by Mary Ellis
Joanna burst into laughter. “Sounds as though you watched plenty of TV while you babysat for those English neighbors.” She reached for another cookie from the dwindling plate.
Time to change the subject, Meghan thought. “May I see your nursery now? I’ll bet you’re pretty excited about the baby.”
Joanna’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “I thank God for His blessings every day. Follow me.” She led Meghan down the hall to a small but sunny first-floor room. “The boppli will sleep next to our bed in a cradle made by Zack’s father. Then during the day, his—or her—crib will be here off the living room.” She beckoned Meghan inside the soft yellow room. Windows on two walls flooded the polished pine floors with sunlight. Against one wall stood an oak crib, a changing table, and a bureau. A white rocking chair, with a thick quilt folded neatly over the arm, waited near the window. A homemade teddy bear sat on the cushion, smiling in anticipation of his new owner.
“Looks like you’re ready,” murmured Meghan, observing each loved-filled detail. Her heart swelled with an odd sense of longing and regret. What would it feel like to be Joanna—to know what she wanted in life and to have her future opening up like a rose in midday sun? She quickly shook off the unexpected notion.
“What about you, Meghan?” asked Joanna, next to her. “Any serious beaus yet?”
Meghan shook her head. “My sister Catherine should get hitched first. And because her intended is in Kentucky, their wedding’s at least a year away.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question. Come on, I’ll keep your secrets, but I’m lonely for news that’s not farm related.”
Meghan gazed into her mentor’s sparkling blue eyes. They reminded her of floating on their pond with a fishing line over one side of the boat. “I believe I’ve already met the man for me. He’s someone I’ve known my whole life—my best friend, really. I can’t imagine my future without him. But I want to become a teacher first—a good teacher. I can’t put too much onto my plate at once. I’m not talented like Abigail or Catherine or you.” Her words dropped to little more than a whisper.
Joanna wrapped an arm around Meghan’s thin waist. “Talent is little more than a seed in warm spring soil. It must be nurtured and tended diligently if you want it to grow. Nobody becomes proficient at anything by accident. Be patient with yourself, Meghan Yost. I agree with your plan to find yourself first, and I have a feeling your young man will wait for you. Life is long. Don’t rush things until you’re ready.”
Meghan stared up at the woman she longed to become. “Danki, Joanna. I am blessed to have you for a friend.”
“And I, you.” Joanna closed the nursery door, and they walked to where Meghan had hung her coat.
During the ride home, she thought about Joanna’s parting words. Was she only trying to be kind, or was she truly glad to have Meghan as a friend? No one had ever sought Meghan’s counsel or appreciated her company the way Jacob had. And, recently, she had alienated the best friend she’d ever known.
Gideon slumped into a kitchen chair and clutched his mug of tea as though it were a rope thrown to a drowning man. The past two days had drained his physical energy as well as his spirits.
“Tired, eh?” asked Ruth, returning with her sewing basket.
He smiled at her. “I could sleep until spring, and it has nothing to do with the weather.”
“Everything sorted out at the Millers’?” She turned up the kerosene lamp in the center of the table. The supper dishes had been put away, the girls were upstairs reviewing lessons for tomorrow, and the boys had gone to town.
“All fences have been mended and their fields are ready for spring planting. The Millers were so pleased with the quick work by our sons and their friends that they treated them to a pizza party tonight.”
Ruth peered over her reading glasses. “They raised only daughters. I hope they were prepared for how much pizza five young men can eat.” She spread her sewing across the table.
“They have probably been to enough barn raisings to have figured it out.” Gideon drained the last of his tea.
“James and John have had their hands full. Catherine said that they were a big help at the schoolhouse too. Everything was ready for class when the kinner arrived yesterday.”
“How did things go on their first day back?” asked Gideon. “I haven’t had a chance to ask.”
“The real reason the students had been sent home had gotten around. All of them asked plenty of questions, but Catherine chose not to talk about it. She said she wanted to minimize the issue.” Ruth focused on her stitches.
