A Plain Disappearance

by Amanda Flower

  “You courted her for a long time.”

  Caleb cracked his knuckles. “Who told you this? Timothy Troyer? What would he know? He left the district when I was still a child in the Christmas program.”

  I took a small step backward. “I didn’t hear it from Timothy.”

  “It is no matter.”

  “Why did you stop courting Katie?”

  “Unless you have something important to say to me, I have nothing to say to you.” He started to move away.

  “What about Nathan Garner? Should I speak to him about Katie? Isn’t he a friend of yours?” I asked my questions quickly. Even though my voice was low, I became aware of the adults exiting the schoolhouse watching us. I should have heeded Timothy’s headshake. The schoolyard was not the right place to question Caleb.

  Caleb froze in place and spun on his heels to face me. A black cloud passed over his face. “Nathan Garner is not my friend.”

  “Because of Katie?”

  He clenched and unclenched his gloved hand, glaring at me. Then he turned and stalked away, uttering in Pennsylvania Dutch.

  “Chloe Humphrey, you are one gutsy woman,” Timothy said from behind me. “What were you doing talking to Caleb King like that? He’s three times your size.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “So you think this wasn’t the best time?”

  He buttoned the top button on his coat. “No, it wasn’t. What did he tell you?”

  I told him, then I conveyed my conversation with Anna and Ruth behind the outhouse.

  From across the schoolyard, Deacon Sutter glared at us.

  Timothy shook his head. “Well, I watched the two of you the whole time to make sure he didn’t try anything.”

  “What would he try?”

  Timothy pursed his lips. “Who knows? He’s unpredictable. You on the other hand are brave to march right up to him like that.”

  “Me? Brave?” I never thought of myself that way. My best friend Tanisha had always been the brave one. She was the one living halfway across the world in a foreign country. I was barely three hours from the town I’d lived in my entire life.

  “I can tell you don’t believe me.”

  “I don’t.”

  He squeezed my hand. “And that just makes the quality even more attractive.”

  Chapter Twelve

  All the lights were on in the simple, white-steepled church in the middle of Appleseed Creek. The lamppost in the yard wore a Christmas evergreen spray and a big red bow. The front doors, which led from the greeting hall into the sanctuary, had green wreaths with matching bows.

  The Mennonite congregation of Appleseed Creek was not conservative. The women wore everything to services, from long, almost Amish-looking skirts to jeans. Becky and Timothy were members of the choir, but there was also a praise band with an electric bass player. What had Timothy and Becky thought the first time they stepped into this church? Although the service wasn’t much different from those I once attended with the Green family in Shaker Heights, they must be a world apart from the all-German services Becky and Timothy grew up with in which men and women sat on different sides of the living room of an Amish family’s home.

  The organ music began, and the choir marched down the center aisle singing “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” As Timothy walked by in his royal blue choir robe, he winked at me. The shimmery fabric was a far cry from the plain style he’d worn most of his life. Becky looked angelic. If she sprouted wings and started strumming a harp, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. If Aaron had been there, he would have fainted dead away. As a baptized Amish man, Aaron spent Christmas Eve with his family within the Amish district.

  The choir members took their places in the loft, and the pastor began his greeting. My pew was half full. At the far end was a young family with a baby gumming a teething ring. Between the family and me sat a middle-aged couple, the woman wearing a long skirt and her hair pulled back into a bun, much like the Amish.

  Someone stopped at my pew. “Is this seat taken?”

  The voice sent a chill down my body. I couldn’t look at him. “No.”

  Curt slipped into the pew and stood next to me. “I’m glad, because I was hoping that we could sit together, Red.”

  Reflexively, I slid over in the pew and knocked into the heavyset woman on my other side. She shot me a dirty look. So much for the Christmas spirit.

  Becky watched from the choir, her mouth dropping open.

  Timothy’s eyes bored into me and looked ready to lunge off the stage.

  I bit my lip. Should I move? Should I stay?

