Unexpectedly, she felt a sickening in her stomach at the thought of him bringing another girl to that same spot. With effort, she did her best to keep her features even and schooled. “I suppose this would be a good place to take a sweetheart.”
“Oh, she wasn’t a sweetheart.”
Lydia blinked, then realized they were having a communication problem. Every once in a while, the differences between being Amish and English were very pronounced. “Calling someone a sweetheart just means you’re courting. Not that you are in love and about to get married or anything,” she explained.
“Ah. Well, we weren’t really courting, either. We just went out a few times.”
“Jessica is a pretty name.”
“Yeah, it is.” His lips pursed and he gazed out into the distance, looking like he had a hundred things on his mind.
Or at least that he was thinking about something far away. He pumped his legs again, leaning back so that his elbows locked.
“Are you still seeing her?”
“Jessica? No.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” She was curious about him. Though she hated to admit it, her mother’s words were still spinning in her head. Had Walker been part of the reason for Perry’s fall from grace?
His head snapped her way. “Why do you care?”
She wasn’t sure. “I wouldn’t want one of your English girls to get the wrong impression.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I bet they’d be really worried if they saw me out here swinging with other girls.”
Now she felt embarrassed. Yes, she supposed to a college man like him, sitting alone with an Amish girl was about as meaningful as walking to class. But in her world, you didn’t spend one-on-one time with a member of the opposite sex unless you were courting.
Confused about her rambling thoughts, she kept her voice prim. “You don’t need to sound so full of yourself, English. Just because I don’t know your usual habits doesn’t mean I’m not aware of how men and women date.” She let her legs still and relax. And with that, her swing slowly fell, until it was barely swaying at all.
“Sorry. You’re fun to tease.” By her side, his swing fell as well. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about at Pizza Hut. About your parents’ news. Have you decided whether you’re going to do anything about it?”
That “anything” felt like a challenge. She’d been struggling with the idea of both forgetting about their revelation and investigating it further. “I don’t know,” she said finally.
“Are you mad at them?”
Was she? “I don’t know.” Now with her feet solidly on the ground, she attempted to explain what was happening. “My parents seem hurt that I haven’t taken their news, smiled, and kept on living as if nothing changed.”
“Really? They thought you’d be unfazed?”
“I think so.” Or did they? She was close to her parents, but no matter how close they were, conversations like this weren’t something they did much. “I’m not altogether sure how they thought I would react.” She thought about it some more. “I guess they knew I would be upset. Otherwise they would have told me earlier, right?”
Walker nodded.
Still half talking to herself, Lydia added, “My parents wanted me to put the conversation behind me and go on like nothing was different. I couldn’t do that.” She turned to him. “I guess I am mad.”
Hopping off the swing, he held out a hand to her. “I would be.”
She took his hand and stood up. His hand felt calloused and warm against her own skin. For a moment, his grip tightened, then his hand dropped.
“I’m mad,” she said again. “And yet, at the same time, I feel almost grateful to them, too.”
“Why?”
“All my life, I’ve wondered about myself. I’ve felt like part of the family and all, but a little different, too. Sometimes, things would happen and everyone else would just nod and go along with it, but it wouldn’t feel the same for me. It felt like something was missing.”
“Maybe God was biding His time? Waiting for the right time to let you know?”
“Maybe.” She frowned. “But I don’t understand why He thinks now is the right time.”
His expression was shadowed as he pointed to the sidewalk that circled the perimeter of the park. “Hey, want to walk for a while?”
“Sure.” Happy to leave the conversation behind, she fell into step beside him. Together, they walked silently along the cracked path. Weeds had grown along the edges, and the narrowing path forced them to either walk single file or closer together. They moved closer together.
As the breeze rustled her black bonnet covering her kapp, she sighed. “It’s pretty out.”
He glanced her way, seemed to look at her closely for the first time. “It is pretty here,” he said, sounding a bit surprised.
Her cheeks heated, though surely the way she’d felt his gaze hadn’t meant anything? Glancing his way again, she noticed that he was staring straight in front of him. However, his stride had shortened to match hers. She was shorter than he, the top of her head only reached his chin. But walking like they were, staying side by side, it felt like they were a pair.
They continued walking, dodged a pair of branches that needed trimming. All the while, Lydia found herself appreciating the silence. Somehow being quiet by his side was better than being alone with her thoughts.
Perhaps this was what she needed to do more often? Just walk and let things happen? Just be happy with her situation? After all, did it really matter who her birth mother was? All she really needed was her faith and the family who raised her, right?
“One of the reasons I wanted to talk with you is that I’ve been going through some of the same things,” Walker said.
“Things like what?”
He shrugged. “Did you know my grandparents are Amish?”
She shook her head. “Who are they?”
“Francis and James Anderson. Do you know them?”
“Nee, though the name sounds a little familiar.”
“They don’t live real close to here. About forty minutes away.”
“That would explain it. If they’re in a different church district, our paths wouldn’t cross all that much.”
