Found

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  Jacob couldn’t blame her. For them to be forgetting how much Perry had shamed them all? It was almost unforgiveable.

  Unable to keep silent any longer, Jacob stepped forward. “Don’t blame Deborah. The hug you saw, it wasn’t her doing, it was mine. I hugged her.”

  “That’s not true,” Deborah whispered.

  “I asked to her stay here and talk to me. And I kissed her without asking her permission,” Jacob said quickly. Almost standing in front of her so that he could shield her from the terrible looks her father was shooting their way.

  But if Jacob had imagined his words would make things easier, he was mistaken.

  Looking even angrier, Mr. Borntrager folded his arms tightly across his chest and raised his voice. “Well, of course Deborah being here is your fault. All of it is your fault. You’ve ruined our family, you murdered my son. You’ve lied to us for months, concealing your part in my son’s death. And now you’re attacking my daughter.”

  Jacob knew that Mr. Borntrager wasn’t speaking the truth. It was at best exaggerated and at worst flat-out lies. But what did it really matter? His future was doomed because no one but Deborah seemed to care that he had no intent to kill Perry and had no idea who had hidden his body.

  So he kept quiet, choosing to let her parents yell at him. At least then they would ease up on their daughter.

  But Deborah pushed her way past him, standing in front of her parents, looking as brave as he’d ever seen anyone look. “Father, you must stop saying such things.”

  “I’ve held my tongue all this time. No longer.”

  “But you’re wrong. Daed, my hugging Jacob wasn’t like you are describing. We were merely—”

  “I don’t want to hear another word.”

  “But I think we should talk about this!” Her expression crushed, she turned to her mother. “Mamm, don’t you think we need to face the truth now? Don’t you think you need to hear Jacob’s side of the story?”

  “My Perry is gone, Deborah. That is all I need to know.”

  “Nee!”

  Reaching out, her father grabbed Deborah’s arm. “Daughter, I’ve never laid a hand on you, but if you don’t stop, you will leave me with no choice. We will leave now. And you will not say another word to Jacob Schrock ever again. Furthermore, we will never step foot in this store again. It’s done nothing but bring shame and pain into our lives.”

  Tears now fell down her face. “It wasn’t the store that hurt us, Father,” she said quietly.

  Looking at the three of them, Jacob knew there was nothing he could do. Her father was right. He’d done terrible things, and they should feel nothing but scorn for him.

  “You should leave, Deborah,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

  She shook her head. “But this isn’t okay. You aren’t like that. We aren’t like that . . .”

  “Deborah!” her father thundered. “You will obey me now.”

  “Go, Deb. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right,” he said.

  Tears now running down her face, apology bright in her eyes, Deborah said, “I’m so sorry, Jacob.”

  “I understand. I promise, I understand.” He did understand, and he almost welcomed the pain of her family’s rejection. It was no more than he deserved.

  Without another word, Mr. Borntrager ushered his wife and daughter out of the store. Jacob stood stoically as he watched them walk down the front steps and down the sidewalk. Deborah’s father was grim-faced as he led the way, his steps proud, his gait fast. Mrs. Borntrager followed, her face tilted toward the ground, her back hunched as if she was in pain.

  And slowly following was Deborah. Her chin was up, her posture was straight. As if to all the world she had nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to answer for.

  It was only when he saw her swipe her face with the side of her hand that he realized she was still crying.

  When they were out of sight, he glanced around the store, amazed at the silence. His family’s store was rarely silent. Usually his father’s voice echoed down the aisles, or his mother’s gentle coaxing floated from the back storage room.

  More often than not, the store was bustling with customers. Tourists, too.

  And of course, the animals made their own noise. They chattered or buzzed or barked or chirped. But this morning, there was nothing. Only him and two kittens who always seemed to prefer their own company to his.

  Standing in front of their cage, he watched them snuggle. They were wrapped around each other, curved so tightly that at first glance they looked like one. In slumber, their calico fur blended together, and their soft purring was as gently infectious as almost anything he’d ever heard.

  Showing him that some things were meant to be a pair. Just like he and Deborah.

  “Well, cats, I guess it’s just you and me. For a time, at least.” Until the trial and a jury convicted him of his crimes.

  Once in prison, he’d be living in a cage of his own, always at the mercy of people who were free.

  Thinking about his future that way, Jacob knew he fostered many regrets. He wished he’d been a better son. Often, a better friend.

  But more than any of that, he wished he’d treated Deborah better. He wished he’d seen her as more than Perry’s little sister when they were younger. He wished he’d seen her as more than just a girl of his acquaintance during that short period of singings and courtship.

  But most of all, he wished he’d never taken out his anger on her. He’d been wrong to see her as only a reminder of his faults. And then, when he’d finally realized how wrong he’d been, he wished he’d taken the time to let her know how much she meant to him.

  Now, all he could do was prepare for his new future. The best thing for them both was for him to keep his distance, and to make sure she kept it, too. It wouldn’t do for her to risk her parents’ wrath. Or to risk facing others’ disapproval.

