Katie's Way

by Marta Perry

  “You are ser kind. But I think Rhoda is better to stay quietly at home today. I’ll tell her what you said, for sure.”

  Molly nodded. “Give her a kiss for me, ja?”

  Little Jacob gave the cry of a boppli waking from a nap, and Molly hurried off the porch and went quickly to the buggy.

  Katie waved. She’d have gone back upstairs, but another buggy was turning in and drawing up at the barn. Bishop Mose climbed down and went to the head of his horse to fasten it to the hitching rail.

  Her stomach sank. She’d expect a visit from someone after missing church, but not necessarily the bishop. And not so soon.

  She waited, knowing she must speak to him first, before he saw Rhoda. He walked toward her steadily, looking like an Old Testament prophet with his long white beard flowing to his chest. A kindly one, though, with gentleness in his eyes.

  “Katie, I see that Molly already stopped to inquire about you. I hope you are well. We missed you at worship this morning.”

  “I’m well, denke. Rhoda is ... She doesn’t . . .” She decided to abandon that sentence. She put her hand on the sleeve of Bishop Mose’s black cloth coat. “Will you listen to her story? Please?”

  Bishop Mose patted her hand. “That is why I’m here, ja?”

  Katie nodded, blinking back tears. “Denke,” she whispered.

  She led the way up the stairs. Rhoda bolted up from her chair at the sight of the bishop, her face paling. “Katie . . .” Her voice wobbled.

  “Komm now, Rhoda,” Bishop Mose said. “There is no reason to be upset at the sight of me. We will sit down here together, and you will tell me what happened. And we will see what must be done.”

  “You’ll think I should go home, but—”

  Bishop Mose pulled up a chair. “I have not heard your story yet.” His tone was gently chiding.

  “I’m sorry.” Rhoda sank onto the seat, her eyes downcast.

  “Now then,” he said.

  Rhoda nodded. Her voice choking a little, she told the story exactly as she had told it to Katie. As she reached the end, she glanced up at the bishop, coloring.

  “Maybe Becky and I were playing up to the boys a little bit, just ’cause the other girls wouldn’t talk to us. But nothing to make Tommy think he could do something like that.” Her cheeks flamed. “And now Becky is hurt because of it, and that’s not right.”

  “I’m glad your thought is for your friend,” Bishop Mose said. “She was not at worship today, either. Thomas was there, looking as if he wished he wasn’t. Who were the other boys?”

  “Gordy Schultz, Adam Mast, and Joshua King.” Rhoda had obviously expected a stern talking-to, and she eyed the bishop cautiously, as if wondering if it was still to come.

  Katie bit her lip. Should she mention what Molly had said about the Schultz boy? No, she would not be a tale-bearer. Bishop Mose knew his flock well. If what Molly said was right, he would know that.

  Bishop Mose held out his hand, gesturing Katie closer. “We must pray that we see God’s will in this situation, and ask for His guidance and comfort. And you will then go about your daily work, continuing to pray that, ja?”

  “Ja, denke,” Katie said, and Rhoda nodded.

  Afterward, Katie walked back down the steps with the bishop, trying to find words to express her feelings.

  “Stop worrying so, Katie.” He smiled at her. “You are doing all that can be done. Now you must be calm and trust. Just trust.”

  He went out. She closed the door and leaned her forehead against the glass for a moment. Please, she prayed. Please.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Caleb leaned against the side of the cow he was milking, finding the creature oddly comforting. He’d volunteered to do the milking, deciding he had to get away from the tension in the house for a bit, at least.

  Nancy was angry, of course. Someone had hurt one of her young, and she didn’t forgive that easily. She would subside for a while, but then she’d spurt up again. She’d taken to calling Katie and Rhoda “those Miller girls.”

  She’d even tried to get Mamm to say she wouldn’t go to the quilting. But Mamm, who usually didn’t disagree with Nancy, had been unexpectedly firm. It was foolish for grown-ups to get involved in their kinders’ quarrels.

  Nancy hadn’t liked that. Caleb felt sure that Andy was going to get an earful once he and Nancy were in the privacy of their room tonight.

