t mean to question you, Samuel. I only meant to ask if this is the way it must be. If it is, then we will do it, and we’ll do it together.”
Turning to look in her eyes, he didn’t see the condemnation he expected to find. “Lying is hard, and I realize it’s wrong,” she continued. “But it’s better than having them worry. You’re right about that.”
“And it’s only for a few days.” He took her hand in his, drew her back to the bed. “Don’t you see? We’re buying ourselves a few days so that we can reach Shipshe without them calling the police or contacting the local bishop. Once we’re settled, once our marriage is a few days old, and once we have a place to stay and I have a job — “
“You will have a job. Of
that I’m certain. You’re a gut worker. My dat often said that about you. “
“Then we’ll send the note with the man and the buggy?”
Katie picked up the single sheet of paper, and they read it silently, slowly, one last time.
Mr. Lapp,
Katie has run off to the city. She’s run off to the Englischers. I suppose she’s run off because of her rumspringa. I’m sending back your horse and buggy and traveling on to find her. I’ll send word when I know something. Don’t worry. I’ll bring her back.
Samuel
“Send the note. What else do we need to do?” Katie stood and began gathering her few things, placing them into her duffel bag.
“I want to go to the store in town and purchase a phone. “
“A phone?” Katie caught herself and put her fingers to her lips, then giggled. “I sound like a parrot I heard once. He was in the Englisch store in downtown Goshen. The one that sells pets. He repeated the last phrase you’d say.”
Samuel smiled as he pulled his own things together.
“And who will we be calling with this phone?”
As he explained, Katie combed and braided her hair, then pinned her prayer kapp carefully into place. Samuel wanted nothing more than to take it off her, pull the pins out, unbraid her hair, and forget all their errands.
The sun was rising though, the smell of kaffi was drifting up the stairs, and they had more miles to put between them and Goshen. They were now a few short hours from their new life together. For that Samuel was grateful.
As he walked toward the dining room with Katie, his heart swelled with hope, just as it had the day before when the justice of the peace had declared them man and wife. The Mennonite preacher had said a prayer over them afterwards, had offered his name and phone number.
Samuel still had it on a piece of paper in his pocket.
But they wouldn’t be staying in Goshen.
Their future was to the north, in Shipshewana.
Chapter 20
A Perfect Square Page 14
