by Ruth Reid
“Mattie,” Laura said, making a point to bring her into the conversation. “We were just discussing how pushy the drilling company has been, trying to buy our mineral rights. Have they contacted you?”
Judging by the nervousness of the bunch, that wasn’t the topic they were discussing, but Mattie went along with it. “Jah, a representative stopped the other day, but Alvin was there to talk to him.”
Several of the women’s brows peaked at the mention of Alvin’s name. Mattie pretended not to notice and took a sip of her coffee.
The women resumed quilting the black-and-gray log-cabin quilt.
A few moments passed before Laura started a new conversation. “Did I tell you the herbal blend you made me the other day worked wonders? Danki so much.”
Laura had already made a point to tell Mattie last week. She wasn’t sure why she was making a fuss about it nau. “Anytime you need more just let me know.”
“Oh, I will. I told mei cousin in Pennsylvania how much better I feel since I started taking it, and she wants to order some,” Laura replied.
Mary joined them. “I think Mattie’s cure-all concoctions are such a blessing to us all.”
Mattie rifled through her sewing supplies and removed a needle and spool of thread.
“Indeed, she healed mei gout,” Emma said, pointing to her foot. “Mei big toe thanks you.”
“And mei sour stomach,” Sadie Knapp added. “I don’t have any more acid burning the back of mei throat.” She glanced at Wilda, who was placing a plate of cookies on the table. “What about you, Wilda?”
“Oh, please,” Mattie said, putting an end to their praises. “You’re embarrassing me.” She didn’t like to think of herself as a healer, especially since her cure-all concoctions hadn’t helped her husband. The herbs made him worse.
“But you have helped us all,” Sadie said.
The others were quick to agree, but Mattie’s thoughts were on Andy lying sick in bed, breathing hard. Could she have prepared him something different? Mattie stood. “I should check on Amanda.”
“Amanda is fine,” someone said. “Have a cookie, dear. You look a little weak in the eyes.”
Mattie vaguely heard her name called, but when she turned to look at Grace, her friend’s face distorted in a blur.
“Mattie?”
Answer Grace. But telling herself to respond and doing it were two separate things. Mattie’s nerves twitched.
“Mattie, is something wrong?” Grace’s voice muffled.
The tremors started. She had them before, first in her hands, then her arms. Her ears rang, drowning out the women’s voices.
“Help her sit down,” a distant voice said.
Hands were on her shoulders, guiding her. Stop shaking. She licked her dry lips. Faces blurred. The room was spinning. The women thought she was losing it—like she had after Andy died.
“Someone get her a glass of water.”
“She blacked out yesterday,” Grace said, snapping her finger in front of Mattie’s face. Someone placed a glass in her hand, told her to drink, then guided the glass to her mouth. Mattie sipped the cold water. Her vision came back into focus and within a few minutes, her jittery nerves started to uncoil. She forced herself to speak. “Danki.”
Grace tugged on her arm. “What happened?”
Mattie shook her head. It was difficult to keep up the pretense that all was well when no one believed her anyway.
Grace squatted in front of Mattie, eyeing her carefully. “Do you think that bump on your head has anything to do with—?”
“Nay,” Mattie said, cutting her friend off. “I think I just hit that wall you were talking about.” She caught a glimpse of the confused expressions around her and felt obligated to explain. “I haven’t slept much in the last few days.”
“Weeks,” Grace said. “You haven’t slept through the nacht in weeks.”
Actually, it’d had been months, but Mattie wouldn’t argue the point.
“I get dizzy like that when mei sugar drops,” Catherine said, pushing the plate of cookies closer.
Grace placed her arm around Mattie’s shoulder. “What have you eaten?”
Mattie shook her head. She’d made breakfast for Nathan and Amanda, but only drank a cup of coffee herself.
Grace headed to the kitchen, talking over her shoulder. “I’m going to make you a sandwich to go along with the sweets.”
“I don’t think I could eat anything.” Mattie started to rise, but the room began to spin once more and she had to sit back down.
Grace rushed to her side. “Then go lie down in one of the bedrooms.”
Mattie hesitated. “I think you’re right about needing sleep, but I’d rather go home and rest.” That is, after she dropped off the honey jars at Green Thumb. The jars had been in the back of her buggy for a few days now and she didn’t want to chance losing the account by delaying delivery any longer. She pushed off the chair, and her legs wobbled. “Grace, will you get Nathan and Amanda?”
“I’ll keep them with me,” her friend said. “You need a few hours of undisturbed sleep.”
“Oh, I’ll be—” The roomful of women stared at her with pitied gazes. Falling apart in front of Grace was one thing. Her friend had helped her through the darkest time in her life, but Mattie didn’t want the others to see her this way.
Grace touched her arm. “Mattie, you won’t be able to keep up much longer at the pace you’re going. You need uninterrupted rest.”
“You’ll watch them closely?”
Grace drew back as if offended. “Of course I will.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” She couldn’t bear something happening to one of them. Oh, Lord, it’s happening again. I’m falling apart, aren’t I? Help me, please.
