by Debby Giusti
The boy approached as they stepped from the car. He wiped his hands on a rag and then tossed it over a nearby fence post. He wore the traditional Amish garb of a solid color shirt and black slacks, held up with suspenders.
A warning tingled Carrie’s neck. She had seen the boy before, in town when she pulled out of the lawyer’s parking lot the same day the lug nuts had been removed from her tire.
She glanced at Tyler and tried to silently warn him that something was very wrong about the house and surrounding land and especially the teenage boy with a pronounced limp who came to meet them.
THIRTEEN
One look at Carrie’s face and Tyler knew something was wrong. He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned back to the Amish teenager limping toward them.
“Afternoon,” Tyler said in greeting. He gave his name and introduced Carrie. “Are you Matthew Schrock?”
The boy glanced warily from one to the other. “What is it you want?”
“The police said you found Sergeant Major Jeffrey Harris’s body in the woods. We want to ask you a few questions about that day.”
“I told everything to the police.”
“Ms. York is the sergeant major’s daughter. She would like information about how her father died.”
The boy kicked his foot into the dirt. His eyes held little compassion as he turned to her. “I do not know how your father died, but I’m sure his death was Gott’s will.”
Carrie didn’t seem to buy in to his statement, but she nodded her thanks and then added, “You found him at the bottom of a hill?”
“That is right. I was in the woods and smelled death.” He turned to Tyler. “You have smelled a dead animal? I thought it was a deer. I held my nose and stepped closer. At first, I did not understand what I saw. So I walked around the body. On the other side, I could see the face.”
“Was it bloodied?”
“Scratched and scraped from the fall. Yah, there was blood.”
“Did you see anything that might indicate a fight had taken place?”
Again, the teenager glanced down and kicked a rock with his shoe.
“Matthew, did you hear me?” Tyler pressed. “Were there signs of a struggle?”
“The body fell down the hill.”
“Yes, but could you tell if the deceased—the dead man—had been in a fight?”
“How could I tell that?” His glance was furtive as he looked from Carrie to Tyler.
“What was he wearing?”
The boy shook his head. “I do not remember.”
“A hunting vest. Do you remember if it had a camouflage pattern?”
“Perhaps it was a vest.”
“Did you see a rifle or any type of weapon lying nearby?” Tyler asked.
Again he shook his head. This time too hard and too quickly. “I did not see a rifle.”
“How long did you stay with the body?”
“I did not stay. I ran to get help.”
“You called the police?”
The teen nodded. “The Amish Craft Shoppe has a telephone. I called from there.”
“Did you return with the police?”
“I had to show them where I found the body.”
“Why were you walking in that area?” Tyler asked.
Again the furtive look. “I like the woods.”
“But it wasn’t your property, Matthew.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “I did not see signs about trespassing.”
“You’ve taken that route before?”
The boy nodded. “Sometimes.”
“Is there a friend you visit nearby?”
“Not friends. Just the woods. I like to be alone.”
“Have you seen anything else in the woods when you walk?” Tyler asked. “Has anyone bothered you?”
Matthew frowned. “I do not understand.”
“Have you seen soldiers or men fighting?”
The boy shrugged. “Maybe not.”
“What does that mean, Matthew? Have you seen soldiers?”
“Sometimes.”
“Have they talked to you?”
“Not to me, but to other Amish boys.”
“What do the soldiers talk about?”
“About making money by doing jobs for them. Sanding, roofing, cutting lumber. They work on homes.”
“Flipping houses?” Tyler asked.
“I’m not sure what they do.”
“But they never asked you to help them?”
Matthew dropped his gaze. “Perhaps they do not think I can work hard.”
“You know Eli Plank?”
“Yah.”
“He said one of his friends saw two men fighting in the woods. Was that you, Matthew?”
“I saw something once. Through the trees. Two men appeared to be fighting. I turned away. It was getting dark. I needed to be home.”
Tyler leaned closer. “Were the men in military uniform?”
“I could not tell.”
“Was one of the men Jeffrey Harris, the man whose body you found?”
The boy glanced at Carrie. “I did not see their faces.”
“When was the fight?” Tyler asked.
Matthew shrugged. “A day or two before I found the body.”
“Was that why you returned to the area? Did you know someone had died?”
Matthew shook his head. “That is not why I was in the woods.”
“Did you see a rifle when the men were fighting? Did you go back to find the gun?”
“I told you before. I did not see a rifle.”
“Are you telling the truth, Matthew?”
A sharp dip of his head. “Why would I not tell the truth?”
“I don’t know, but you won’t get in trouble by telling us,” Tyler said, hoping to reassure the boy. “I’ll keep any information confidential. Do you understand?”
Matthew remained silent.
Tyler stared at the boy for a long moment before asking another question. “Did the soldiers invite you or any of the other boys to the cabin?”
Matthew’s face paled. “What cabin?”
“Where soldiers watch movies and play pool. Have any of your friends gone there?”
“I do not see many people. There is much work to do at home.”
“What about on Sundays, after services?” Carrie asked.
“My Datt does not always want to go. We must work.”