  Ja, Caleb had been glad to escape to the barn. It was not so easy to escape from his guilt, though. He’d known Rhoda’s reputation from the beginning, and he’d let Becky get close to her.

  He’d like to believe that wasn’t because of Katie, but just the thought of her was like a knife in his side. She’d have been expecting him this afternoon, and he hadn’t come. Well, no, after what happened, she probably hadn’t expected him, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He ought to have sent word, somehow, that he wasn’t coming.

  Someone slipped into the barn through the open door, silent as a shadow. Becky. She put on a milking apron, got her stool and a bucket, and went to the next cow.

  “I thought I would help you, Onkel Caleb.”

  “That is gut.” He tried to find something helpful to say, but nothing came.

  “Milking is comfortable, I think,” he said finally. “Sabbath or not, the cows must be milked.”

  Becky’s hands began to work. Small, capable hands. The beasts liked her better than any of the boys, to tell the truth. She was gentle and sure. And quiet.

  “This is nice,” she said. “You are right. It is comfortable.” She hesitated. “It’s not comfortable in the house when Mamm is upset.”

  “No, I guess not.” His hands worked in rhythm with hers. “She is only angry because she loves you.”

  “I know. But . . . I don’t like to hear her say things about Rhoda.”

  “You don’t blame Rhoda for what happened?” He tried to keep his voice even.

  “Well . . . ja.” Becky’s words were muffled, as if she were leaning her head against the cow’s side. “But she’s so much fun, laughing and talking all the time. I guess I understand why Tommy would like her better than me.”

  “Don’t say that. You are sweet and kind, and that is more important.”

  A little sob broke the stillness, tearing at his heart. “I never had a friend like her before.”

  “I know.” He got up, walked around the cow, and bent to press his cheek against Becky’s head. “I know, little girl. It hurts when a friend lets you down.”

  Not just hurts. It tears you apart, so that you can never be whole again.

  No. That wasn’t going to happen to Becky. She wasn’t going to be like him. This was one of the sorrows that a person could get over. She would cry a little, grow a little, and get over it.

  Not like him. His idea that he could forget the past and start to live life again seemed foolish now. He couldn’t, and it was just as well he’d realized that.

  Katie came downstairs slowly on Monday morning, reluctant to face the day. Still, for Rhoda’s sake she had insisted that they act no different from usual. One day was enough to hide away and grieve over what had happened. Besides, Bishop Mose had been encouraging, hadn’t he?

  She stepped down the last step into the shop, frowning a little. It must be a darker morning out than she’d thought. The shop seemed filled with shadows. She turned toward the front and froze.

  Her mind seemed hardly able to accept what her eyes were seeing. Something obscured the plate glass window that displayed her quilts.

  Dread pooling in her stomach, Katie forced herself to walk closer, to see what was there. Paint. Someone had splashed red paint over the outside surface of the large plate glass windows. No words, just big, ugly splotches of paint.

  She took one shaky breath, then another, her stomach twisting rebelliously. She had to—she didn’t know what she had to do. Her mind was oddly blank.

  Footsteps on the stairs told her Rhoda was coming. She whirled, hands going out
, as if she could somehow protect Rhoda from the sight.

  But that was foolish. She couldn’t keep her sister from seeing this, or from jumping to the conclusion that it was, in some way, payback for what had happened on Saturday.

  “Rhoda—” She tried to find some word to prepare her, but Rhoda was too quick for her.

  She saw, and her face crumpled. “This is my fault.” She hovered on the edge of tears. “This happened because of me.”

  “We don’t know that.” Katie had to stay calm. She had to model for her little sister the behavior she expected from her.

  “It’s true,” Rhoda cried.

  “Hush,” she said. “Vandalism happens, and we both know how often it’s directed at the Amish. We may not be the only shop the vandals hit.”

  “Caleb’s windows weren’t touched.” Rhoda pointed out the obvious. Sunlight streamed through the clean windows of Caleb’s shop.