“What about those boys?”
His wife met his gaze. “No tearful confessions, if that’s what you mean. Robert and Joshua are doing better work and keeping their distance from Owen. The talk to their parents seems to have done the trick.”
“What about the Shockley boy?”
“He still stares out the window during class, but he no longer ignores Meghan’s directions on the playground. What did the sheriff say?”
“He hadn’t gone to the Shockley farm the last time I’d heard. And he didn’t seem to think the three events were related.” Gideon drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m sorry I called him to the school. I acted on impulse instead of consulting my brethren.”
“You were afraid for your daughters’ safety, Gideon. Meghan ran in here sounding as though a wild mob had stormed the school.” Ruth clucked her tongue. “She is as practical minded as a goose.”
“It was an awful sight to behold and upsetting to someone as tenderhearted as Meghan.” He sighed wearily.
Ruth patted his hand. “You did what you thought best at the moment. If the sheriff talks to the Shockley boy, it won’t hurt anything, even if he’s not the guilty party.”
Gideon wasn’t so sure. Sam Shockley wouldn’t like an English lawman showing up at his door, not when he hadn’t received a visit from the ministerial brethren. He snaked a hand through his tangled hair.
“You look tired, ehemann. Let’s go to bed. Things will look better after a good night’s sleep.”
“I’m fine. I think I’ll wait up for my sons. I want to tell them how proud I am of them. And I can work on Sunday’s sermon while I wait.” He walked to the windowsill where he’d left his Bible.
“They know, Gideon.” She rose and gathered up her sewing. “But I’m done in. If you get hungry, there’s still half an apple pie in the pie safe.” She brushed a kiss across the top of his head.
After she left the room he stared into space for ten minutes, pondering his actions from the past few days. He replayed the events over and over, yet he found no logical reason for his rash move. Hadn’t the elders agreed to have their sons and daughters nose around to see who might have been up to no good? Calling the sheriff to the schoolhouse had been unnecessary, especially as the man learned of trouble with the Shockley child. Even if that boy had a meaner streak than a junkyard dog, his daed could probably handle him better than any Englischer. He would make sure he talked to the elder Shockley after preaching on Sunday.
With a plan in mind, Gideon opened his Bible. When the pages fell open at the book of Job, he read chapter twelve, verse twelve: “Wisdom belongs to the aged, and understanding to the old.”
How much older must I get before I start to feel wise?
Just as his eyes grew watery and his lids heavy with fatigue, he heard the sound of a buggy coming up the driveway. At least he would be able to speak to his boys before bed.
But his sons didn’t return from the pizza party buoyed by the camaraderie of friendship and filled with greasy, spicy food. Gideon gasped as James and John walked through the door and hung up their coats and hats. James’ lip had been split open and a large clot of blood had dried close to the corner of his mouth. A reddish welt on his cheek had risen beneath an eye that had almost swelled shut. John’s nose was puffy and bloodied. A string of welts along his reddened jaw line had begun to darken. A butterfly Band-Aid closed a cut above his
left eye, while the clothes of both men were torn and muddy.
“What happened?” asked Gideon, rising to his feet. “Are you all right?”
“We’re fine, daed. James will tell ya what happened. I just want to take a shower and hit the sack.” John met his father’s gaze and then slowly shuffled up the stairs. His gait was that of a very old man.
James put a palm on his midsection and lowered himself to the chair, wincing with pain. “I don’t rightly know what happened. We were having pizza at Santos in town and minding our own business. Then, when we were leaving, we got jumped and beaten up in the parking lot.”
“Jumped? By whom?” Gideon leaned forward in his chair.
“The guy didn’t exactly introduce himself before socking me in the mouth.” He patted the scab thickening on his lip. “We parked our buggies behind the restaurant so the horses wouldn’t mess the parking lot. It was pitch-dark back there. There were five of us, so there had to be at least that many of them. I’m thinking maybe even more.” He focused his bloodshot eyes on the napkin holder. “At one point, one guy held my arms back while another punched me in the gut.”
