Why hadn’t Mrs. Weichert simply hung the CLOSED sign as so many of the small business owners of Westcliffe did? When Annie first arrived in Westcliffe last year, she was amused by how casually people closed up their shops in the middle of the day and went on errands. And it was not as if it was the busy season for the antiques shop. If someone did not come in on Wednesday and spend a great deal of money, Annie was going to be annoyed at the waste of her day.
Demut, she told herself. Humility. How prideful it was for her to think that her time was worth more than the simple task of honoring her employer’s request even if no one came into the shop.
Annie was up at dawn and on her bicycle. She did not have to open the shop until ten. The open land would be too muddy for biking efficiently, especially on the hills, but she could at least try some of the areas accessible by paved roads. The new subdivision beckoned. Several houses were isolated and half-finished. Annie pedaled up Main Street, turned north on the highway, and cruised into the subdivision before the sun was fully up. She had been out there with Rufus several times to see the houses he was working on, so she knew which lots were under construction. Annie had not been there since the fire on her baptism morning, though.
She let a foot drag on the ground as she approached the burned structure. Ten days after the flames, cleanup had already begun. Annie supposed the fire department and the sheriff’s office had collected whatever clues they could find, but so far she had not heard a credible account of what might have happened.
Except that someone had set the fire on purpose. According to the Westcliffe rumor mill, the fire chief seemed certain of that much.
She stopped and stared. Surely Leah could not have done this. What motive would she have? Annie shook away the thought.
The fire had burned right through the center of the house, branching off from the hall to scorch Rufus’s cabinets in the various rooms. Annie could see their blackened surfaces from the end of the driveway, and grief tightened in her gut—for everyone involved in this pointless loss. At least no one had been in the home at the time.
Annie filled her lungs with fresh energy and put her bicycle in motion once again to move on to the next unoccupied house, knowing she might have only a few more minutes. Construction crews were notorious for getting an early start, and Annie did not want to face interrogation about her presence.
Inspection of three lots yielded nothing suspicious, no sign of a squatter, no residue of an unauthorized visitor. Annie headed back to town, calculating she had time for breakfast at the coffee shop before opening the store.
Between a bite of scrambled egg on a croissant and a sip of plain black coffee—she had given up her indulgence in mocha caramel grande nonfat lattes—out the window Annie saw Brownie trot by pulling the Beilers’ cart, with Joel in the driver’s seat.
She swallowed the coffee, abandoned her breakfast sandwich, and marched down the sidewalk in pursuit. Finally Joel saw her waving arms and stopped.
“We have to find Leah,” Annie said.
Joel turned his head to the left and then to the right. “We tried that already. It didn’t work out so well.”
“Is that a reason to give up?” Annie widened her eyes and leaned her face toward Joel. “She’s confused. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need help.”
“Daed is counting on me for help in the fields. Besides, how do you know she hasn’t gone home by now? Or found a bus to…somewhere.”
“Because my neighbor’s cat bowl is missing.” Annie listed the items people had reported missing in the last few days, including the food from her own back porch. “She’s out there.”
“She’s seventeen. Almost eighteen.”
“You’ve seen her. She’s in no emotional condition to be on her own.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Joel said.
“I don’t know when Mrs. Weichert will get back.” Annie straightened her kapp. “I promised to watch the store.”
“I’ll try. But I don’t expect to be back to town this week.”
“You’re resourceful. If you see her, find a way to send me a message.” Annie tapped Joel’s shoulder. “Otherwise I’ll see you Friday when I come for supper.”
On Friday after supper, Rufus took Annalise’s hand and led her out to the front porch.
“I hear you are still looking for Leah Deitwaller,” he said.
“Somebody should be.”
“It’s been twelve days.” Rufus leaned against a post, not releasing her hand. “You’ve seen a few signs that she is around and not injured. It seems, though, that she is quite determined not to be found.”
“She is about to meet her match.”
Annalise looked up at him with her wide gray eyes. He squeezed her hand without speaking.
“You probably think I’m just being stubborn,” Annalise said, “but this is different. I feel something. A tug. A calling. Even if she were already eighteen, I would still want to help her.”
He nodded. “Then you should.”
“Really? You’re not going to talk me out of it? Tell me I’m being English?”
“How can you be English? You are baptized Amish.”
She beamed. “You don’t know how great that is to hear you say.”
He took both her hands now and faced her. When he heard her intake of air, he knew he was about to disappoint her. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Of course.”
“I want you to know I’m thinking of you, of us, and also of my family. I have not made this decision easily.”
The light that had flickered in her eyes a moment ago was gone. He told her about the offer of employment to hang premanufactured cabinets over the winter.
“I’ll be away for days at a time, even a couple of weeks.”
“What about making your own cabinets?” Annalise’s face clouded. “Won’t you be setting your own business back even further?”
He nodded. “Possibly. I’ll work on them whenever I can be home for a few days.”
“It never crossed my mind you would take this sort of job.”
“Mine either. But when you pray for God’s provision, you cannot spurn the form in which it comes. The income will be more certain than my own business is right now. I want to help Daed if I can.”