“Maybe so. Anyway, my sister, Abby, really likes being with them.” He glanced at her quickly. “She’s never said anything, but sometimes I get the feeling that she’d rather live with them than with us. Maybe she wants to be Amish? I don’t know.”
“Really? I’ve never heard of someone wanting to be Amish.”
“But it happens sometimes, right?”
Lydia nodded. “I suppose it does. I guess I was wrong using the word ‘never.’ Sometimes people do join our community. It just doesn’t happen often. It’s a different life, jah?”
“It is.” They rounded a bend and stopped. An ancient ash tree had fallen across the path, blocking their way. Walker pressed a boot on the trunk but it didn’t budge. “Looks like this is as far as we can go.”
She walked to his side. “I guess you’re right.” Taking a breath, she said, “Walker, that night in December . . . when we were all outside the Schrocks’ . . . did you have a feeling that something bad was going to happen to Perry?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I was trying to stay away from him, if you want to know the truth. I was sick of him.”
“I wanted to avoid him, too,” she murmured. In December, she’d still been so rattled by the things he’d done. By the way he’d tried to force himself on her. Clearing her throat, she said, “That night, he stopped to talk to us.”
“I remember.”
“We were cruel.”
“All anyone did was ignore him.”
“Not Jacob,” she reminded him.
“What Jacob did isn’t any of our business.”
Lydia supposed Walker had a point. But she still didn’t feel like she could let that episode go. “But, Walker, maybe if we had tried harder to keep Perry on the right path . .
. if we’d been better friends, maybe Perry would never have left. Maybe he’d still be here.”
His lips thinned into a hard line. “Don’t go there. No sense feeling guilty about something we can’t do anything about.”
“I never told the detective about that night. Did you?”
“Of course not.”
“Maybe we should tell the detective that we saw him—”
“If we do that, he’ll never leave us alone. He’ll want to know everyone’s name who was there.” Staring hard at her, he said, “You know the others won’t appreciate us for talking, Lydia.” Turning away, he started walking back toward his car. “We should say nothing.”
She rushed to keep up, her black tennis shoes slipping a bit on the slick spots. “You know, the detective’s going to keep askin’ us questions about Perry and what we knew until he gets more answers.”
“I suppose it’s his job to do that,” Walker said. “But I don’t want to worry about those questions until we have to.”
“You don’t think we’re just hiding our heads in the sand?”
“No . . . Besides, I don’t know who killed him.”
“I don’t know either,” she said quickly.
Pain flashed in his eyes. “You’re going to think I’m horrible, but sometimes I wish Sheriff Kramer would give up. You know—say that there’s no way anyone is ever going to find out what happened. Then we could all forget about it.”
Lydia didn’t bother telling Walker that she felt the same way. Her feelings weren’t something to be proud of, and they weren’t something to be shared. If she wanted the police to forget about murder, then it would mean that she wanted to forget about Perry . . .
Although that had been what she’d been trying to do.
Embarrassed by her train of thought, uncomfortable about their decision to keep their secrets hidden, she blurted, “When is your next day off work, Walker?”
“In three days. Want to meet me here at the same time? Can you do that?”
“Yes. I’ll be here.”
He opened his car door. “You want a ride back to your place?”
“Nee, Danke. I’d rather walk. Goodbye, Walker.”
“Hold on a sec—”
But she kept walking. Talking to him had brought up too many emotions. She was embarrassed that she was more worried about getting questioned than helping the detective discover the murderer. Embarrassed about the feelings she was starting to have for Walker . . . and as confused as ever about her relationship with her parents.
So even though it was rude of her, she kept walking. Sometimes a person had to follow her instincts . . . even if those instincts weren’t anything to be proud of.
Abby, you ever going to tell us why you are spending so much time here?”
Abby looked up from the scrapbook of postcards her grandparents had collected from their latest trip. She’d gotten a ride over before Walker got busy. She was happy to come and help her grandmother make yeast rolls, and to hear about their recent bus trip to Washington, D.C. “I’m here because I like being with you and Grandpa.”
“We like being with you, too. But I don’t think that’s why you’re spending your days here. A young girl like you should be with your friends, don’tcha think?”
Abby bit her lip. Gathering her courage, she followed Grandma Francis into the kitchen. “I don’t have a lot of friends right now.”
“And why is that?”
Abby wanted to lay the blame on finding Perry’s body, but it was so obvious that that discovery had been the least of her problems. “I’m different.”
Her grandmother eyed her carefully before nodding and turning to a pitcher of lemonade. “Care for some lemonade, Abby? Perhaps we could sip on it while we go outside. It was getting a bit stuffy in the living room, I think.”
“All right.” After her grandmother poured two glasses, she followed her out the back door.
To Abby’s surprise, instead of stopping at the wooden swing hanging on the front porch, her grandmother kept walking. And walking.
They passed the large barn, and the smaller barn that held the chickens and extra grain and hay. They walked along the carefully manicured walkway with blooming roses and freshly planted begonias and geraniums, entered a fenced-in area, and finally stopped at the front of her grandmother’s vegetable garden.