  The pastor finished making announcements, and the first hymn began. The congregation rose as one. Curt, not knowing the cue, jumped up at the last minute. I opened my hymnal to the correct page and handed it to Curt. He held it in his hands as if it had teeth and might snap closed like an alligator’s jaw.

  I pulled a second hymnal from the back of the pew and found my page as the organist began the first notes of “Angels We Have Heard on High.”

  The woman next to me belted out the carol as if she was performing in center stage at Severance Hall. I used her volume to my advantage and slid a glance at Curt. “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

  The corner of his mouth curved up. “What, Red? You don’t think I am worthy enough for your religion?”

  Heat rushed to my face, and I turned my eyes down to the music in my hands. Mercifully, the song finally ended and the congregation sat.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat through the Scripture reading and congregational prayer. Curt stared straight ahead, never once glancing in my direction. Was he paying attention? Was he interested in what he heard? The organ started up again for yet another carol, “O Come, All Ye Faithful.”

  Curt popped up to standing, but this was the hymn in which the congregation was asked to remain seated. People in other pews stared at Curt. His forehead bunched and his face turned red. In the many times Curt and I had come face-to-face, I’d seen almost every emotion cross his face, but I had never seen him self-conscious. He didn’t sit down. His knees locked into place.

  I stood and handed him the hymnal, and he gave me the first real smile I’d ever seen from him. It wasn’t a smirk or a leer, but a tiny and genuine grin. By the second verse the entire congregation was standing, even the irritated woman next to me.

  The song ended, and Curt sank into his seat.

  My gaze shifted toward the front where Hannah Hilty wrinkled her nose as she examined my companion and me. She tossed her head and her silky brown hair hit the woman behind her in the mouth.

  I bowed my head to cover laughter bubbling up from within me. Who knew that I would spend my first Christmas Eve in Appleseed Creek with two of the people in the world who disliked me so much? All I needed was my evil stepmother to finish off the glaring trifecta.

  When I brought my face up again, I found Timothy watching me. His expression moved from anger to concern as his hardened eyes softened. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask whether I was okay. I gave the smallest of nods, yes.

  I sat the rest of the service, hyper aware of Curt’s proximity to me. I scooted closer to the woman to my right. She set her purse, which could have passed for a saddlebag, between us to stop my encroachment on her space. Curt didn’t seem to notice. He watched the front of the church with studied attention.

  Finally, the pastor gave the benediction and filed out, followed by the choir. Timothy paused beside Curt.

  “Nice dress, Buggy Boy,” Curt said just loud enough for both Timothy and me to hear.

  The choir member behind Timothy tapped him on the back with his bulletin, urging him to start moving again.

  Curt leaned against the back of the pew. “Guess Buggy Boy’s not too happy about us being together.”

  “We aren’t together,” I shot back.

  Curt sucked on his front teeth. “That hurts. It really does.”

  I almost apologized, but I stopped myself. The pew emptied out into the
side aisle, and I stood. “What are you doing here? Really?”

  “Can’t a man celebrate the birth of Baby Jesus?”

  “Yes. I—I didn’t mean—”

  He stood and was inches from my face. I smelled the chew tobacco on his breath. “Merry Christmas, Red.” Then he melted into the line of parishioners leaving the church. I fell back onto the pew bench stunned. What just happened? Had I just spent my first Christmas Eve service in Appleseed Creek sitting next to Curt Fanning, my arch enemy?

  I whispered a prayer. “Dear Lord, what is going on?”

  Five minutes later Timothy slid into the pew next to me, his brow furrowed. “What was that?”

  I shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Not much. A few snide comments, but I’ve heard much worse from him.”

  Timothy’s fingers intertwined with mine on the pew’s smooth wooden seat.

  “I think he was just here to go to church.”

  Timothy snorted. “I don’t believe that for a second. If that’s true, why’d he seek you out? He wanted to scare you, like before.”

  I didn’t feel scared, only confused by Curt’s action. “When I saw him earlier, he was alone just like tonight. This is the second time I’ve seen him without Brock.”

  “Maybe they had a falling out.”