  “That doesn’t mean anything.” Katie didn’t convince herself, but somehow she had to convince Rhoda. “And even if it is because of someone blaming you, that doesn’t mean that you should blame yourself. That would just be doing what they want.”

  “But it’s not right, somebody hurting you because they are mad at me.” Rhoda’s eyes shimmered with tears, but she seemed determined not to let them spill over, which was good. “What will we do?”

  “We will do the right thing, even if someone else chose wrong. We’ll get some buckets and sponges and clean up. We’ll forgive, and we’ll move on.” She touched her sister’s arm in reassurance. “Komm. Let’s fetch what we’ll need.”

  Rhoda pressed her lips together. Then she gave a decisive nod and headed for the utility closet where the cleaning supplies were stored.

  Denke, Lord. Help me to help Rhoda. And help me to forgive.

  In a few minutes they were stepping out onto the sidewalk. Already people were stopping to gawk, staring or quickly averting their eyes when they saw them.

  Katie pasted a smile on her face and picked up a dripping sponge, sure that her face was red with a bad combination of anger and embarrassment. This was not going to be easy—either the cleaning up or being the focus of everyone’s interest.

  A few minutes of work showed her just how hard the cleaning part would be. Only the wettest of the paint came off with water. Most of it was securely dried on. It would take a lot of soap and water and scraping to get the window clean, if it could be done at all.

  Caleb undoubtedly had turpentine, but she couldn’t bring herself to go and ask. Besides, he was there in the shop—she could see him moving about in the back. If he could ignore this, he was even angrier than she’d thought.

  “Ms. Miller, this is terrible!” Cliff Wainwright hurried over to her, his glasses pushed on top of his head, making his gray hair stand on end. “I can’t believe someone would do this to your shop.”

  “I know.” She couldn’t either, but the evidence was running up her arm. She wiped away the rivulet of red before it could reach her sleeve. “It is such a mess.” Somehow it eased the tightness in her chest to talk to one person, at least, who shared her feelings.

  “Vandals. I don’t know what the world is coming to.” Cliff began rolling up his sleeves. “Do you have another sponge?”

  For a moment she was too startled to speak. “Ach, I can’t take you away from your shop to help me.”

  “Nonsense.” He reached a hand out for the sponge. “You would do the same for me, I’m sure.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and handed him the sponge.

  Moments later, Bishop Mose came striding down the sidewalk, his white beard ruffling so that it looked as agitated as his expression.

  “Katie, what a thing to happen. I came as soon as I heard. Others will be here to help, but I see that Cliff has beaten all of us.”

  Mr. Wainwright saluted him with a dripping sponge, apparently on good terms with the bishop. “I’m closer, so I got here faster.”

  “I will catch up with you soon.” Bishop Mose leaned over to study the paint. “We need some more scrapers, ain’t so? Caleb will have some. I’ll get him.”

  But before Katie could speak, before the bishop could move, the shop door opened. Caleb came out, holding a pail of soapy water and several scrapers.

  “These scrapers will work better on the dried stuff,” he said.

  Katie wasn’t sure who he was talking to—not her, since he didn’t look at her. Perhaps she was being unfair to think he hadn’t come out until the bishop’s presence made it impossible not to.

  “Gut, gut, chust what we need.” Bishop Mose grabbed a scraper and set to work, red flecks flying.

  “Bishop Mose, you don’t need to do that.” Katie felt whatever control she’d had over the situation slipping from her grasp. “I should . . .”

  The bishop made a clucking sound, reproving her. “I set an example for my people of what they should do. And you show your humility by letting others help you, ain’t so?”

  She could hardly argue with the bishop. “Ja,” she murmured. “That is so.” She glanced at Rhoda. To her relief, the girl seemed to be getting over her shock quickly. She worked amicably enough, it seemed, next to Mr. Wainwright.

  “I brought some extra buckets.” Lisa Macklin hurried up the walk, buckets clanging in her hands. “Just show me where to fill them.”

  Humility, Katie reminded herself. Gelassenheit. It would not be showing that most Amish of qualities to argue with each person who wanted to help. “This way.”

