Mim shook her head. “I’m moving to Prince Edward Island.”
“To be with Danny Riehl?”
She nodded.
“Have you told Jesse?”
“Not yet.” She bit her lower lip again. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
Ruthie lifted her palms in the air. “Jenny Yoder might help him get over it.”
Mim’s eyes, behind her glasses, went wide with surprise. “Who?”
“I need to get to the bus stop. About Luke . . . being left on his own. Maybe that’s what he needs.” A quote from Fern Lapp popped into her head and sailed right out. “‘When you get to the end of yourself, that’s where you find God.’”
Fern Lapp had stolen Jesse’s apprentices, along with his dog. She had made a custard base for ice cream and needed help to churn the cranks. The apprentices dropped their tools right on the floor when she asked—right on the floor! They had absolutely no respect for the tools’ importance or for the work at hand. Imagine if Jesse were a heart transplant surgeon and Fern walked into the operating room to announce she needed ice cream churners. Those apprentices would drop the precious donor organ right on the floor—splat!—and follow her anywhere.
Speaking of nipping at heels, C.P. trotted behind those apprentices as if he belonged to them. Did the apprentices feed C.P.? No. Did they take him out for a walk each night to clear his mind? No. Did they let him hang his head out the window on buggy rides? No. Did they clean up after him? Never.
Jesse was losing control of his domain.
He was going to have to reprimand Fern for apprentice thievery. That was not an easy thing to prepare for, but it had to be done. Fern was a force to be reckoned with. It was only going to get worse.
He marched to the house, jumped the two steps onto the porch, and went right past the two feckless, sweaty-faced apprentices who fought each other for turns at the churn. C.P. sat back on his haunches and looked up at Jesse, cocked his head as if to say, “What’s got your knickers in a knot?”
Jesse scowled darkly at the dog as he strode past and walked into the kitchen. “Fern,” he said firmly.
She was bent over the oven, pulling out a tray before setting it on the counter. Cookies. Jesse’s mouth watered.
“Fern. I would prefer if you ask me first if you may borrow my apprentices. It’s hard enough to keep them focused on their work. When you wave the promise of food under their noses, they can’t refuse. They have no willpower, those two. None at all. Their brains are in their stomachs. And Fern, I believe you know this about them. What you are doing is tantamount to subordinating my role as overseer.”
She scooped a cookie off the tray and handed it to him. A hot-from-the-oven oatmeal raisin cookie. He took one bite, just one, and it was delicious. It was . . . wait. Wait! This was bribery. Bait and switch. He knew this tactic. He used it often with his sisters. “Fern, you once threatened my very life if I didn’t get new storm front wipers on your buggy before a rainstorm. Just now, we were working on Edith Fisher Lapp’s brake pads. Would you like to be the one to tell Edith that her buggy won’t be ready for another day? You know as well as I do that she was born to bristle.” Edith looked and acted like a sour lemon. Like a lemon that didn’t like lemons. He took another bite of the cookie. How did Fern get those raisins to be so plump?
Evidently Fern could read minds. “Soak the raisins in beaten eggs and vanilla for an hour. That’s the secret.”
Oh. He would have to tell Molly. Her oatmeal raisin cookies tasted like sawdust.
Wait. She had done it again! “Fern. Please pay attention. You may not steal my apprentices for your household chores without asking me first.”
Fern finished scooping oatmeal raisin cookies from the tray, set it down, and turned to him. “It’s supposed to be nearly one hundred degrees this afternoon. Those boys need something to look forward to.” She wiped a strand of gray hair from her forehead and looked at him with concerned eyebrows, sparse as they were. “You do too. You need to stop mooning and start courting.”
“What are you talking about?”
Fern stood at the counter, slid her glasses down her nose, gave him a look. “Stop mooning over Mim Schrock and start courting Jenny Yoder.”
Jesse was speechless. Struck dumb. He felt Fern was looking straight through him, that she could see everything, knew everything.
Then a thought floated through his mind and he caught it. “Would she even want me to court her?”
“How will you know if you don’t try?”