  Yes, certainly the best thing for him to do would be to keep to himself.

  Because he’d finally realized that it didn’t really matter what the future had in store for him. No matter what happened, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  After all, no matter how much a man might wish to change the past, there was one thing they could all count on: You could never go back. What was done was done.

  Chapter 21

  “Good character—like good soup—is usually homemade.”

  AARON SHCROCK

  Would you like another piece of peanut butter pie, Walker?” Lydia asked after the rest of her siblings had left the table. “I’d be happy to get it for you.”

  He patted his stomach. “Lydia, you know I can’t eat another bite. And if I do, I’m going to get so huge you won’t like me anymore.”

  “You know that would never happen.”

  “It might. You don’t know how I’ve been eating at my grandparents.”

  Lydia’s mother stopped by their chairs on the way to the kitchen. “Have you been eating lots of gut Amish food, Walker?”

  She smiled broadly, letting Lydia know that she was mighty amused by Walker’s quandary.

  “My grandmother is a wonderful-gut cook,” he said with a grin. “Too good, I’m afraid.”

  “Walker’s been working hard at their farm, Mamm,” Lydia said, feeling so proud of Walker. She’d always thought that he was a man to proud of. She loved the way he was so confident and easy-going. But watching him in the fields, seeing him with his grandparents, hearing praise from other people about how hard he worked, and how determined he was to learn things the “Amish way,” she’d never been more proud.

  Her mother squeezed his shoulder. “I must say I’m amazed at how well you’ve been doing, adjusting to our ways, Walker. Living Plain is not easy.”

  Looking at Lydia, he smiled slightly. “I’ll admit to being as confused about what to do as anybo
dy. I was even hoping that Lydia would give living English a try. I was enjoying going to college and I thought she would, too.”

  As Lydia expected, her mother became reflective. “But now?”

  “But now I’m starting to feel like God has been guiding me toward my grandparents. I would never have wished for my grandfather to have heart trouble, but I can’t ignore how glad I am that I’ve started working at my grandparents’ farm.”

  “He is guiding us both, Walker,” Lydia said with a gentle smile. “Together, we will find a way.”

  “I hope so.”

  She was vaguely aware of her mother leaving, giving them a few minutes of privacy.

  “We just need to keep our faith and not try to rush things. I do think living Amish is in my future, but I think it’s going to take some time. I want to be sure.”

  Lydia knew it would most likely take several years for Walker to feel comfortable enough to meet with the bishop and take his vows. Until then, she needed to be satisfied with their love, and knowing that they were headed toward future happiness.

  Unlike other couples they knew.

  She wasn’t anxious to bring up bad news, but Lydia couldn’t help finally mentioning what had been on both of their minds for the last twenty-four hours. “I’m so worried about Jacob. What if he goes to prison? What will happen to him? What will happen to him and Deborah?”

  “I’m worried, too.” He pursed his lips. “Jacob wouldn’t talk to me. I went by his house last night. I’m really starting to fear for him, Lydia.”

  “I know.” Darting a look at the open doorway, she lowered her voice. “I would have never guessed that he would have been capable of killing Perry.”

  “I don’t think he did. All anyone knows for sure is that he and Perry were fighting.”

  “Walker, Mr. and Mrs. Borntrager have said he admitted it.”

  “Is that what Deborah told you? Is that what Jacob told you?”

  “Of course not.” Deborah was defending Jacob with all her heart. But Lydia just wasn’t so sure that he was completely innocent. “My parents said that I mustn’t go to Schrock’s Variety until Jacob is back behind bars.”

  “I’m still going to go there.”

  “But Walker—”

  “I don’t think he did it, Lydia. I worked side by side with that guy for months. We’ve been friends longer than that. He needs our support.”

  “I’ve been friends with him since we were children,” she murmured.

  “The last thing he needs is to think that we’ve all abandoned him. Lydia, we need to be there for him.” Turning to her, he said, “I think we should go see him tonight.”

  “But I’ll get in trouble if I disobey . . .”

  “Lydia, if you don’t want to come because you don’t want to, I’ll understand. But if you are refusing because you don’t want to disobey your parents, I think you should rethink that. You’re a grown woman, Lydia.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Lydia, I intend to ask you to marry me soon. I want to know that you’re mine, even if we have to wait months and months until I can enter the Amish faith. Are you prepared for that? Or will you be waiting to see what your parents say? It’s time to grow up, don’t you think?”

  She was so surprised that he even thought she was acting like a child, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was quick, barely more than a light brush of lips.

  But it finally shut him up. “Walker, I am a grown woman. Don’t worry about that anymore.”

  “Um, all right.” He looked a little dazed and confused.

  Standing up, she picked up their dessert dishes. “And if you would like to take me out for a drive this evening, I think I would even say yes,” she added, being very careful to not mention out loud that she was willing to follow his lead.

  But Walker’s smile told her everything she needed to know. “I’d love to take you out for a drive, Lydia. It’s a beautiful night for a drive.”