On the long drive across the county, Bo’s mother conducted business over her cell phone about upcoming election strategies with her campaign manager. It didn’t bother Bo. His mind was elsewhere. Lingering thoughts of Mattie Diener rattled him. Bats might as well have taken up residence in his stomach. He’d been ill ever since he sat across from her at her kitchen table yesterday afternoon and helplessly watched her tears wash over her face. He couldn’t keep the confidential results of the investigation from her. She had to know right then and there the case was closed—she had to.
Why was he going over everything in his mind?
He was glad he told her.
She hadn’t trusted him to begin with, but as the relief settled her nerves, color had returned to her otherwise porcelain face.
He’d done the right thing.
Next to him the one-way conversation continued about balloons and banners. Fortunately for him, his mother had a new project. Otherwise she would have sensed his turmoil. Bo hadn’t been kicked by a mule in a long time, but he couldn’t describe the effect Mattie Diener had on him any other way. Was it because she was an Amish widow, whom Davis had wanted to hang from the clothesline? That must be it. He didn’t want the wolf devouring a lamb, and his instinct was to protect her. Yes, that would explain why he wasn’t able to mentally close the case.
Bo pulled into the plant nursery and shut off the car’s engine. Green Thumb had the largest selection of trees, shrubs, and flowering plants this side of the county. His mother ended her phone call and immediately engaged in another one with the nursery’s owner. Her campaigning began the moment she introduced herself. In a short time, they discussed taxes, road improvements, and bringing new businesses to the area. She had the man’s vote before Bo had meandered down the first row of potted fruit trees.
Another customer stole the worker’s attention, and he excused himself, saying he wanted to hear more about potential fracking contracts. She already had the politician wave down and the jovial laugh.
“Should I start calling you Madam President yet?”
She touched her salon-colored, roller-set tresses and smiled. “I think I could get used to that.”
He glanced at his watch. “Well, shall I s
uggest your first order of business be deciding what you want planted next to the carriage house?”
She eyed the selections and pointed to the impatiens. “I like those.”
He stooped to pick up a flat. “How many do you want?”
“Two. But pick out the ones with the best assortment of colors.” She motioned to the end of the row. “I’m going to look at the brick pavers.”
Bo lifted the tray, walked it back to the counter, then selected another flat and deposited it next to the register. He craned his neck in the general direction his mother went, then hearing a horse’s neigh behind him, turned around. An Amish buggy pulled up to the gate and stopped. A woman, whose face was shadowed by her black bonnet, climbed out. She headed to the rear of her buggy.
Bo scanned the area for his mother. She was busy talking with another nursery worker. He glanced at the buggy again as the woman came around the front, a wooden crate in her arms.
“Can I carry that for you?” Drawing closer, he extended his arms.
Mattie Diener’s eyes widened a split second in recognition. She looked down. “I can manage.”
Of course she wouldn’t accept his help. He was an Englischer. “How are your children?”
She jerked her head up, her face ashen. “Why do you ask?”
“That wasn’t an official question. I told you I was closing the case.” He motioned to the crate filled with jars of honey. “Are you sure that isn’t too heavy?”
“I’m sure. Thank you, though.”
“Okay,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Mrs. Diener.”
Bo met his mother and a nursery worker near a stack of landscaping pavers.
“I can arrange delivery for the day after tomorrow, Judge Nettleton,” the worker said.
“That should be fine,” she replied.
The man tore off a work order. “Just hand this to the cashier and she’ll take care of you.” The man walked away.
Bo nudged his mother’s arm. “Couldn’t win his vote?”
“He’s a die-hard Democrat.” She shrugged. “Win some, lose some.” She motioned to the register. “I’m ready to go if you are.”
“Sure,” he mumbled. His attention caught on Mattie Diener at the counter. He plodded along the dirt path around the cone-shaped evergreens, half listening to his mother’s idea of where to build the new planters and half focused on Mattie. She didn’t seem like the type of mother to leave her children with someone else to run errands.
“Are you looking forward to seeing her again?” his mother asked.
“Who?”
“Erica.” Her brows crinkled.
He played it off. “I don’t have much choice. We work together. Norton even assigned us to the same case.”
“Oh.” Her eyes lit.
“Don’t get your hopes up. The case is closed.”
“She’s a very motivated young woman. I hear she plans to follow in her father’s footsteps.”
“Politics would suit her.” He ambled alongside his mother down the row of rose bushes. The sweet aroma wafted his senses. Several feet ahead, Mattie unloaded the jars, then returned the wooden crate to her buggy. He caught a glimpse of her looking his direction and smiled, but she lowered her head and boarded her buggy.
“I’m sure Erica will be accompanying her father to the luncheon with the drilling executives today. Maybe you could ask her over to the house for dinner sometime next week,” she said as they reached the cashier.
Mother had mentioned this afternoon’s luncheon last week, but when he brought up the issue of sinkhole developments and possible groundwater contamination after drilling began, he was sure she would wish to attend the luncheon with the fracking executives alone. Hearing that Davis and the senator would be present explained his mother’s insistence on him joining her. He shouldn’t have mentioned anything about him and Davis working the same case. His mother had as much local power and influence as the senator. She might convince Norton to put them on more cases together.