It was large; no doubt three or four yards wide and at least double the amount in length. Row upon row of freshly tilled soil greeted her. Only a few sprigs of green were visible.
“Grandma, I don’t think I’ve ever been out here before.”
“No, I didn’t think you had. It’s a gut garden, don’tcha think?”
“It looks bigger up close than from your porch.”
“Most things do look bigger up close, I imagine.” Still sipping on her lemonade, she scanned the area. “This garden gives me great comfort, Abby.”
“I bet.”
“It didn’t used to. Used to be, when my mamm would send me out to weed, I’d wish I was anywhere but here.” She frowned slightly. “I promise, no one could think of as many other important things to do instead of weeding than I could.”
Abby grinned. “I’m trying to imagine you shirking chores. I can’t.”
Bending down, Grandma scooped up a small handful of dirt and cupped it in her hand. “One day when I was working so hard to do anything but what I was supposed to . . . something occurred to me.” Her hand splayed out and the dark rich soil fell through her fingers back to the earth.
After watching it land with a satisfied smile, she glanced Abby’s way. “I realized that weeding the unwanted debris makes the plants we’re nurturing have more room to grow. When I made that decision, I didn’t mind being out in the garden near as much. Abby, maybe you, too, should stop fighting what is in front of you. Perhaps you should put aside some of your worries and concentrate on what is really bothering you.”
“I’m not fighting anything—and I already know what is really bothering me. I need a new start, Grandma.”
“Maybe what you need is to stop and give thanks for what you have to be grateful for—your family, your friends . . . even your independence. Perhaps it is time to look at it all in a new way.” Poking the dirt with one finger, she grinned. “Ah, look at that, wouldja? Another dandelion weed.” With a fierce tug, she pulled it from the soil. “Ah, now I am sure this tomato plant will have room to grow.” Turning to her, she said, “Abby, it’s time. . . . It’s time to let the past stay in the past and spend some time with some people your age.”
Her grandmother was speaking in riddles. “But I like being with you and Grandpa.”
“We like you being here, but for you to only be here . . . it’s not right.”
She flushed. “Grandma, I haven’t been spending so much time here because I’m avoiding my life.”
Grandma Francis raised her brows but said nothing.
Which made Abby realize it was time to blurt the truth. “I’ve been coming over because I think I want to be like you two. I want to be Amish.” Abby held her breath, half prepared for her grandmother to start tearing up. Or get all emotional and hug her close.
Telling her how happy she was.
But instead, her grandmother leaned back on her heels and looked anything but happy. “Oh, Abigail. Truly?”
The lump that had been forming in her throat almost choked her as Abby struggled to express herself. “I’ve thought about it a lot, Grandma. A whole lot.”
“Hmm.”
She rushed on. “Because I’ve been thinking about this so much, I’m sure becoming Amish is the right thing for me. I don’t like makeup and I do like to help you can vegetables.”
“I see.” Her tone sounded skeptical. “No makeup and liking vegetables . . . these things mean you should change your whole life?”
“Of course not. But you know what I mean.” Feeling slightly foolish, Abby pressed her case. “Plus, if I become Amish, I can stay here with you and help you. All da
y long.”
“And you think I need all that help?”
Gesturing toward the fields where Grandpa James was out walking, she said, “This is a big farm, Grandma. Plus, if I’m here, helping you, I won’t have to go to school anymore. Or go to college.”
“Ach.”
Abby flinched at the word. Warily, she glanced at her grandmother.
Her quick glance turned into a full-fledged gaping stare as she realized what was happening. Yep, it was true. Her grandmother was laughing. “Grandma? Are you laughing at me?”
A lined hand clasped her shoulder and pulled her close. Next thing she knew, Abby was being hugged by two thin arms with a force so strong and stalwart that it didn’t seem like anything could disturb it. “I’m not laughing at you, child. Well, not too much.”
“But I thought you’d be happy with my decision.”
“Hmm. You’ve certainly taken me by surprise.”
“I promise, I’ve thought a lot about this. And I’m serious, Grandma. I think I’d be a great Amish woman.”
Her grandmother stepped away and led the way from the garden. She seemed to be deep in thought as they walked back to the house. Abby took that as a sign to be patient.
When they got to the front porch, her grandmother sat on the front stoop and gestured Abby to sit next to her. “You don’t have to be Amish for me to love you, Granddaughter.”
“I know that. I want to be Amish because I think I’ll fit in better.”
“You fit in with your grandfather and me just fine.”
“I mean I’ll fit in better with everyone else.”
“And have you mentioned this decision to your family? It seems a mighty big one to make.”
“I told Walker.”
“What about your parents, Abby?” she asked patiently. “What about your father?”
Abby shrank from the question. Though her dad had always made it clear that he loved his parents dearly, it had also been very clear that he had no regrets about the choices he’d made regarding his religion.
And though she’d never asked him what he might think if she became Amish, she instinctively knew he would be upset. “I haven’t told my parents,” she finally admitted.
Missing with Bonus Material: The Secrets of Crittenden County, Book One Page 10