“Is the farm in that much trouble?”
“We’ll know more in the spring.”
“That’s a long way off.” Annalise moved her hands and laid them on his forearms. “Won’t the church help? Isn’t that the Amish way?”
“They will want to, I’m sure,” he said. “But everyone is trying to farm. Everyone is stretched thin. It doesn’t take much for a settlement to fail.”
“Surely that is not going to happen. It’s been seven years, and new families arrive every few months.”
“I want to do my part, and this is one way I can help.”
“You do your part every single day, Rufus. Everybody knows that. I hate to see you give up your craft, the beauty you create that shows the wonder of God.”
He glanced into the house, where his siblings were getting ready to play board games. “I know this is not the conversation you were hoping for right now.”
She was quiet for too long. “Joel could hang cabinets,” she finally said. “It doesn’t have to be you.”
“Joel would go. But what if he did not come back?”
“Then, God’s will. Besides, Joel has told me more than once that he will be baptized when the time is right. He says he is not Ruth, that he is not going to leave.”
Rufus put an arm around Annalise’s shoulders and turned her to the view of the Sangre de Cristos. “Joel would not plan to leave. His reasons would not be as noble as Ruth’s. There is a difference between leaving and just not coming back.”
Her hard swallow was audible, and he leaned in and kissed the top of her head.
Thirteen
May 1892
Belle Mooney charged up the street from the school.
&n
bsp; Maura ran toward her, arms spread wide to stop Belle’s progress.
“What happened?” Belle pushed against Maura’s restraint. “I was at the school cleaning out my desk. I heard gunshots.”
Maura closed her arms firmly around her friend. “Belle…”
“It’s John, isn’t it?”
Maura sucked in her top lip. “I’m afraid it is.”
Belle thrashed and Maura’s hold began to slip.
“I want to know,” Belle said. “Tell me.”
“It’s bad, Belle. Very bad.”
Belle broke free. Maura grabbed for her elbow and missed.
“I’m going to him,” Belle said. “Don’t keep me from him.”
Belle broke into a brisk, determined pace, and Maura followed as closely as her tight shoes and long hem would allow. Belle screamed at the sight before her.
“We’ve sent for the doctor.” Maura bunched up the fabric of her navy skirt in one hand to permit a longer stride. Bile rose within her, and she swallowed it down. John Twigg continued to bleed in the street.
Beside John, Belle fell to her knees. “John, darling, I’m here. I’m here.” She pulled up the hem of her white dress and dabbed at the bleeding and then gently lifted his head into her lap.
Maura’s breath caught at the tenderness before her. Belle cradled John’s head, stroked his face, bent to kiss him, spoke of her love. No man had ever made Maura feel this way. No man had made her see past his flaws to what he could be. What did she know of love? Perhaps nothing. Whatever Maura thought of John Twigg, her friend loved him and would love him to the end. In Maura’s mind, Belle’s capacity for loyalty clanked against John’s undeserving. But whatever John’s faults, he did not deserve to lie in the street this way. The events of the morning did not resemble justice, Maura was sure of that much.
She glanced up the street for any sight of one of the doctors. Would those Amish men really be able to look after Walter and find a doctor? Walter would be fine, she reminded herself. He was barely hit.
John was running out of time.
Squeezing her head between her hands, Maura tried to count the minutes that had passed since the shots. She did not even know who had fired—Lee or Ing. And did it matter?
“The sheriff,” Maura cried out. “Has anyone gone for Sheriff Byler?”
Maura knelt next to Belle, stretching her arms against Belle’s shoulders and leaning her cheek into Belle’s face. “I’m here, too.”
“I’m still bleeding,” Walter said.
Joseph looked again at Walter’s knuckles. “It’s almost stopped.”
Zeke bounded ahead of them and took the steps up to Doc Denton’s porch two at a time. After a quick rap on the door, he turned the knob and stepped through the opening.
Joseph raised his eyebrows in expectation. “Is this doctor related to the store owners?” he asked Walter.
Walter still cradled his injured fingers with his other hand. “Cousin or something, I think. There are so many Dentons and Twiggs around here I can’t keep ’em straight.”
Zeke appeared on the porch. “He’s not here. Nobody is.”
Joseph turned his head toward the blocks they had traversed.
“Pray for that man Twigg.” Zeke thudded down the steps. “Get the boy comfortable on the porch.”
Joseph swallowed as Zeke disappeared around the corner. He found a wide bench with a floral-patterned cushion on the covered porch. “This looks like a good place to wait. Do you want to lie down?”
Walter sat on the bench, and Joseph helped him swing his legs up and stretch out.
“Do you pray, Walter?”
“Sure. I guess. Doesn’t everybody pray when something bad happens?”
“Shall we pray, then?”
“For John Twigg?”
“For you, of course, but yes, Mr. Twigg as well.”
“No thanks.” Walter popped his head up to scowl. “I’ll take my chances. I’m not hurt so bad that I have to do that.”
“Have you no compassion?”
“He might have my daddy snookered with his egg prices, but I don’t trust him. I’d rather work for the Denton brothers any day.”
