by Alison Stone
Rebecca lowered her gaze and heat infused her cheeks. The sheriff had been out to her farm after the graffiti and egg-throwing incidents, even though Samuel had begged her not to call the police. He claimed it would only aggravate the situation. But Rebecca had feared for her family’s safety. Someone had to stop them. But no one had. The perpetrators were never found. So Rebecca had stopped bothering the sheriff. Eventually things died down, until recently.
“Have you had any interactions at the diner that made you feel uncomfortable?” the sheriff asked, his tone compassionate.
“It’s quiet at the diner this time of year, mostly college students and locals.” She cut a sideways glance to the professor, wishing she could read his mind.
“You’ve had some help on the farm?”
Rebecca glanced up to find the sheriff studying her closely.
“Yes, Uri and Jonas Yoder. They’ve been a tremendous help. We wouldn’t be able to farm the land without them.”
“Any chance it was either of them in your house tonight?”
“Neh...” Her tone was less than confident, but she hoped the sheriff didn’t pick up on it. She needed the Yoder brothers to harvest the crops. They were the sons of a well-respected Amish couple with ten children. They had been happy to offer their sons to help her in her time of need in exchange for minimal pay.
“Rebecca, if you think of anything else, you know where to reach me,” the sheriff said.
She nodded.
The sheriff headed toward the door, then turned back again. “Hannah and I would love to have you over to the house for dinner. The girls would love to play with Katie and Grace.”
Rebecca folded her hands in front of her. “That would be nice.” For her daughters. For her, seeing Hannah brought back painful memories. Rebecca’s husband had killed Hannah’s sister and brother-in-law, leaving Hannah to care for her two nieces in Apple Creek, separate from the Amish community. Rebecca and Hannah had been dear friends as children, a lifetime ago.
A stomping sound on the porch drew all eyes to the door. Rebecca’s heart sank. Samuel burst into the house. Under his broad-brimmed straw hat shadowing his eyes, she had a hard time discerning if he was angry or afraid.
Samuel took off his hat and ran his hand over his blunt-cut hair. “What’s going on?”
The more her son hung around with the youngie, the more he sounded like an Englisher. It was as if the young Amish were all trying to shed their Amish roots.
“When I came home someone was in the house.”
Samuel’s gaze wandered to the stairs, perhaps thinking of his bedroom.
Oh, Samuel, please talk to me.
“Who was it?” Samuel’s words were clipped.
“I don’t know. He ran out the back. Did one of your friends stop by?”
Samuel scratched his head, leaving a tuft of hair sticking up. “Neh.” Glancing at the sheriff, then the professor, he lowered his gaze. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll stop by the Yoder farm. See if the young men are home,” the sheriff said.
Samuel’s eyes grew wide. “Neh. Mem, why would you bring these outsiders here? Don’t we have enough trouble being accepted among our neighbors after what Willard did?” He used his father’s given name to distance himself. What son wanted to admit his father was a murderer?
Rebecca’s knees grew weak. “My son is right. That will only stir up more trouble. The Yoders are gut boys.”
The sheriff hesitated a fraction, as if he were thinking it over. He then clapped Samuel’s shoulder. “Good to see you, son. Keep an eye out for your mem here and be sure to call me if you guys see anything suspicious.” The sheriff was savvy enough to know most of the youngie carried cell phones during Rumspringa. It was frowned upon, but the elders turned a blind eye to it, hoping the young people would bend a knee when the time came.
“Good night, Sheriff,” Rebecca said, eager to see him leave.
She closed the door behind him, then rested her backside against it. “Is everything okay, Samuel?”
Her son narrowed his gaze at the professor. “Are you friends with my mem?”
The professor seemed to be searching for the right thing to say. “I hope we can be.”
Samuel’s nose twitched as if he were trying to process the scene. Rebecca’s heart pulsed in her ears. She didn’t want to push Samuel away by revealing she had gone to the professor to try to exact information out of him.
Apparently sensing this, the professor spoke up. “I gave your mom a ride home.” An apologetic smile slanted his lips. He had told a lie of omission, obviously leading her son to believe he had given her a ride home from the diner. “Then all this craziness broke out.”
“Oh.” Samuel stared straight ahead, skepticism written on his face. “I’m going to bed.” He stomped up a few stairs before Rebecca called to him.
“Do you know anything about what happened here tonight?”
Samuel stopped without turning around. “How would I know? I wasn’t home.”
Rebecca caught the professor’s eye. Unease twisted her insides, worrying how far she’d push Samuel.
“You must be tired.”
Samuel nodded curtly. “Yah, I’m going upstairs.” Samuel continued his stomp up the stairs like a petulant child. When he reached his room, he hollered down the stairs. “Who was in my room?” He thudded down the stairs, his chest heaving.
“I was in your room.” Rebecca approached the bottom of the stairs. “Where did you get all that stuff?” The walls of the house seemed to sway as she waited for the answer.
Samuel pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything.