A few hours later, Jesse stopped at the Bent N’ Dent. Jenny Yoder was sweeping the cereal aisle, where a box of oatmeal had tipped off the shelf and spilled everywhere. She looked up at the jingle of the door.
“I heard,” she said. “About Patrick Kelly. About getting MS.”
It was astonishing how quickly the Stoney Ridge grapevine’s news traveled through town. Faster than a telegraph. Faster than a cell phone. Faster than a—
“I’m so sorry. I know he’s your friend.”
“He is,” Jesse said. Suddenly, he felt a terrible constriction in his throat, like a pinecone was stuck halfway down. His heart was pounding so hard it was like a drumbeat thrumming between his ears. What was happening to him? The Jenny Yoder Effect, that’s what it was. Jesse Stoltzfus, a man who considered himself something of a silver-tongued wordsmith, a man who was the Stoltzfus family Scrabble champion, a man who read the dictionary for fun, could not seem to extract more than two words from his head to his mouth whenever he was near this woman.
She pointed to the pink box. “Something from the Sweet Tooth Bakery?”
“Yes,” he said, one octave too high. Mortifying. He handed her the pink box.
She gave him a curious look, then unwrapped the string and opened the box. “You got me a cinnamon roll?”
“I did.” His throat felt slightly less constricted, a mild easing up. “This morning. It was the last one in the case.” The dam was breaking loose.
“And you didn’t eat it?”
He feigned horror at the thought. “What kind of a man would do such a thing?”
“A hungry one.” She dipped her head. “Saving a cinnamon roll isn’t for the faint of heart.” She glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Thank you, Jesse.”
“It was nothing.” Well, it was something.
Their eyes met. Met and held.
21
David knew that Luke Schrock needed professional help, more than anyone in Stoney Ridge could provide.
Dok was familiar with a residential facility east of Harrisburg that was designed for Mennonite and Amish patients, supporting their faith and lifestyle, including counselors who were fluent in Penn Dutch. Dok had called ahead and there was a space available for Luke if he arrived today. All that was needed now was for Luke to be willing to go.
David waited until Luke got a few hours’ sleep, but when he heard sounds of him stirring upstairs—the gift of squeaky floorboards—he went to Jesse’s old room to talk to him. “Dok knows of a place for you to go, Luke, that will help you get better.” David showed him the brochure Dok had given to him.
Luke opened the brochure and glanced through it. He handed it back to David with a scoff. “Nope. No way. Not happening.”
“Why not?”
Luke leaned back on the bed’s headboard and lifted his arms behind his head to rest it. “Too drastic.”
“Yes. Drastic is just the right word for it. We need to take drastic measures to try and help you. Your life can’t go on the way it’s headed. You’re going to end up hurting someone. You already have.”
“I’ve stopped drinking. I won’t pull any more stunts. You’ve got my word on that.”
“That’s a good place to start, Luke. A great place, in fact. You’re taking responsibility for yourself. But drinking is only part of the problem.” He glanced at Dok, who had come up behind him. “Dok suspects you have undiagnosed depression.”
Luke smirked. “I’m not depressed.”<
br />
Dok spoke up. “Anger is often a mask for depression. The other day you told me that you felt angry most of the time.”
Luke shrugged. “Sometimes I do. But not all the time.”
“Ruthie has bruises on her arms from the way you grabbed her.”
Luke kept his eyes on his stocking feet at the end of the bed. “I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.” More to himself, he said, “It will not happen.” He glanced at David, a plea in his eyes. “Please don’t make me go.”
“Luke, I believe this is the best step for you. You need more help to work through your problems than we’re able to provide. The treatment center will help give you tools to get a handle on drinking.”
His old belligerence reared up. “I won’t go. You can’t make me.”
Actually, they could. Rose had already signed the paperwork. The facility had faxed it to Dok’s office and she had taken the papers to the Inn at Eagle Hill. However, David understood Luke’s stubborn streak well enough to know that if he thought he was being forced to go to the treatment center, he would resist the treatment. “No, I won’t make you go. But if you choose not to go, Matt Lehman said you might be facing charges for the damage you caused. He said that could result in time spent in juvenile hall, unless the judge decides to charge you as an adult.”