  By the time Katie and Lisa came back out, the buckets filled with soapy water, several more people had arrived to work, and Paula Schatz was setting up a coffee urn and trays of donuts.

  “Paula will have everyone in town out here when they smell her donuts,” Cliff Wainwright joked.

  “And so they should be,” Paula retorted. “Mennonite, Amish, or Englisch, something like this hurts all of us.” She leaned closer to Bishop Mose, lowering her voice. “Chief Walker is coming. He was having his morning coffee when we heard.”

  Katie was sure her dismay showed on her face. Bad enough that everyone in town knew . . . she didn’t want to be involved with the law. And judging by the stiffness of his back, Caleb Brand had found a new reason to disapprove of her.

  “It is all right.” Bishop Mose seemed to understand her thoughts. “The chief is bound to ask questions about such vandalism. Just give him honest answers. No one can blame you for what someone else has done.”

  Before she could digest that, Chief Walker arrived. She’d seen him around town, of course, but had never spoken to him. To her eyes the stocky man in a uniform had the same lines of wisdom and authority in his face as Bishop Mose. And the two of them greeted each other as equals.

  “Nasty thing to happen, Ms. Miller.” Chief Walker shook his head. “There’s been a rash of vandalism this spring, but none right in town before this. Kids, most likely, but that doesn’t mean they can get away with breaking the law.”

  Discovering she had nothing to say to his words, Katie waited, hands clasped, trying for calm.

  “You and your sister live over the shop, I understand.” The chief nodded toward the second floor. “Any chance you heard anything?”

  She shook her head. “I did not.” She glanced at her sister. “Rhoda?”

  “I didn’t hear anything, either.” Rhoda came to stand next to her. “Our bedrooms are at the back.”

  The chief nodded. “Natural enough. You were probably sound asleep, and they’d be careful not to make too much noise.” He glanced from one to another of her neighbors. “Anybody else hear anything or notice anything odd last night?”

  Silence for a moment. “Probably the same kids who painted bad words on John Mast’s barn,” Paula volunteered. “That was red paint, too.”

  “Bad words.” Cliff snorted a bit. “So illiterate they couldn’t spell anything with more than four letters.”

  “They’re getting brave, bringing their antics right into town. That�
�ll just make it easier to catch up with them.” Chief Walker brought his gaze back to Katie’s face. “But we don’t want to jump to conclusions. Can you think of anyone who had reason to pull a trick like this on you, Ms. Miller?”

  Just say the truth, the bishop had reminded her. “No. I can’t.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it too much.” Chief Walker became suddenly more human with his smile. “Between us, Bishop Mose and I have a pretty good idea of who’s behind any trouble like this that comes up. I’m the first to admit that if it’s Amish kids, he can deal with them better than I can.”

  “Ja, that’s so,” Bishop Mose said.

  “And if it’s English . . . well, I’ll catch up with them, and they’ll be doing worse than scraping off paint for their punishment, believe me.” Chief Walker strolled off, stopping to speak to a few other people as he went.

  Katie looked at Bishop Mose. “I don’t want to cause trouble for anyone.”

  “Ach, I know that fine. But Chief Walker was right. If they are Amish, I will find out.” He patted her hand. “It would be worse for them to get away with their wrongdoing, you see. Komm, we have cleaning up to finish. Soon the shop will look as gut as new, ain’t so?”

  She nodded, trying not to feel that it would take her a long time to forget, even when the paint was gone. She must try to look at this vandalism in a different way, although that seemed impossible right now.

  Caleb was here helping, cleaning paint from the windowpane with even strokes of the scraper. Whatever else he felt about her and Rhoda right now, he was being a good neighbor.

  And the rest of these people, some of whom she hardly knew by name—they were good neighbors, too. Amish, Englisch, Mennonite, they were her community. Whatever happened, she belonged here.

  Caleb came out of his bedroom door at the grossdaadi haus just as his mamm emerged from hers. He bent to kiss her. “Ready for breakfast?”

  She nodded, patting his cheek. “I will tell you a secret.” She leaned a little closer, smiling. “Sometimes I would like to have breakfast all by myself in my own little kitchen.”