  “Maybe . . .” my voice trailed off.

  Timothy clenched his jaw. “There is something more to this. He wants to torment you. That’s all he’s ever wanted since the day you met him.”

  I frowned, remembering how Curt was so embarrassed about standing up at the wrong time and so grateful I stood beside him. I shook my head. Maybe I imagined his grateful attitude. Maybe Timothy was right. Curt was trying a new way to torment me. He’d tried everything else. Why not bother me in church too?

  I sighed and glanced around the sanctuary. Ladies from the church were up front watering the poinsettias on either side of the altar. “Where’s Becky?”

  Timothy stood and pulled me up beside him. “Handing out invitations to her Christmas party tomorrow.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “I thought she already sent invitations.”

  “She has. Twice. This is the third set she’s passing out. She’s also begging for RSVPs. I’ve never seen her so excited about something like she is about this party.”

  Hannah walked up the aisle with a companion and stopped at our pew. “Timothy, I’d like you to meet someone.” Her too-sweet voice set my teeth on edge.

  Hannah and a dark-haired young man stepped in front of us. The guy was tall. Timothy was six foot one and the guy with Hannah had five inches on him.

  Timothy and I slipped out of the pew.

  Hannah looped her arm through her companion’s. “This is Justin. He’s my boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend? The last time I checked, Hannah had been determined to give Timothy that title. By the way both of his eyebrows rose, Timothy appeared surprised too.

  Hannah gazed up into Justin’s face. “He’s home from college for Christmas. He plays basketball for the University of Kentucky.”

  The basketball I could understand, considering his height.

  Timothy held out his hand to shake Justin’s. “Nice to meet you. Are you from Knox County?”

  “Mount Vernon,” Justin said, his voice deep and rumbling, but his eyes wide in a semi-stunned expression.

  Hannah flipped her silky brunette hair. “Justin’s mother and mine are old friends. We’ve known each other since we were children.” She leaned her head against Justin’s shoulder.

  I tried not to gag. “That’s so nice for you both.”

  “It is.” Hannah removed her arm from Justin’s. “Go get my coat.”

  The basketball player leaped into action and hurried out of the sanctuary.

  Hannah stared at Timothy. “He’s everything I ever hoped for and could never find in anyone else.”

  Timothy just smiled at Hannah’s dig. “He seems to be very attentive.”

  “He is,” she said smugly, half-turning toward me. “Merry Christmas to you both,” she said, and then left the sanctuary.

  Timothy’s eyes twinkled. “Hannah finally found the perfect boyfriend.”

  “I hope so. It would be the best Christmas present that I could ever receive.”

  Timothy led me down the church’s center aisle. “Even better than the necklace that I gave you?”

  I winked at him. “A close second, at least.” Together we collected Becky in the greeting hall as she passed out party invitations by the fistful.

  I grimaced. The Quills had been gracious and told us we could throw a small holiday party in their home. I suspected that our landlords’ interpretation of small varied greatly from Becky’s.

  “Okay, okay,” Timothy said as he approached his sister. “Everyone here has heard about the party. Stop pestering people.”

  She narrowed her bright blue eyes at her brother. “People need to know about it. I put a lot of time and energy into planning this.”

  Timothy stacked the remaining invitations in his hand and gave them to me. “Trust me, we know.” Before she could argue, he added, “And the party will be great. Full of special surprises.”

  Becky’s scowl evaporated, and her face broke into a grin.

  I dropped the invitations to the bottom of my purse. “Special surprises? Like what?”

  Becky started to laugh and then hurried to the cloakroom to collect our coats.

  A mischievous twinkle lighted Timothy’s eyes in a way I hadn’t seen before. I gaped at him.

  “What?” he said.

  Becky came back with our things, and Timothy helped me into my winter coat.

  I wrapped my scarf around my throat. “You’re not going to tell me?”

  Becky bounced up and down, and Timothy reached over and covered her mouth as if afraid she’d burst out and share the secret.