He ignored her suggestion and directed his attention to the pony-tailed woman standing behind the counter. “Did you get these?” he asked the girl and pointed at the trays of impatiens.
“Yep. Is that it?”
He selected a jar of honey and handed it to the cashier. “This too.”
Mattie took a few deep breaths to settle her nerves once she was inside her buggy. She never expected to see Bo Lambright again—prayed she wouldn’t. She hadn’t meant to sound rude when he asked if he could carry the crate, but he’d surprised her showing up here, asking about her children.
Mattie placed her hand on her pounding chest. Other than Andy, no man had ever stolen her breath. She recalled Grace’s comment about the attractive Englischer and chided herself for allowing her mind to wander. Bo Lambright was an Englischer—a government worker at that.
Her racing heart was from lack of sleep. Nothing else. She needed sleep. At least she wouldn’t see him again. She tapped the reins, and the horse covered the ground quickly. A few minutes later, she entered her driveway, stopped the buggy next to the barn, and unhitched Blossom. Once she had the harness removed, she fed and watered Blossom, then checked on the lamb before going into the house.
She was more exhausted than she realized. Her head hit the pillow, and she was instantly drifting into a dreamlike state.
Chapter Twelve
Bo’s cell phone rang as he was adjusting his tie in the hall mirror. “Lambright.”
“Hey, this is Josh. I thought I’d get your voice mail.”
“What’s wrong?” He buttoned his shirt collar one-handed.
Silence.
“Josh?” The teen had a history of skipping school and running away from every foster family Bo had placed him in. Bo had relocated him several times, but fifteen-year-olds were difficult to place.
“I couldn’t stay.”
“Where are you?” He strained to listen for background noises. Nothing. The last time he ran, Bo found him hanging out with thugs in the pool hall in his old neighborhood. Bo mouthed an apology to his mother who was slipping into her heels. “Josh, are you there?”
“Yup.” Another long pause. “If I tell you, you’re just going to pick me up and take me back.”
“You know my hands are tied. We have to go through the proper channels to move you.” Bo stepped away from the mirror when his mother removed a tube of lipstick from her pocketbook. She applied the mauve shade with tedious precision. Loitering, no doubt.
Josh remained silent.
Bo stepped into his father’s library. “Have I ever done you wrong?”
“No.” Josh exhaled a heavy breath. “But you and I both know no one wants me. The system’s broken—even you said that. I just wanted to say good-bye.”
“Give me time to find—Josh?” Bo glanced at his phone screen. Call Ended.
His mother came into the room, a tissue with a lipstick imprint of her mouth in hand. “What was that about?”
“One of the kids I placed . . .” He was probably at the pool hall again. Maybe the county park near his old neighborhood. Either place was known for dope dealing.
“You gave one of those troubled youths your private number? I don’t see how that would be safe.”
“He’s a kid.”
“A troubled kid.”
Bo scowled. “I seem to remember you once had a heart for abandoned and bruised kids.”
“I still do. But now I host events and write very large checks.”
Bo smiled. “Yes, I know. I’ve attended all of your charity dinners.”
“Yes, well . . .” She turned her gaze to the oversized bookshelves as if searching for a particular volume in the set of medical encyclopedias. “You’re just like Martin. He would have had a houseful of children if I hadn’t objected.”
“He was a pediatric surgeon. I would hope he liked kids.”
She turned back to Bo and smiled. “One was enough for me. You were a handful.”
“Ha!
I find that hard to believe.”
“You’re still difficult to handle. If I didn’t know better, I would think this was previously arranged to get you out of lunch.”
He motioned to the navy suit coat and tan trousers he was wearing. “Would I dress like this if I were planning to stay home?”
She strode to the door and looked back, her eyes scanning the interior. “I think I’m ready to remodel this room,” she said, her tone melancholy. “How would you like this to become your study?”
“We can talk about that another time.” He had a desk at work he wasn’t fond of sitting at too long. He didn’t want to disappoint his mother, but he’d rather spend his free time on the lake.
“Maybe Erica can ride along with you to find the boy. You two could always join us at the club later.”
He shook his head. “The senator’s daughter has no street smarts. Where I need to go—” He’d already said too much. His mother had seen plenty of delinquents in her courtroom from that neighborhood; mentioning the area would only stress her out.
Still groggy, Mattie blinked several times to focus her eyes. How long had she slept? Pulling the blanket back, she eased out of bed. She stumbled down the hall. The house was dark.
Empty.
“Nathan, Amanda?” It took a second to remember Grace had offered to watch the children.
Mattie rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t slept that hard in . . . in eighteen months. But at that time it had taken a sedative to knock her out. She went to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on her face, awakening her senses.
She paused a moment from drying her face with a dish towel from the drawer. “I’m late!” she gasped, rushing to the front door. She grabbed her shawl from the hook and swung the lightweight material around her shoulders. If she hurried, maybe she could get over to Grace’s house and return home before the sun went down.
Grace and Ben’s buggy pulled into the drive just as Mattie reached the barn. She turned and ran to meet them. “I was on mei way out to the barn to harness Blossom. I’m so sorry. I lost track of time. I hope I didn’t burden you with watching them too long.”