After breakfast, while Luke slept upstairs, Matt had come to the house to help David sort through legal issues. Hank Lapp wasn’t going to charge him for theft of the golf cart. Patrick Kelly wasn’t going to charge Luke for reckless endangerment. Galen King wasn’t going to charge him for stealing his horse. But, Matt said, he had the capability to dig up a few justifiable misdemeanor charges to nudge Luke in the direction of admitting himself to the residential facility. Minor in Possession of alcohol, for one.
David heard Luke inhale sharply as it dawned on him that he had only two options. He looked suddenly troubled. He wanted to make this whole matter go away, but there was no ignoring this. Luke picked up the brochure and skimmed through it. “This joint looks pretty pricey. Who’s picking up the tab?”
“The church. The people who love you. We all want you to get well, Luke. To be the man God wants you to be.”
Luke looked at him with an odd gravity. “And what kind of man is that?”
David smiled. “Let’s find out.”
David walked Luke out to where Matt and Dok were waiting for him in the car. Matt’s car. They didn’t want to drive over an hour in Dok’s car due to, Matt said very diplomatically, “the insinuating fragrance the interior of the car is infused with.” In other words, Luke’s vomit.
“Luke,” David said. “I want you to listen to me. When we feel frightened and guilty, our tendency is to avoid God completely. Do the opposite. Seek God out. Pursue him. Get to know him. Don’t avoid God. Go towards him. He’s the lifeboat in any crisis.”
Luke looked away. “You’re sending me away. My family wants nothing to do with me. None of you care. Why should I believe that God cares?”
“It may seem that way to you now, but this is the merciful thing to do. Yes, you’re facing some serious consequences for your behavior. But, Luke, if you seek God in this hard time, you’ll realize you have far more reason to hope than to despair. This is a second chance for you. A fresh start.” Since Luke wasn’t looking at him, he circled so he could observe his expression. “ I’ll be praying for you each day. I’ll come to visit, as soon as the therapists say you’re ready for a visitor. We can talk more then.”
“How long do I have to go to this place?”
“One month. Maybe two. I think that will depend on you, your therapists, and the progress you make.”
“Then what?”
Even Dok, listening to the two through the open car window, looked to David for that answer. “Then, if you’re agreeable, Fern Lapp wants you to live at Windmill Farm. To help Amos on the farm.”
A light snapped on in Luke’s dull-looking eyes. “Fern?”
“Fern?” Dok echoed.
“Fern,” David repeated. Luke needed hard and satisfying work that wore deeply on the muscles. “She works wonders with wayward boys. Just look at Jesse.”
Dok was intrigued. “What’s her secret?”
“She has a theory that boys aren’t busy enough. It’s as pure and simple as that.”
Luke’s face took on a resigned “my life sucks” expression. He stood stiff and resentful as David reached out to embrace him. “I don’t want to go,” he croaked into David’s ear.
“I know,” David whispered back. “But you need to go.”
Sullen and angry, Luke climbed in the back of Matt’s car and away they went. David felt his heart pierce through as he watched the car drive down the road until it was out of sight. “Let this be Luke’s new beginning, Lord. Let this be the first day of a fresh start for him. Don’t let him go. Hold tight to him, Lord. Shower him with your mercy. Give him as much of you as he is able to receive.” It wasn’t a typical thing for David to do, yet he couldn’t help but lift his hands, palms open, as he prayed the prayer for Luke.
Then he turned and walked back inside.
Luke asked Dok if they could stop by the hospital so he could talk to Patrick.
“Why?” she asked, suspicion in her voice. “Why do you need to see him?”
“To apologize,” Luke said, through a mouth that was tense.
She hesitated, not at all sure if Patrick wanted to see him, but she did want to check on him. She also thought of something David often said, and that convinced her to accommodate Luke. “An apology is the best place to start.” Lord willing, today was Luke Schrock’s new start.