Gideon felt a visceral pain in his own belly. Someone had hurt his boys, his gentle-hearted sons, who’d spent the past two days helping others besides doing their own chores. “What kind of people were in the pizza parlor? Did any of you inadvertently stare too long at some English girls and offend their dates?”
James shook his head. “No, daed. Nothing like that. I remember only a couple families with little ones eating while we were there. But lots of folks came and went, picking up take-out orders.”
Gideon folded his hands, interlacing his fingers as though in prayer. “Why would anybody do this?” A dull ache began behind his eyes.
“A couple of rough-looking guys came in to pick up a pizza. They stared at us and laughed and made some rude comments.” James’ words hung icily in the warm kitchen.
“What kind of comments? What did they say?”
James exhaled through his teeth. “The usual…how can we tell each other apart since we all look exactly alike?”
Gideon leaned across the table. “What did you do about it?”
“Nothing. We ignored them the way we’ve been taught.”
“What about in the parking area? Did you fight back once they started it? I need to know if you lost your temper.”
James pressed his hands down on the table and struggled to his feet. “Does it look like we fought back? No, daed, I threw no punches. I pushed one guy, but only to get him away from John. We stood there and took the beating.” His inflection revealed his opinion of their Amish pacifist nature, at least for the moment. “John has already gone upstairs. I’m taking a shower and then going to bed. But you can sleep easy—your sons did nothing to bring this on.” He patted his father’s shoulder briefly and left the room.
Despite his son’s reassurance, Gideon barely slept at all that night.
What was happening in his quiet little town? And would he be able to make it stop?
Six
With the crow of the rooster, Gideon awoke to a cold morning that arrived much too soon. “Remind me to put an end to that obnoxious bird the next time you want a stewing chicken.” He scrubbed his face with his hands before trying to focus on the windup clock.
“And deprive our hens of future broods? You know how Meghan loves those baby chicks. She pets them like kittens.” Ruth spoke from her favorite cold weather spot—with her head beneath the covers.
“My back feels as though I slept in a dresser drawer.” As he stood, the memory of last night came flooding back. He needed to prepare his wife for their sons’ appearance at the breakfast table. He gently pulled back the quilt. “Ruth, there was trouble last night at the pizza shop in town. Some thugs decided to beat up our sons and their friends.”
She bolted upright with eyes ablaze. “Who would do such a thing? Are they all right? Did James or John provoke the other boys?” As she jumped out of bed and shrugged into her robe, her questions came rapid-fire.
Gideon provided the few details he knew. “They’re fine, fraa, or at least they will be once their bruises heal. I just wanted you to be ready for what they look like.”
Ruth ran down the steps with a vigor belying her age, while the bishop followed at a more moderate pace. However, only their two daughters greeted her in the kitchen. “Where are James and John?” she asked.
Catherine poured her mother a cup of coffee. “They’re in the barn doing morning chores. They’ll be fine. Please don’t worry. They both said it looks far worse than it is.”
“They look terrible,” Meghan interjected. “John’s nose is as big as a banana, and James’ right eye is almost swollen shut.” She set a steaming pot of oatmeal on the table trivet.
Seeing Ruth’s pale face, Catherine tried to catch her sister’s attention with an exaggerated frown.
“Shouldn’t they go to the hospital?” asked Ruth. “What if there’s permanent nerve damage?”
“Sit, fraa.” Gideon pressed on her shoulder until she lowered herself into a chair. “Once the milking is finished, I will insist they take the buggy to Doc Weller’s. He has one of those X-ray machines in his office to check things out. James’ ribs might be cracked. He was in a lot of pain last night. If the doctor thinks they need a hospital, he’ll say so.” Gideon watched Catherine gobbling her oatmeal by the sink. “Sit, daughter. Eat breakfast properly and not like one of our plow horses.”
“Sorry, daed, but Meghan and I need to leave. It snowed last night, and I want to sweep the blacktop before the scholars arrive.”