“Matthew.” The boy turned at the sound of his name. An Amish man stood on the top of a small rise and stared down at the three of them.
“It is my Datt. He needs me.”
“I live across the road from Eli Plank,” Tyler said. “If you think of anything else, he’ll know how to find me.”
“I have nothing else to tell you.”
“And I live in the old house next to Isaac and Ruth Lapp,” Carrie added.
“And Joseph?”
“That’s right. If you think of anything else, please let me know.”
“Matthew,” the father called again, his voice sharp and insistent.
“I must go.” The boy turned and limped up the hill to where his father stood.
The man’s hands were on his hips. He ignored his son and stared down at them.
“Might be time to leave,” Tyler said, touching her arm. “Mr. Schrock doesn’t seem friendly.”
“Maybe he didn’t like us talking to his son.”
Getting in the car, Tyler turned to glance again at the hill. The boy had disappeared, but his father continued to watch them from the rise.
“I need to learn more about Mr. Schrock and his son,” Tyler said once they were back on Amish Road.
“The boy may be keeping secrets,” Carrie said.
Tyler nodded in agreement. “The father may have secrets, as well.”
* * *
“Are we on for exploring the wooded area and hill tomorrow?” Carrie asked as they rode back to her house.
“What time?”
“Whenever you’re free
. Call me in the morning and we can decide.” She looked at the dark clouds overhead. “If the weather works in our favor.”
Tyler turned into her driveway and braked. He hurried around the car, opened the door for her and walked her to the porch.
“Did you want to come in?” she asked as she unlocked the door.
He glanced at his watch. “I need to get to post. My boss likes everyone in their seats and waiting for him ahead of time.”
“You’ll be back before dark?”
“I never know. Sometimes he gets long-winded. Shall I call you when I get home?”
“Sure, unless it’s really late.”
“I’ll call if your light is on.”
When he hesitated, she stepped closer. “Thank you, Tyler.”
He touched her hand. “See you tonight.”
Her heart fluttered when he smiled. Did she notice a dimple? For the first time. What was wrong with her? Had she been so distracted that she hadn’t noticed? She needed to make sure she didn’t miss anything as noteworthy in the days ahead.
She stepped inside and waved from the window as he drove out of the drive and onto Amish Road.
Bailey stood with her, whining.
She leaned over and rubbed his back. “You need a little attention, don’t you, boy?”
The dog barked, making her laugh.
“Is it dinnertime?”
He barked again.
“I know, you’re hungry. So am I. Let’s get dinner started.”
Bailey trotted beside her and filled the stillness with his warmth. She patted his head again and then filled his bowl with dog food. Bailey ate while Carrie pulled chicken breasts from the refrigerator.
“I’ll cook extra in case Tyler is hungry when he comes home.” The dog was much too interested in his food to respond to her comment.
Quickly she fixed a casserole, shoved it in the oven to bake and set the timer. She patted her leg for Bailey, who had finished his food and was sniffing around the oven, no doubt hoping for some chicken treats too.
“Let’s look for those pictures Sergeant Oliver requested,” she said to Bailey as she headed into her father’s office. In the file cabinet, she found a manila folder marked “Photographs.” She pulled it out and opened it on the desk. The photos were of her father, some in uniform on post and others in civilian attire in town. One was taken at the old train station and appeared to have been a ribbon cutting ceremony when he had donated the items to the new Freemont Museum. The docent they’d met stood next to her father.
Digging deeper, she found older pictures of her father as a younger man, tall and strong and handsome. No wonder her mother had fallen in love with him. Toward the bottom, she found a photo that tugged at her heart. Her father was standing with his arm around her mother, staring into her eyes. Both of them looked so very much in love.
Selecting a few of the more recent photos, she placed them in an envelope and wrote Sergeant Oliver’s name and “Photos” on the front. She gathered the older pictures, including the one with her mother, and tucked them in her pocket so she could look at them later.
After returning the file, she and Bailey headed to the front door. “Get your ball, and we’ll sit on the porch and play.”
The evening was peaceful with the smell of fresh earth and the first hint of spring. Bradford Pear trees were sprouting buds, and circles of daffodils were unrolling their leaves. Georgia was farther south than Washington, and Mother Nature, in spite of the cool temperatures, would soon burst forth.
Sitting on the porch, she tossed the ball into the yard and watched Bailey race to grab the toy and then bring it back to her and lay it at her feet like a trophy. She had to smile, and her outlook lightened at the dog’s playful antics.
For an instant, she glanced at the other rocker and imagined her father—the man in the pictures—sitting next to her. If only she could hear his voice and see his facial expressions, more than what had been captured in the photos. She pulled the pictures from her pocket and looked at them again, trying to memorize the angle of his square jaw, the arch of his brow, the curve of his full lips.
A crow cawed, causing her to turn her gaze left to Tyler’s neatly trimmed yard and pruned shrubs. A few daffodils had already opened, and the burst of yellow warmed her heart like sunshine peeking through the clouds.
