“Time heals many wounds.”
Maura stopped again and turned fully toward Joseph. “Suppose they have been looking in the wrong places.”
“For Roper?”
“Yes. I have seen an entire posse swayed by one man’s assumption or conclusion. What if that one man is wrong?”
Joseph tilted his head and met her gaze. “I do not know much about posses, but would not another man speak up?”
She shook her head. “That’s the point. They get something stuck in their heads and can’t see past it.”
“Miss Woodley, are you trying to tell me that you have an idea where the outlaw might be?”
“I might have an idea who would help a man like Roper,” she said. “That’s all.”
“Then perhaps you should speak to Deputy Combs. I would be happy to accompany you. He’s probably drinking coffee right now.”
With one hand, she unpinned her hat, removed it, flipped it over in her hands, and fleetingly wondered why the Amish men never took their hats off. “I don’t want to cause a stir on the day of the funeral if it turns out to be nothing. There is no point in disturbing Bess Byler on a day like today with talk of posses and criminals.”
“I suppose not. It is a day to remember the sheriff.”
“Besides, Thomas Combs has proven himself a coward. Nevertheless, he will insist that I should leave such thoughts to the menfolk.”
“Then another day?”
“No. Today.” She set her jaw and made up her mind. “We won’t talk to the deputy just yet. I’m going to take my cart and make some inquiries. I would very much like it if you would come with me.”
“Are you sure that would not be unseemly?”
“That I am going to investigate on my own, or that I invite an Amish man to be my companion in the endeavor?”
“Both. And I am quite sure it would be unseemly for an Amish man to involve himself in this manner.”
“Do as you wish. I am going with or without you.”
“Miss Woodley, I admire your spirit of independence, but—”
“Time is a-wastin’, Mr. Beiler. Are you coming?”
“Where is your cart?” Joseph asked. He could not bring himself to let her drive off alone without even knowing where she intended to go.
In the field across from the church, the small, light cart Joseph had seen Maura use around town was still hitched to the dark mare that pulled it. They sat beside each other on the narrow bench, and Maura picked up the reins. Joseph’s stomach tied itself into a tight knot as he wondered about the number of people who saw them leave together and how he would explain this to Zeke Berkey later. Maura urged the horse out of its malaise and turned the cart down a road Joseph and Zeke had not explored. Joseph’s eyes scanned for landmarks to remember. A fallen log. A small clearing. A shed.
Maura Woodley was as competent a driver as any man Joseph had ever met. A single animal pulled her cart, but he could easily imagine her handling a team of four horses. She was small beside him, well sized to her diminutive cart but eight feet tall in her determination.
“Would I be rude to ask a question?” Joseph held the edge of the bench with one hand.
“Depends on whether it is a rude question.” Maura turned, and her brown eyes danced.
He cleared his throat. “Are you certain that the deputy has not already spoken to the person you intend to interrogate?”
“Interrogate is a strong word, Mr. Beiler.”
The road narrowed before them, yet she let the horse maintain pace with unwavering confidence.
Abruptly she pulled on the reins. “Did you see that?” She jumped out of the cart before the horse had come to a stop.
Joseph did not dare let her get out of sight. He lurched out of the cart and followed her stomping pace.
“There!” She pointed.
Joseph saw nothing.
“There! You must see it.” She kept walking.
Jesse Roper’s tall, broad, black hat sat on a fence post.
Thirty
No more coffee.
Ruth was not sure she could ever drink coffee again without thinking about Elijah on the gurney, his mother on the rampage, and Bryan on the make.
The whole day would not have happened if Leah Deitwaller would just grow up. Coming home to find her asleep in the living room next to a low-glowing lamp and Annalise looking overly content with a cup of tea at the dining room table rattled Ruth. She went upstairs to bed as quickly and with as little conversation as possible.
In the morning Ruth waited until she was sure Annalise had left the house before she emerged from her bedroom. In the kitchen, she mixed up a pan of cinnamon rolls—Elijah’s favorite. She had first made them for him when they were sixteen years old. While they were in the oven, she dressed in a simple skirt and top of plain colors and sturdy fabric. When the rolls were done, she wrapped them between cotton dish towels and whispered thanks that she had a car. Steam would still be rising from the rolls when her tires crunched the gravel in the Capp driveway.
Ruth knew Elijah might not be awake, or not able to get out of bed to greet her without pain, but she refused to believe that his mother would be so inhospitable as to turn away the rolls she knew her son loved.
Steeling herself to be polite no matter what, Ruth pulled up to the Capp house and turned off the engine.
I just want to leave these for Elijah, she would say.
Or better, I made these for all of you to enjoy.
Ruth was a good cook. She knew it, and Mrs. Capp knew it. Warm rolls could help thaw whatever had frozen between the two women, and even if they did not, Ruth would be amicable to the end.
And then she would send Joel over to see how Elijah was.
Mrs. Capp was in the yard hanging sheets on the line. Ruth picked up the tray of rolls in one hand and opened the car door with the other.