“Get those big eighth grade boys to help,” he said, savoring the aroma rising from his cup.
“She just wants to make sure we beat Owen Shockley to school,” said Meghan. “We don’t want anymore nasty surprises.” She helped herself to several slices of toast from the stack before Catherine grabbed her sleeve and nearly dragged her from the room.
“Oh, Gideon. I’m so worried about my children.”
“All will be well, dear heart, eventually.” He heard the door slam behind his daughters but immediately another sound in the yard drew his attention. A car with a large door decal and mounted roof lights spun gravel in the driveway. “Ach, now what?” he muttered. “It’s Sheriff Strickland.”
Ruth set the oatmeal back on the stove and then hurried up the stairs to dress.
Gideon waited by the kitchen door, sweeping it wide as soon as the tall, burly Englischer raised his hand to knock. “Good morning, Sheriff. How about some coffee?”
The man stepped into the room, pulling off his wide-brimmed hat. “Good morning, Bishop. Hope I haven’t come too early.”
“Not for farmers, you haven’t,” said Gideon. “Oatmeal? Toast? My wife could fry you a couple eggs.”
“No, thank you. Coffee will be fine. I’ve already eaten. I’ve just come for a quick word with you, sir.” He settled his bulk into a chair.
“How did it go at the Shockley place?” asked Gideon, filling their coffee cups.
“I’ll stop there later this afternoon. There was an accident on the interstate yesterday evening that closed the road in one direction for hours. It had the department tied up all night.”
“You have more important things than mischief at an Amish school. You can let me talk to the boy’s parents and get to the bottom of this.”
“It’s no trouble, but I’m not here right now about some schoolboy with a grudge.” Strickland rubbed one shoulder as though in pain. “A call came in to my dispatcher while we were tied up at the wreck. Seems as though there was trouble at the pizza shop last night.”
Gideon’s chin snapped up “You heard about that already? None of the boys called the police.”
“Mr. Santos called us. One of my deputies stopped there before going off duty. Santos saw the fight in his back lot from a window. He called nine-one-one immediately, but by the time we could respond everybody had gone. My deputy took photos o
f some tire tracks in the snow. The field wasn’t plowed and salted like the parking lot.”
The bishop swallowed a mouthful of hot coffee, singeing his throat all the way down.
“It was a four-by-four with big, knobby tires.” The sheriff sipped his black coffee carefully.
Gideon gaped. “You can tell all that from tire tracks in the snow?”
“You’d be surprised what clues criminals leave behind. It’s hard to believe we have any unsolved crimes left on the books.” His lips thinned into a smile.
“So most likely they’re the ones who took down my fences too,” murmured Gideon, more statement than question.
“But I didn’t see any truck tracks around the schoolhouse. No tire tracks whatsoever.” The sheriff focused on the bishop with his calm manner.
Gideon stroked his beard like a sage. “That’s why you figured it was a student—someone who got there on foot.”
The lawman didn’t respond to that statement. “I’d like to talk to your sons, Bishop, if they can take some time from their chores. This won’t take long.” But before he got to his feet, James and John strode into the room from the back hall.
“Perfect timing, boys. Good to see you.” Strickland stretched out a hand to shake. “Although I’ve seen you both looking a tad better.”
James pumped his hand. “We spotted your cruiser from the hayloft and thought we’d spare you a trip to the barn.” He carefully settled himself into a chair while John leaned his frame against the counter.
“Does that eye feel as bad as it looks?”
“Nah. Ma gave me a couple of aspirin. I hardly remember it ’cept when I look in a mirror, but shaving will be painful.” James’ chuckle sounded good to his father’s ears.
“I take it the men who jumped you were Englischers. Did you recognize any of them?”
James shook his head. “It all happened too fast in the dark. They just started wailing on us. I was so busy trying to protect myself from the next punch that I couldn’t focus on details.”
“What about their truck? They were driving a pickup with big tires. You remember seeing their truck before around town?”