Tyler was a good man and hardworking. He seemed to care about her and the plight she faced about whether to stay or sell the property. She sighed, thinking of sitting with him on the porch, seeing the firm set of his jaw as he surveyed the land she knew he loved as much as her father must have. She could see him turn to her and smile, showing the dimple in his cheek and the tenderness in his eyes that she noticed when he’d held her in his arms.
Again, a warmth swept over her, and she felt a serene peace and rightness envelope her, like his strong arms. His heart had beat loudly enough for her to hear the rhythmic pulse. Funny that she should think such thoughts of him when she’d started out questioning whether he could have been involved in the corporal’s murder.
Within just a few days, she’d come to a new realization about many things, her father and Tyler and her mother. Carrie knew the importance of forgiveness. If she failed to forgive her mother, anger would fester and grow.
Bailey brought the ball and dropped it at her feet. Instead of playing, he returned to the yard and started chewing on something he found in the grass. Probably a stick or piece of bark.
“Bailey.” He failed to acknowledge her call.
“Don’t eat that,” she chastised, brushing what looked like the last tiny remains of a piece of meat out of his mouth. “No, Bailey. Sit on the porch.” He sat, nuzzled his ball and eyed a flock of birds that were swooping over a distant field.
Carrie breathed in the cool air and watched the twilight descend upon the farmland.
“Time to go inside,” she finally said as the night turned chilly.
The dog eyed the Lapps’ house as if waiting for Joseph.
“He’s probably helping his mother with the dishes,” Carrie said, thinking of Isaac’s words about reparation.
Strict as Isaac seemed, his love for his son was evident. Ruth doted on the boy like most mothers. Would there be other children? Most Amish families were large. Surely Ruth and Isaac wanted more children, not that Carrie would broach the subject. She had been an only child and had longed not only for the father she had never known but also for brothers and sisters.
If she ever married and had a family of her own, she hoped for a number of children. Although reclusive women who closed men out of their lives couldn’t expect to find someone special.
Again, she glanced at Tyler’s house, then quickly turned her gaze back to Bailey. Rising from the rocker, she patted her leg. “Come on, boy.”
The dampness of the night followed them inside where long shadows darkened the house. Carrie reached for a light switch and turned on the lamp. Even in the soft glow, she felt uneasy and returned to the door to check the lock.
The rich aroma of baked chicken and rice in a mushroom sauce drew her into the kitchen. Opening the oven, she peered at the bubbling casserole.
“It’s almost ready.” She smiled at Bailey, who sniffed the air.
Once the table was set, she pulled the casserole from the oven and covered it with foil to keep it warm.
“Everything’s ready, Bailey. Let’s wait in the living room?”
He stood at her side and wiggled with appreciation when she rubbed his back. “Tyler’s meeting must be taking longer than he expected.”
Glancing again around the kitchen and satisfied the dinner could wait, she turned off the light and headed for the comfy couch in the main room. Her father’s leather-bound Bible sat on a side table. She pulled it onto her lap and opened the book. A paper fell out. She reached to retrieve it from the floor and startled at the handwriting she recognized. The return address confirmed what she had realized. The letter was from her mother.
Scoot
ing closer to the light, she pulled the yellowed paper from the envelope addressed to her father, all too aware of her mother’s script.
Dear Jeffrey,
You inquired about Carolyn and requested visiting me so you could see her. As I told you when you called, I do not want you to contact me again, and I do not want or need your help. Even more important, Carolyn doesn’t need you in her life. You have been gone too long. I know you were overseas, but your inability to see her after her birth confirmed what I had always thought, that you weren’t interested in our child. I insist that you stay away from us. We are moving. You won’t be able to find us, so don’t try. If you do try to contact us, I’ll call the police and tell them that you have been causing problems. I know you had hoped my feelings would have changed, but they haven’t. I thought you would get out of the military. When you accepted your overseas assignment, I saw you for who you really were, and that wasn’t someone I wanted associating with my child.
Carrie’s heart broke. Her father had wanted to see her, but her mother had stood in his way. After returning the letter to the envelope, she tucked it back in the Bible along with the photo of her mother and father.
Her eyes burned. Through the veil of tears, she retraced her steps to the kitchen and put the casserole in the refrigerator before she climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Bailey trotted at her side.
How could her mother have been so thoughtless to separate her from her father’s love? The pain swept over her and clamped down on her heart. She pushed open the bedroom door and fell onto the bed. Bailey dropped to the floor beside her.
Hot tears fell from her eyes. She pulled tissues from the box on the nightstand and held them to her eyes. She cried until her head throbbed and she had no more tears, only shallow sobs that caught in her throat.
Her swollen eyes hurt. Her heart hurt even more. She didn’t want to stay in Freemont, yet she didn’t want to leave. All she wanted to do was forget today had ever happened and cry herself to sleep.
FOURTEEN
The howling wind woke Carrie from a fitful sleep. She groped her hand across the nightstand, searching for the electric alarm clock that usually lit the night.
Touching the lightless clock, she fidgeted with the dials, but to no avail. Raising her hand, she searched for the lamp switch and turned the knob. The room remained dark.