  Because her back was to him, she smiled broadly. “I’ll let my parents know. I’ll be back in a minute, Walker.” There. He might have some opinions about how to manage her . . . but she had opinions, too.

  Lydia had a feeling they now had a chance for happiness. One day. When their lives weren’t so torn over the loss of Perry. When they weren’t all so exhausted from the investigation.

  When they weren’t all so very aware that even when things were bad . . . they could still get much worse.

  Chapter 22

  “My Perry, he used to bring over as many boys after school as he could. In no time at all, the house would be overrun with noisy boys—all as hungry as could be. But that was okay, I didn’t mind one bit. I always knew those days wouldn’t last.”

  BETH ANNE BORNTRAGER

  Their home felt emptier than ever. As they walked into the front entryway, Deborah couldn’t help but contrast the quiet feeling of despair that pervaded the air with the noisy brightness of earlier days.

  The bench near the back door was empty and spotlessly clean. Back when she and Perry had been teenagers, it had been constantly covered with books and gloves, old boots and sheets of paper. The coatrack held two coats, the kitchen table was empty. Years ago, the coatrack had always been filled to overflowing. Friends would come over, then rush off without retrieving their cloaks or jackets or sweaters. It had been a constant source of irritation for their mother.

  And the kitchen? Well, that hardly was worth thinking about. Her mother had often cooked soup or cookies or bread. It had been impossible to enter the house without being hit with the aroma of something fresh and warm to eat.

  Walking into the quiet kitchen, Deborah turned on the gas, lit the stove with a match, then filled a kettle and set it to heat up. “I’ll make some tea,” she said.

  “I don’t care for any.”

  Deborah turned and noticed that her mother was standing next to the post at the bottom of the stairs. “Where are you going, Mamm?”

  “Back to bed.”

  Dismayed, she asked, “But don’t you want to sit with me for a little bit?” Realizing her parents had probably not had lunch, she said, “I could make us something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry, Deborah.”

  “But what about Daed? When did he eat last?”

  Her mother’s eyes turned vacant. “I don’t know,” she murmured before heading up the stairs.

  Her departure hurt. Deborah was so tired of trying to make things work between the three of them . . . and now she had nothing else to think about. She had no job, no other place to be . . . and now no Jacob in her life.

  The kettle whistled, spurring her to action. Jumping to her feet, Deborah made herself a cup of tea, then opened the refrigerator and pulled out some vegetables.

  She was slicing some carrots and celery for soup when the back door opened. “Daed, I’m making soup.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Daed, you need to eat.” She needed to eat, too. And she needed to keep busy.

  “Deborah, I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite. This morning’s events have been terribly difficult on me.”

  Slowly, she set her knife on the counter. “Daed, are you talking about seeing Jacob and me hugging?”

  “And kissing. You shamed us, Deborah. I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to forgive you for throwing yourself at that boy.”

  “Jacob is as old as I am. He’s not a boy. We’re grown adults. And I wasn’t throwing myself at him.” Feeling desperate, she pulled out a chair. “Daed, sit down and I’ll tell you about what happened. And I’ll share with you his side of the story. Then I think you’ll feel a lot better about Jacob.”

  Ignoring the chair, his eyes turned cooler. “There is no ‘his side.’ There is only the truth and his lies.”

  “I di
sagree. If you’d just sit and talk to me, I think you’ll change your mind.”

  “I’m not going to change it. Our Perry is dead, and Jacob Schrock is responsible. That’s all I need to know, and all you should be worrying about as well.”

  “You’re not being fair.”

  “Being fair has nothing to do with any of this. You’ll have a lot of time to think about your poor judgment now that you’re staying home.”

  He turned away then, leaving Deborah to stare at the pile of neatly chopped celery and carrots in front of her.

  This was what her life was going to be like. Yes, her parents were still grieving for Perry, but they’d developed new habits over the last few months. They were content to keep the house quiet and dark. In a perpetual state of mourning.

  And it looked like they were eager for her to stay that way, too. She could make tea and soup, do the laundry and the sewing, keep to herself and be quiet . . . but it was never going to be enough. She was never going to take the place of Perry.

  Never would they start concentrating on her needs or her feelings.

  Leaving the cut vegetables on the counter, she turned off the stove, added more hot water to her tea, then carried her mug up to her room. After closing the door firmly behind her, she took her teacup to the window seat and she curled up on the worn, frayed cushion.

  Outside spring had arrived. Leaves were sprouting on the trees, flowers had begun to bloom. And the path that led to the Schrocks wasn’t quite as worn down as it usually was.

  With a sense of doom that surely matched the rest of the house, she realized that the weeds around the path would surely grow tall and unruly again.

  Because there was very little chance she’d be visiting Jacob ever again. Yes, she was once again being a dutiful daughter . . . but she wasn’t very happy about it.

  Once again, she didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to last.

  I can’t understand why today’s sales are down so much,” Jacob’s father said at the kitchen table that evening. Looking up from the receipts on the table, he turned to Jacob. “Why do you think it was such a bad day?”