Joseph leaned against the house with one shoulder. “Do you think you can protect yourself by refusing to pray?”
“I’ve been minding my own business. Look what it got me.” Walter held up his wounded hand. “It’s not fair. It’s fine by me if Crazy Man Twigg gets what he deserves.”
Joseph held his tongue. He had enough discussions with Little Jake while throwing hay down in the barn, away from the ears of their parents, to know that boys this age were stubborn. Even the Amish. Life was not fair. That was not God’s purpose in creating. But Walter would not hear it any more than Little Jake did.
“I suppose your friend will tell Dr. Lindsay to take care of John Twigg first.”
Joseph nodded slowly.
Walter grunted. “Nobody will care that I got shot, too. Even Maura didn’t come with me.”
Joseph cleared his throat. “Mr. Twigg’s situation is quite serious, Walter.”
“I know. I’m just sayin’.”
They fell silent.
“What can you see?” Walter asked after a few minutes.
“Not much,” Joseph said. “It is too far down the street. And there’s a crowd now.”
“I’ll be all right here, you know. If you want to go.”
Did he want to go? Joseph’s people only used guns to shoot what they would eat. A gunfight in the street was beyond his understanding. But he understood that he should not leave a boy alone.
“Let me look at your hand,” Joseph said. “Perhaps it needs fresh bandaging.”
“Well, don’t rip off your other sleeve.” Walter said. “You can go inside and get bandages. Doc keeps them in the back room on the long shelf.”
Joseph suddenly felt exposed and ran his hand up and down his bare arm. He sometimes rolled up his sleeves if he was working in the field with other men, but never in his life had he walked down a street with his arms bare. He unwrapped his dismembered sleeve from Walter’s hand and examined the knuckles. The bleeding had stopped. Joseph pressed gently on the spot that seemed the worst.
“Hey!” Walter retracted his hand.
“Sorry.” The knuckle likely was broken. “Perhaps I will have a look around for those bandages.” And some kind of splint, Joseph thought.
“Hurry up, then.” Little Jake’s tone haunted Walter’s voice.
Belle’s shoulders trembled under Maura’s touch. John Twigg’s blood spilled over them both.
“Belle,” Maura whispered. “I know how much you care for John.”
“John, my dearest love,” Belle murmured. She gently mopped the persistent wound.
“I’m sure the doctor is coming.” With no such certainty, Maura forced stability into her voice. “Just a few more minutes.”
Belle had held steady so far, but Maura felt the tremble morph into wracking sobs.
“We’re going to get married, John,” Belle managed between gasps. “You promised me. I’m holding you to it.”
With one hand on the middle of Belle’s back, Maura took in the scene around them. Movement had halted, as if players took their marks on a stage. No one else was within ten feet of John Twigg, but every person from every shop or office seemed to have come out and lined the streets. It was not hard to spot Zeke Berkey trotting back toward the wounded man.
He shook his head.
Maura’s heart lurched as she stood to meet him.
“The doctors were both out on calls,” Zeke said, his voice low. “Dr. Lindsay’s son went for him.”
Maura allowed herself a deep breath. “Mr. Twigg is not long for this world.”
“No, I think not. Gottes wille.”
“What is that?”
“God’s will,” Zeke said.
Maura put her hands on her hips. “Pardon me, Mr. Berkey, but I am not at all persuaded that is the case.”
She turned toward Belle’s moan.
“I will get justice for John.” Belle’s voice had turned to iron. “I will find out who did this and he will hang.”
“Belle, no.” Maura knelt beside Belle again.
“It’s what John would want. Will want. I will do everything I can.”
“Right now, let’s just worry about John.” Maura gestured toward Zeke. “Mr. Berkey said the doctor is coming.”
With heavy breath, Maura looked again at the gathered townspeople. Ing and Lee Denton stood outside their store, pistols raised, cocked, and pointed, though John Twigg was no threat now.
But he came from a large family. His father owned one of the largest ranches in Baxter County, and John would not be the only Twigg in the family’s store.
“We have to do something,” she whispered to Zeke.
“The doctor is—”
“Not for John. We’ll have a riot on our hands any minute now. The Twiggs will do exactly what Belle is talking about—find justice on their own terms.”
“You know your own town.”
“Stay with Belle.” Maura took charge. She stood and faced the Denton brothers. “Put those guns away.”
“No, ma’am,” Lee Denton said.
“Can’t you see what you’ve already done?” Maura marched toward them. “We don’t need any more bloodshed.”
“That’s up to the Twiggs,” Ing Denton said. “But we’ll be ready when they come.”
Joseph hustled down the street. Walter’s father had heard about the shooting and turned up looking for his son. Joseph left them both sitting on the bench outside the doctor’s office, Walter’s hand freshly if awkwardly bandaged. He heard Miss Woodley’s voice.
“All of you,” she shouted, “form a line around the emporium!”
“You want us to be target practice for the Twiggs?” one man objected.
“You’re already standing in the street gawking at John,” Maura said. “You might as well be useful. Line up. Lee and Ing, you stand behind the line.”
Taken for English Page 9
