A Sister's Hope

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  I’m just being paranoid, she told herself. Everything’s fine. ‘Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord,’ she quoted from Psalm 31:24. It was a verse she’d learned as a child.

  “Luke, are you awake?” she called, shining her flashlight toward the hayloft.

  Woof! Woof!

  “Quiet, Heidi; it’s only me.” Martha recognized her female sheltie’s bark and figured she must have taken the dog by surprise when she’d entered the barn.

  Holding the flashlight in front of her, she moved toward the back of the barn where the kennels were located. Heidi wagged her tail when she saw Martha, and Martha was glad to see that everything was okay. She just needed to talk to Luke and get the evidence she’d hidden under the mound of hay in the loft.

  She reached through the wire fence and patted the top of the dog’s head. “Go back to sleep, girl. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Martha made her way to the ladder leading to the hayloft and climbed up. “Luke, are you up here?”

  No response.

  She shinned the light around but saw no sign of him. I wonder where he could be? Maybe he’s in one of the empty stalls.

  She dug through the mound of hay, opened the box, and picked up the wrench and glove.

  Thump! Thump!

  “Luke, is that you?”

  No response.

  There was a muffled grunt, and then an arm reached out and grabbed her around the waist.

  “Luke, I—”

  Slap!

  Martha gasped as a hand connected to her face. She dropped the glove, but her fingers tightened around the wrench.

  “You’re gonna pay for every year I suffered. You and your family are gonna pay!”

  Martha swallowed against the bitter taste of bile rising in her throat. Even without seeing the man’s face, she knew who it was.

  Rosemary punched her pillow and tried to find a comfortable position. She’d been tossing and turning in bed for nearly two hours. She couldn’t seem to relax, couldn’t keep the negative thoughts out of her head. What if Judith never got better? What if the attacks continued and they never found out who was doing them? What if Roman had put himself in danger by hiding out at his house?

  The words of Romans 12:12 popped into her head: “Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer.”

  Rosemary slipped from her bed and went down on her knees. “Heavenly Father, the attacks against my brother and his family have affected each one in a different way. I pray that You will give everyone a sense of peace and the faith to put their hope in You. Help them learn patience in waiting for answers and remind us all that our strength comes from You. Amen.”

  As Rosemary got to her feet, she made a decision. She would get dressed and drive over to Roman’s house. Since she couldn’t sleep anyhow, the least she could do was keep him company during his nighttime vigil.

  “Did ya hear what I said? You’re gonna pay—each and every one of you has gotta pay!”

  “What are you talking about?” Martha pointed the flashlight at John. “Why are you dressed in Amish clothes?”

  He yanked on her arm, pulling her over to a bale of hay, and shoved her down. She smelled alcohol on his breath, and his clothes reeked of smoke. How odd. She’d never known him to drink or smoke. But then, she didn’t really know him that well. None of them did. John had moved to the area a few years ago and opened a woodworking shop nearby. He’d been helpful and kind—like any good neighbor should—but they didn’t really know him.

  John sank down beside Martha and clutched at his head. “He. . . he made me do it.”

  “Who made you do what, John?” Martha hoped her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

  “It. . .it’s Roman’s fault—Harold said so.”

  “Who’s Harold?”

  John groaned. “Said it was ’cause I liked wood. Said I reminded him of Roman.”

  Martha had no idea what John was talking about or why he was dressed in Amish clothes, but she knew by the tone of John’s voice that he was deeply troubled.

  “Say, where’d you get that?” John pointed to the object Martha held in her hand.

  She glanced at the wrench and wondered if she dared—

  “I said, where’d you get that?” He leaned closer and snatched the wrench out of her hand.

  “I. . .uh. . .Luke found it in the field after my dad’s shop was blown up.” Luke. Oh, Luke, where are you? Martha shined the flashlight around the hayloft. She couldn’t see a mattress. If Luke was here, there should be a mattress. But if Luke wasn’t here, why had she found the barn door unlocked? The padlock wasn’t broken. Could John have crawled up a ladder and entered the barn through the small window in the hayloft like Luke had last night? Or could he. . .

  “Gimme that!” John snatched the flashlight out of Martha’s hands, clicked it off, and tossed it on the floor. “What was Luke doin’ in the field with Harold’s wrench?”

  “Who is Harold?”

  “Harold Crawford—my stepdad.” John sounded more coherent.

  Maybe the effects of the alcohol were beginning to wear off.

  “Did the wrench belong to your stepdad?”

  “Harold’s dead. Mom gave me his tools. Guess she figured I needed somethin’ to remember him by.” John’s tone was bitter, and a groan escaped his lips. “I’ve got a lot more’n a few tools to remember Harold by.”

  A shaft of light from the moon shone in through the hayloft window, and Martha’s mouth went dry as she saw John run his fingers over the bridge of his crooked nose. A nose that had obviously been broken at some point.

  She looked at the wrench in his hands and thought about the initials she’d seen engraved there. H. C. Those must stand for Harold Crawford.