“Good morning,” she said. “I brought some rolls. They’re still warm.”
Mrs. Capp took a clothespin from between her lips. “We had breakfast hours ago.”
“Of course you did.” Ruth walked toward her. “A midmorning treat, perhaps?”
The older woman pulled a pillowcase from her laundry basket and snapped it on the line.
“Yesterday was a hard day for all of us,” Ruth said. “But we can all give thanks that Elijah was not hurt worse.”
“If you’re hoping to ply him with warm rolls, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
Ply him? “I only meant to cheer him up. I can just leave the rolls if he’s sleeping.”
“He’s not here. He insisted we take him to that…place where he is staying.”
Ruth’s breath caught. “What do you mean, Mrs. Capp?”
“He would not even let me take care of him for one night. One night. Was that so much to ask?”
Ruth moved closer. She saw that Mrs. Capp had hung the last of the bedding. At the bottom of the basket were four jars of canned green beans, perhaps to weight the basket if a wind kicked up through the valley.
“Where is Elijah?” Ruth asked.
“Renting a room. In an English house. He has decided that is better than living with his own parents.”
Ruth felt the blood drain from her face. “I didn’t know anything about his moving. When did this happen?”
“Last week.” Mrs. Capp stooped and picked up a jar of beans. “He saw an ad tacked up on the board in the grocery store. Some woman was looking for boarders.”
Ruth knew the ad. She had looked at it herself before deciding to stay with Annalise.
“It’s your influence, with all your English ways. Like that awful car.” Mrs. Capp hurled the jar, and it smashed against the hood of Ruth’s car.
Once again Ruth turned off the engine in front of a house. This time the rolls were cold and she had lost interest in them.
Mrs. Capp had muttered an apology as soon as the jar smashed, but Ruth had hustled to her car and pulled away. Elijah left his family home and moved into an Engl
ish house. And never said a word to her. Ruth was not sure which fact stunned her more.
She sat in the car and stared at the house, trying to picture what it must be like for him to live inside, in a room, by himself.
After nearly ten minutes, during which Ruth’s heart rate returned to a normal range, she got out of the car and approached the front door to ring the bell.
She rang again about a minute later. The thought that no one was inside except bruised and weary Elijah made her lean far to the right to peer between the curtains in the front room. He was in no condition to be left alone all day, but his landlady had no obligation to care for him. Ruth buzzed her lips in agreement with Mrs. Capp. Elijah should have gone where someone could look after him. Perhaps she could still persuade him to go home.
Tentatively, she rang the bell a final time and at last heard movement.
“Coming!”
It was Elijah’s voice. Remorse for causing him to get out of bed scratched at her conscience.
He opened the door. “Hello, Ruth.”
“May I come in?”
He took two steps back, and she entered a plain living room with furniture that looked outdated and uncomfortable. After sweeping her eyes around the room once, Ruth focused on Elijah. His hair was tousled, but he was in fresh clothes and stood fairly erect. She had pictured him more bent over.
“First of all,” she said, “how are you?”
“Well enough, considering. The doctor said I could go back to work when I felt up to it.”
“Take a few days. Old Amos will understand.”
“I’m not very good at sitting around doing nothing.”
“You should sit now.” Ruth gestured toward a faded mauve sofa.
“I’m not supposed to use this room,” Elijah said. “I have kitchen and laundry privileges, but otherwise just the one room and bath.”
“Oh.” She gained his gaze and held it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You try too hard to talk me out of things.” He waved a hand to the hall. “You might as well come and see the room. I don’t suppose we’re breaking Ordnung now.”
Ruth had never been alone in a house with Elijah. They always found each other on top of the flat rock behind the Beiler land, now part of a town park. It made her nervous to see Elijah standing up, though, so she followed his shuffling gait toward a rear bedroom.
“The room came furnished,” he said.
A full-size bed, a desk, a dresser, an upholstered side chair, a rickety stand for a small television, which was turned on with the volume dialed low. On the desk Ruth saw a cell phone plugged into the wall.
“Oh, Elijah, what have you done?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Elijah gingerly lowered himself into the side chair. “I’m not going back.”
“But your family—”
“I’m not going back.”
“So you’re leaving the church?” Guilt swept through her, though she had done nothing to encourage this choice.
“You and I talked about this years ago. It has just taken me longer to be brave than it took you.”
Ruth gulped the tide of emotion. “I think you have been very brave to keep your baptismal vows all this time.”
“I did not make them lightly,” he said, “and I do not break them lightly. But I am not going back.”
She believed him. And she resolved to say nothing more that would suggest he should return.
“Have you spoken to the bishop?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“Your mother will hate having to shun you.”
Elijah gave a careful shrug. “I don’t think our district will be overly strict in their interpretation. It is not the end of the world to eat at a separate table. They can still see me if they want to.”
“Do you think they will want to see you?”
“I hope so. I will want to see them.”
Ruth blew out her breath.