Matt and Luke sat in the waiting room while Dok checked in with the nurses. She was so grateful for Matt’s help today. Without even asking him, he had offered to drive with her to the residential facility. And he insisted on driving in his car because her car still reeked of Luke’s vomit. He promised to stick like glue to Luke while she did what she needed to do in the hospital. That was the thing about Matt—he had such respect for her time. And her work. “Gifted in true doctoring,” was the phrase he often used to describe her.
As Dok walked into Patrick’s room, she smiled to see that Patrick and Ruthie were laughing over something, a private joke. Patrick looked happy, which was pretty amazing, all things considered, but Dok had a feeling it had something to do with Ruthie’s presence. She was sorry to interrupt their lightheartedness as she gave the headlines of Luke’s last twenty-four hours. “He wants to apologize to you. But I won’t send him in if you don’t want to see him.”
Ruthie’s hands drifted protectively to her upper arms, but her eyes, Dok noticed, were on Patrick.
Patrick was the first to speak, and Dok thought she caught a new slur in his pronunciation of “s.”
“Of course. Of course we will see him. Send him in.”
Dok glanced at Ruthie to make sure she was okay with that, but her eyes remained fixed on Patrick. She appeared to be regarding him with something very close to admiration. Maybe something even more? “Okay. Matt Lehman will stay right here with him. I’m going to track down Dr. Gingerich and see what’s going on with your test results.” She patted Patrick’s leg.
He was a good guy, that Patrick Kelly. He didn’t deserve what was coming next.
Luke stood awkwardly at the edge of Patrick’s bed, rocking from foot to foot. He had his hands clasped behind his back, like a man ready to bolt. A bundle of raw nerves. But his eyes were dark sad circles. Self-pity, Ruthie thought. She could see it all over his face. She knew him so well.
“Say what you came to say, Luke,” Matt said.
Luke was so tense, he nearly snapped at Matt, but then he clamped his mouth tight. He glanced resentfully at Matt and then looked away. “I just . . . wanted to say I’m sorry about . . . last night.”
Patrick fixed Luke with an intense gaze. “I don’t blame you, Luke. I should never have taken part in that chicken game. I put myself in a dumb spot. I knew I co
uldn’t move fast enough to get out of the way. I knew it, but my pride got in the way.”
“And your bird. I’m sorry about that too.”
“Are you?” Ruthie kept a hard glare on Luke. “Are you, really?” Because I don’t think you have an empathetic bone in your body! she felt like shouting at him. Are you really sorry for all the trouble you’ve caused people in this town, people who have been so good to you, people who have given you chance after chance after chance. Are you really sorry, Luke, or are you just sorry you’ve been caught? But she kept those thoughts quiet, which was good in a way.
“Yes,” Luke said, turning to Ruthie. “Yes, I really am.” He glanced at her arms. “And I’m sorry I grabbed you so hard. So very sorry, Ruthie.” He took a breath and blinked rapidly in the way that people blink when they’re about to cry. He tried to say more, but couldn’t. Then he looked up at the ceiling and blinked some more until she could see that the rims of his eyes were turning watery, red.
Ruthie felt a sudden surge of sympathy for him. He was a mess, inside and out. A complete, total, unequivocal mess. If this residential facility didn’t work, Luke would be back in the same cycle again and again. He would hurt others, including some other misguided girl who couldn’t resist his charm and his handsome looks. She felt sad, but nothing more. His hold on her was broken.
Patrick reached a hand out to shake Luke’s, his expression was undeservedly kind.
As Luke pumped Patrick’s hand, Ruthie realized that her dad and Dok made the right decision for Luke to go to this facility. She couldn’t believe he was actually doing something that wasn’t his idea. Maybe there was a tiny glimmer of hope for Luke Schrock.
And then, suddenly, awkwardly, there was nothing more to say. “Well,” Matt said. “We should go.”
After Luke and Matt left the room, Ruthie turned to Patrick. “You were kind to Luke. You didn’t even show that you were angry.”
The Devoted Page 22