  Martha didn’t understand why John had brought up his stepdad, or how the man’s wrench had ended up in their field. She was about to ask, when John leaned forward and began to sob. “No! No! Don’t hit me no more, Harold. Ple–ease it’s not my fault. I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

  Martha wasn’t sure what to do. John was clearly upset, but he’d also been drinking. Should she try to run away from him or stay here and try to offer comfort?

  She reached out and touched John’s shoulder. “Did your stepdad abuse you, John?”

  John’s head jerked up, and he leaned so close to Martha that she could feel and smell his hot, putrid breath on her face. “Harold—worked for Roman—’til he got fired.” His words were short and choppy, and he spoke to Martha as if she were a stranger.

  “Who got fired?” Martha asked.

  “Harold.”

  “My dad fired your stepdad?”

  “Roman fired Harold.”

  “How come?”

  John rubbed his forehead with one hand and clung to the wrench with the other hand. “Harold came to work late—after he’d been drinkin’.” He paused, drew in a quick breath, and released it with a shudder. “Got fired—went out drinkin’ some more—came home—beat the stuffing outta me and Mom.”

  Martha gasped as a light began to dawn, but John spoke again before she could comment. “Harold begged Roman—‘Gimme my job back’—Roman said no—Harold drank even more.”

  “Did Harold try to find another job?”

  “Said he couldn’t find one. Moved us to Oregon ’cause that’s where his brother lived. Said he might have a job for Harold.” John clutched Martha’s arm, and his nails dug into her flesh. “Harold hated Roman for firin’ him. I hate Roman, too! It’s his fault Harold drank. It’s his fault Harold beat me and Mom when he got drunk.” John touched the side of his nose again. “I never shed a tear at his funeral, neither.”

  “I’m sorry you and your mother were mistreated, but—”

  “Roman’s gotta pay! It’s Roman’s fault Harold couldn’t find a job. It’s Roman’s fault Harold hated me! Roman’s gotta pay for every year we suffered!”

  Martha’s heart pounded so hard she hea
rd it echo in her head. “Are. . .are you the one who’s done all those horrible things to us?” she asked, already knowing the answer but not wanting to believe it. Ever since John had moved to Holmes County and opened his own woodworking business, he’d been nice to them, loaning Dad tools, buying Martha’s dog, and offering his assistance in any way it was needed. It was unthinkable that he could have done such hateful things. It was as if he were two different people—one kind and helpful, the other hateful and full of revenge. John Peterson was a sick man who obviously needed help.

  “I did most of those things.” John emitted a high-pitched laugh. “Made it look like it was Luke.”

  It was all coming together. John had befriended Luke and then tried to make it look like Luke had been the culprit so no one would suspect it was John.

  “Why did you come here tonight?” Martha dared to ask.

  “Came to burn this barn down; that’s why I came.”

  Martha’s palms grew sweaty as she thought about the dream she’d had where the barn was on fire. Had it been a warning of things to come?

  “You can’t do this, John.” Martha struggled not to cry. She had to remain calm. She couldn’t let him know how frightened she felt.

  Dear God, she silently prayed, show me what to do.

  “Who’s gonna stop me from burnin’ the barn?” Before Martha could respond, John grabbed her around the neck and jerked her to his side. “If you tell Harold, you’re gonna burn, too.”

  “I wish you’d believe me, Roman,” Luke said as he paced in front of the kitchen table. Even though it was dark in the kitchen and Roman couldn’t see Luke’s face, he could tell by the tone of his voice that he was agitated.

  Well, I’m agitated, too. I can’t believe that one of our own could stoop so low as to attack a fellow Amish man. Roman gritted his teeth and clasped his fingers tightly together. And I can’t believe one of my own daughters would betray me by falling for the one who’s been attacking us.

  “I’d really like to go look for that key,” Luke said.

  Roman was about to reply when the back door opened and clicked shut.

  “Roman, are you here?”

  “I’m in the kitchen,” Roman replied, recognizing his sister’s voice.

  “It’s dark in here. How come you don’t have a gas lamp lit?”

  “Didn’t think it’d be a good idea to light up the place and let anyone know I was here.”

  “Oh, right.” Rosemary’s voice grew closer as she moved across the room.

  “Hello, Rosemary.”

  “Luke? Is that you?”

  “Jah.”

  “What’s going on here?”

  Roman could see Rosemary’s silhouette as she came closer. “Luke and I are havin’ a little discussion,” he mumbled. “I caught him sneaking around in the yard.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking,” Luke defended himself. “I was just checking things out by the house; then I was going to the barn to spend the night so I could keep an eye on things, when Roman came up and startled me.”

  “You were planning to sleep in the barn?” Rosemary’s tone was one of disbelief.

  “That’s right. I knew Roman and Judith were gone, so I figured I’d take advantage of the fact that nobody was around and hide out in the barn a few nights.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “He made up some wild story about him and Martha working together to find out who’s been attacking us,” Roman said before Luke could respond. “Did you ever hear such a tale?”

  Rosemary cleared her throat a couple of times. “Actually, Martha did tell me she and Luke—”

  “I know, I know. She and Luke are in love.”

  “It’s true we are,” Luke spoke again. “That’s one of the reasons I need to clear my name and find out who’s responsible.”