Rebecca worried about the consequences of talking in front of the professor, but she was overwhelmed. She couldn’t let this defiance from her son slide a minute longer. “Where did you get the money for a computer?”
A muscle ticked in Samuel’s jaw and suddenly he looked like a man. An angry man. “Stay out of my room,” he spat out.
“Samuel, your mother’s worried about you.” The professor moved next to her, making her feel like for once she wasn’t alone.
“You don’t have to worry.” Samuel ran upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.
Rebecca and the professor exchanged worried looks.
Samuel was definitely hiding something.
THREE
The next afternoon at the diner, Rebecca grabbed the whipped cream can she could see through the glass door of the refrigerator and yanked off the cap. Lost in thought she squeezed the trigger on the dispenser and watched the white cream ooze out into a hearty dollop on two pieces of apple pie.
Drawing in a deep breath, she picked up the plates and turned her back to push through the swinging door leading to the dining room. The door swung back with a swoosh on its hinge, and she delivered the two pieces of pie to the elderly couple in the booth by the window.
“Can I get you anything else?” Rebecca asked.
“No, dear,” the older woman said, “thank you.” The couple came in at least once a week and Rebecca couldn’t help but envy the easy way they chatted and held hands over dessert.
As Rebecca retreated to the counter, the elderly gentleman muttered something about how delicious the pie was.
Flo, the waitress on duty with her, pulled the filter basket out of the coffeemaker and turned it upside down over the garbage. With a gentle tap on the edge of the can, the wet coffee filter and used grounds slid into the garbage.
Flo was in her sixties and she was a fixture at the diner as much as shoofly pie and apple butter. People might have thought she was Amish because she wore her long gray hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and her plain gray waitress uniform might have passed for Amish to the average tourist.
But Flo was not Amish. She had English sensibilities and had raised three boys, now grown. She freely shared advice with Rebecca whether she wanted it or not.
Flo spun around, planted her fist on her hip and smiled. “Still worried about Samuel?”
&n
bsp; “I...um...” Rebecca muttered, embarrassed that she had been caught daydreaming and not getting her work done. She grabbed the dishtowel from the back counter and wiped down the already clear countertop. There was usually enough going on in the small diner to keep both waitresses hopping, but now just so happened to be the short lull between lunch and dinner.
“Well, I didn’t figure you were staring at me because you forgot how the coffeemaker worked,” Flo said with a funny smile. “What’s on your mind?”
Rebecca twisted the rag in her hands. “I went to see Professor Burke last night.” Rebecca didn’t have many Amish friends of late and she appreciated the friendship of the older woman. Rebecca missed her Amish friends, her family. Her parents had long since moved to an Amish community in Florida for health reasons and her friends had disappeared as Rebecca’s troubles multiplied.
Flo raised a pale eyebrow and regarded Rebecca for a long moment. She was a solid Christian woman, but she had a wicked sense of humor that could make Rebecca blush. That knowledge, coupled with the glint in her eye, had Rebecca bracing herself for the older woman’s reply.
“Professor Burke is a very handsome man.” Flo twisted her lips as if considering something. “Too bad he’s not Amish or you’re not English. You’d make a striking couple.”
Rebecca smoothed a hand across the edge of her bonnet, feeling her cheeks heat. None of her Amish friends spoke this boldly. “It has nothing to do with that. I wanted to talk to him about—”
“You know who he reminds me of?” Flo grabbed a fresh filter and used the orange scoop to put fresh coffee grounds in the coffeemaker.
Leaning her hip against the counter, Rebecca didn’t bother to answer because she knew Flo would get to it in her own sweet time. Before meeting Flo, she had never been around a woman who said whatever was on her mind. The Amish women Rebecca had grown up with were far more reserved.
The older woman snapped the coffee basket back into place and turned to face Rebecca. “You know who I’m talking about, right? Professor Burke reminds me of that really handsome FBI agent who works with that Bones lady.”
Confusion creased Rebecca’s brow. “Excuse me?”
Flo’s face lit up and she laughed, waving her long fingers in front of her. “Sometimes I forget you don’t watch TV.” She shook her head. Flo grew serious and stopped doing busy work, giving Rebecca her full attention. “I’m sorry. Tell me why you went to see Professor Burke.”
Rebecca glanced toward the dining area to make sure no new customers had come in. She didn’t want anyone to overhear. The only patrons were the elderly couple by the window, and they seemed content to chat over their pie and coffee.
“Samuel and some of the other Amish youth meet with Professor Burke for research purposes. I wanted to see if he could help me understand why Samuel has been withdrawn lately.”
“How so? Did he tell you something about Samuel that you didn’t want to hear?”
“No, but when he drove me home—”
“He drove you home?”
“He was being nice.” Rebecca decided to leave the part about being attacked on campus out of the story. “Someone was in my house when I got home.”
“Oh, dear.” Flo leaned forward and cupped Rebecca’s elbow. “Who was it? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t know who it was. The intruder ran out the back door. Professor Burke called the sheriff.”