  “I’ll figure it out for myself,” I huffed. “I am a detective of sorts. Ask Chief Rose.”

  That only made Timothy and Becky chuckle.

  We stepped out into the cold, snowy Christmas Eve night, and I was left hoping for a good surprise—and no more bad surprises like the one we found behind the Gundy barn just the day before.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Christmas morning my eyes opened automatically at six a.m., as if my alarm clock had rung, and I still had no idea what the big surprise was. Laying in the bedroom of one of the Quills’ grown daughters, I had to remind myself where I was and that today was Christmas morning. Back in Shaker Heights there would have been little doubt. Tanisha’s younger brother Tyson always ran around the house at five thirty a.m., trying to convince the adults to wake up because it was time to open presents. Usually, Tanisha and I took little coaxing. I thought of my friend in Italy realizing her Christmas was half over by the time I had opened my eyes.

  Gigabyte circled my head and yowled. As long as I was awake, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t be entitled to breakfast. I ran my hand along the coarse hair of his tawny-colored back. From the bookshelves, dozens of pairs of eyes watched me. Growing up, the Quills’ daughter had been a collector of porcelain dolls. Since she left them here when she moved out, I could only assume she was over her doll phase. That or her husband refused to let them in their home. If that’s how he felt, I agreed with him. Fifty or so dolls sat on specially made shelves directly across from the bed. It had taken me a few weeks to be able to sleep in the same room with all those staring eyes.

  I slid my feet into my blue fuzzy slippers. “Is Becky awake?” I asked the cat.

  He gave me a haughty look, as if to say, “If she were awake, do you think I would be talking to you?”

  Becky spoiled my cat with bacon and sausage in the morning, and tuna and hamburger in the evening. The best I could offer was a can of cat food. I poked his belly with my index finger. “You’re getting a little round around the middle. If you’re not careful, the vet’s going to make me put you on
a diet.”

  He swiped at my hand with claws out.

  I retracted my finger. “Okay, okay.” I guessed no one appreciated criticism about their waistline—even a cat.

  I grabbed my hoodie off the carved, pink provincial desk chair and slipped it on.

  In the kitchen, I stared out the back window that faced east and opened into a view of lush farmland. No partition divided the Quills’ property and the farm more than a mile away. The sky had that gray quality that promised dawn and perhaps more snow. It was a beautiful Christmas morning. Perhaps the most naturally beautiful I had ever seen.

  There weren’t sunrises like this in Cleveland, yet still, I felt hollow. Happy as I was to be in Appleseed Creek with the Troyers, for the first time, I wondered if I should have gone home for the holidays and spent Christmas with the Greens. The Greens were my home. Tanisha’s mom invited me several times, but I’d insisted that I wanted to stay in Appleseed Creek. Was that a mistake? As much as the Troyers included me, here I was still separated by language, by tradition, and by the past.

  Thoughts of Christmas traditions made me think about my parents, about Christmas before my mother died, before my father turned cold. I remembered my mother, who loved Christmas as much as a kindergartner, and how she would wake us up at five on Christmas morning to open gifts. I remembered the homemade French toast my father made for breakfast while Mom and I cleaned up the wrapping paper scattered around the living room floor.

  Did my father, Sabrina, and the children like the Christmas gift cards I sent them? Gift cards seemed so generic, but I learned from painful experience that it was better to do that than to pick something out myself that Sabrina would complain about having to return to the store.

  I glanced at the stack of Christmas cards on the kitchen counter. A card was all I received from my father’s family this year. My stepmother had signed the card simply, “The Humphrey Family.” The signature came off as a pointed insult, a marked exclusion. The urge to rip the card in half was almost overpowering when I read it. Instead, I buried it in the stack of more sincere holiday greetings.

  I touched my cell phone in the pocket of my hoodie. Should I call Dad and Sabrina and wish them a Merry Christmas? Isn’t that what a good daughter would do? The clock on the microwave read six thirty a.m. It would only be three thirty in California—far too early to call. Relief and guilt mingled in my stomach. I filled a glass with tap water and drank it down.