  Rosemary moved over to the table and placed her hand on Roman’s shoulder. “Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that Martha told me she and Luke were doing some investigating because they wanted to find out who was behind the attacks. I believe Luke when he says he was planning to sleep in the barn so he could keep a watch on things. Maybe we should go up to Grace and Cleon’s place and ask Martha to confirm what Luke’s said,” she suggested.

  Roman shook his head. “No way! It’s the middle of the night, and I’m not waking my daughter out of a sound sleep so she can tell me how much she loves Luke.” He grunted. “She’d probably say most anything to keep him out of trouble.”

  “Then at least let’s go out to the barn so I can look for the key I dropped,” Luke said.

  “What key?” Rosemary asked.

  “The key to the padlock that locks the barn. Martha gave it to me so I could get inside at night.”

  Rosemary touched Roman’s shoulder again and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I think we should see if the key is there, don’t you?”

  Roman ground his teeth as he mulled things over. Should he go look for the key to please Rosemary, or should he phone the sheriff?

  John slipped the wrench into his pants pocket and stood. “There’s been enough talk!” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a cigarette lighter; then he bent down and grabbed a handful of hay. “If ya don’t wanna burn with the barn, then you’d better get outa here now.”

  Martha squeezed her eyes shut and started to pray. Please, God, don’t let John do this. Give me the right words to say. She opened her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I. . .I don’t know all the details of how things were between my dad and your stepdad, but I’m sorry your stepdad took his anger out on you and your mother.”

  The stubble of hay crackled under John’s feet as he shifted his position. “Roman’s gonna be sorry.” His voice cracked. “He ruined my life. He’s gotta pay.”

  “Your life’s not ruined, John. You have a good business, a well-trained dog that’s devoted to you, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. If you’d just—”

  “Shut up!” John flicked the lighter, and a glow of light illuminated his face. Deep lines etched his forehead. His eyes looked red and swollen. He pointed to the hayloft ladder. “Go down!”

  Martha did as he requested, praying with each step she took. There had to be a way to get through to John. She couldn’t let him burn Dad’s barn. Her throat felt clogged as she thought about her dogs in their kennels near the back of the barn. She had to save them—Dad’s horses, too. Maybe if she made a run for the door, she could dash up the hill to Cleon and Grace’s place and get help before it was too late. Or should she stay and keep talking to John—try to make him see the error of his ways? After all, John needed saving, too.

  When John stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder behind her, she turned to him and said, “Luke really likes you, John. He’s said many times what a good boss you are. He enjoys working for you.”

  “Luke’s a good guy, not like Roman.”

  Martha cringed. If John liked Luke so much, then why had he tried to make Luke look like the one who’d done the attacks?

  “My dad’s not a bad person, John,” she said. “It’s not his fault your stepdad drank or beat you.”

  “Uh-huh. Harold said it was. Someone’s gotta pay.”

  “Harold said that because he couldn’t face up to his own problems,” Martha said. “It was Harold’s drinking that got him fired, and he beat you and your mother because he needed help for his drinking problem and uncontrollable temper, not because my dad fired him.” She paused to gauge John’s reaction, but he said nothing.

  “Do you believe in God, John?”

  He rocked back and forth on his heels. “Mom did. She read her Bible. She prayed when Harold got drunk.” He snorted. “For all the good it did her! God never answered Mom’s prayers. God didn’t care about us. If He had, He would’ve done somethin’ to make Harold stop. Roman needs to pay.”

  “God doesn’t make us do anything,” Martha said, carefully choosing her words. “He gave us a free will to choose between right and wrong. You can’t blam
e my dad for the actions of your stepdad, either. Harold chose to drink and abuse his family; nobody made him do it.”

  John gave no reply, but he made no move to light the barn on fire, either. He snapped the cigarette lighter closed and shoved it in his pocket. Martha took that as a good sign and continued with what she felt God had laid on her heart.

  “Instead of hating your stepdad and my dad, you need to forgive them.”

  John shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “In your strength, you can’t, but with God’s help, you can. In Matthew 6:14, God’s Word says: ‘For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.’ ” Martha touched John’s arm. “The things you’ve done to my family are wrong. The only way you’ll ever find peace in your heart is to seek God’s forgiveness.”

  John drew in a ragged breath and blew it out with another snort. “There’s only one way to find peace. I’ve gotta end it all.”

  End it all? Was John saying he planned to commit suicide? Was he going to burn the barn with him in it? Or was he planning to do worse things to them?

  As Roman, Luke, and Rosemary approached the barn, Roman noticed that the door was slightly open. He turned to Luke. “Did you unlock the lock before you dropped the key?”

  Luke nodded. “Said I did, didn’t I?”

  “Did you open the door?”

  “No, I never got that far.”

  Roman frowned. “But it’s open now, so that means someone must be in the barn.” He turned to Rosemary. “You’d better stay out here. Luke and I will go in and see what’s up.”

  She touched his arm. “Listen, I hear voices. Do you hear them, Roman?”

  He tipped his head and listened. “You’re right. Someone must be inside.”

  “Maybe it’s Cleon and Martha. Could be they came to feed her dogs,” Rosemary said.