“Do you think Rufus would like to buy my horse and buggy?” Elijah asked.
“Maybe. If he ever gets around to proposing.” Ruth sat on the edge of Elijah’s bed a few feet from him.
“I’ll have to find a new job, of course. It probably shouldn’t be in Westcliffe. I thought I would move to Colorado Springs after Christmas.”
Ruth was due to return to the university in January.
“You don’t have to decide that now.” She ran her hands along her thighs, suddenly aware of how much she was perspiring, and looked around the room.
“Ruth.”
She looked up at him.
“You can choose me or not choose me, but this I have chosen for myself.”
Annie wiped her lunch plate dry and set it in the cabinet. She had looked in the living room four times already for clues about where Leah might have gone. Annie stayed up late and got up early, and still Leah slipped through her grasp.
Not that she could have stopped her.
Leah’s one condition for staying last night was that Annie not ask about where she spent her days. For instance, around old sheds or gasoline cans? Annie could not ask directly, but she needed to know.
The back door opened and Annie glanced over her shoulder, hoping.
Not Leah. Ruth.
“Hey, Ruth.”
“Hey, Annalise.”
“I made tuna salad. Would you like some?” Annie reached for the plate she had just washed and put away.
“No thanks. I’m not hungry right now.” Ruth laid her purse on the kitchen counter, next to where Annie habitually left hers.
“I feel like we should talk about yesterday,” Annie said. “It all happened so fast, and then we didn’t see each other all day.”
“Maybe I’ll just have some water.” Ruth went to the refrigerator for the pitcher of chilled liquid.
Annie handed Ruth a glass.
Ruth poured and then drank. “I wasn’t expecting Leah to be here last night.”
“I know. I wasn’t either. She was here when I came home.”
“And you were ready for her.”
“You knew I had set up the space. Ruth, she needs help.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just hard to be gracious after what she did to Elijah.” Ruth drained her glass.
“I understand.” Annie took Ruth’s empty glass and set it in the sink. “But I have to ask you one question.”
“What is it?” Ruth pushed up the sleeves of her top and scratched an elbow.
“Leah doesn’t just need a safe place to stay. She needs someone to help her sort things out. To sort herself out.”
“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do?”
“I’m not qualified. She needs a mental health professional.”
“So what are you asking me? I’m not a counselor, either.”
“I need to know how the church feels about mental health. Am I supposed to just pray for her, or can I find someone who will see her?”
“This might be a question for the bishop.”
“I don’t want to ask him if it’s way out of line.” Annie picked up an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and began to polish it on her sleeve. “Have you ever known anyone who saw a therapist?”
Ruth let out a long, slow breath. “Well, I’ve heard of people trying herbs and vitamins, along with prayer and hard work.”
“But not a professional?”
“I didn’t say that. Actually, I think most people—the women, at least—would agree that the mind or spirit can be ill, just the way the body can be.”
“So then it’s all right to see someone?”
“I said most people would agree. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Deitwaller is not one of them.”
Annie nodded. “Leah is almost eighteen.”
“But she’s not. The English will have laws about this.”
“The bishop’s wife might intervene. Maybe she could talk to Mrs. Deitwaller.”
Ruth rubbed her temples. “Annalise, can we talk about this another time? It’s hard
for me to talk about Leah. I know she needs help, but she hurt Elijah. I need some time to see past that.”
“I’m sorry.” Annie set the apple back in the basket. “You were amazing yesterday. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that.”
“You were the one who kept Elijah still while you waited for the ambulance.”
“But it was you Elijah wanted to see. I could tell it meant the world to him that you rode along to the hospital.”
“Did you know he moved out?” Ruth locked eyes with Annie.
Annie cleared her throat.
“Annalise.”
“He told me the day of the training burn. I thought he’d forgotten his hat, but he said he left it behind on purpose.”
“I wish you had told me.”
“Was it really mine to tell?”
Thirty-One
June 1892
Joseph and Maura clattered back to Mountain Home in the cart. He held Jesse Roper’s hat on his lap, feeling its height and breadth, the broad brim, the crown creased deeply and precisely, the starched, proud shape. If Joseph’s own soft black hat had ever had a distinctive shape, it had long ago dissipated into everyday practical use. It exuded nothing but simplicity and humility. He felt no affinity for what Roper had done—which Joseph had seen with his own eyes—but the confidence of the man intrigued him. His people would say it was hochmut, pride, that got Jesse Roper into trouble. Joseph supposed it was. But still, what might it feel like to be that sure of himself?
Maura seemed to have lost her reluctance to disturb the postburial gathering. By the time they reached the church, the crowd in the church hall had thinned. Ladies were stacking dishes and carrying them out of sight. Deputy Combs sat with Bess Byler and her two sons.
“It is too bad Malinda could not come from Colorado,” Maura said. “I suppose the journey would take too much planning with twin babies and a three-year-old.”
“By God’s grace, her sons are with her.” Carrying Roper’s hat, Joseph followed Maura’s march across the hall.
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