“The sheriff will track him down, I’m sure of it.” Flo tried to buoy Rebecca’s mood with her optimism.
“The only problem is that the Amish try to limit their interaction with law enforcement.”
Flo squeezed Rebecca’s elbow and gave her a reassuring smile. “Sometimes calling the sheriff can’t be avoided. You know that.”
A guilty heat burned Rebecca’s stomach. Would everyone always remind her of her horrible past?
“I’m trying to help Samuel—not get him into more trouble.”
The lines around Flo’s eyes deepened in confusion. “I don’t understand why calling the sheriff would affect Samuel.”
Rebecca bowed her head. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with all my troubles.”
“You need to share or—” Flo lifted her hands to both sides of her head, then flared her fingers “—or your head will explode.”
“Well, the professor wasn’t able to give me any new information about Samuel’s bad mood. When the sheriff arrived last night, Samuel was rude to him. I don’t need my son to be on the sheriff’s bad side.”
Flo’s expression softened. “I’m sorry you’re having troubles, but maybe it’s time you stop smothering that boy.” She laughed, a sharp sound. “A boy. Listen to me. He’s a man. He could vote if he was so inclined. Stop trying to make him fit into a certain mold.” She lifted her finger and tapped the side of her head. “He’s got his own ideas.”
Rebecca blinked slowly, realizing her English friend wouldn’t understand.
As if reading her mind, Flo said, “I’m a mother, too. I raised three boys. My husband was convinced that one of them would become an engineer like him.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “One became an accountant, another a policeman, and the last—much to my husband’s distress—took up creative writing. Poor kid can’t afford to pay attention, but my husband, God rest his soul, finally had to realize each of his sons had their own path in this life.”
An ache Rebecca couldn’t define filled her.
“The Amish are not like the English. We don’t seek personal fulfillment. We are community-centered. God-centered.”
“Is your son happy?”
Rebecca flinched. “That is not—” She stopped herself, realizing her friendship with Flo was more important than slamming her over the head with how the Amish culture is different from the outside world.
“I realize the Amish march to a different beat, but Samuel is his own person. If he’s not happy, something has to change.”
Rebecca didn’t do well with change.
The bells on the diner door jangled, startling her. Rebecca’s friend and the sheriff’s wife, Hannah, strolled through the door with her young niece Sarah.
Flo leaned in close and whispered, “Hannah Maxwell seems happy since she left the Amish.”
Rebecca walked away without comment because she couldn’t find the words.
Hannah lifted her hand and waved. She placed her hand on her niece’s bun. “Sarah had ballet class in town and we thought we’d stop by and say hello. How are you?”
Rebecca smiled, feeling a little less lonely. Hannah had stopped by because she was married to the sheriff and she knew Rebecca was struggling right now.
“I’m doing fine.” Rebecca smiled at Sarah, admiring her hair, thinking that not that long ago the little girl had been wearing a bonnet and long dress, not a leotard and a pink bow. This was before Hannah had come back to town to care for her deceased sister’s children and had fallen in love with the sheriff.
“We’re going to start practicing for the Nutcracker,” the little girl said. “I’m hoping to be one of the sugarplum fairies.”
“Christmas is still months away.” Rebecca met Hannah’s gaze.
“They start practicing early.” Hannah unzipped the front of her niece’s jacket. “Maybe you can color for a few minutes while I talk to my friend Rebecca.”
Sarah slid into a nearby booth and Rebecca gave her a child’s paper place mat and three crayons. “Hope you like red, blue and green.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, picking up the red crayon and following the maze path on the place mat.
Hannah moved toward the counter and Rebecca followed. “Spencer told me he saw you yesterday.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. Embarrassment heated her cheeks.
Hannah waved her hand in dismissal. “My husband doesn’t bring his work home. He’s a good sheriff. He keeps his business confidential, but I sensed that you might need a friend to lean on.” She tilted her head to look in
to Rebecca’s eyes. “You okay?”
Rebecca sat on the edge of a stool and crossed her arms. “Don’t you sometimes wish we could go back to when we were all little girls? You, me, your sister. Collecting things for our hope chests.”
Hannah’s eyes grew red-rimmed and she gave Rebecca’s arm a squeeze. “I miss my sister every day.” She sniffed. “Nothing turned out like we had planned.” Hannah’s lips curved into a thin smile. “But that doesn’t mean some things can’t turn out okay.” She glanced in the direction of her niece. “I love my sister’s daughters like my own and Spencer is a good man. I found light at the end of a very dark tunnel.”
Rebecca feared the light at the end of her tunnel was a flickering pinprick in danger of being extinguished.
Rebecca squared her shoulders and pushed off the stool. “I’m going through a rough patch, but we’ll be fine.”
“I’m here if you need me. Please don’t be a stranger.”
“Denki.” The Amish word for thank you came easily when chatting with her old friend.
“Well, we need to pick up Emma from her friend’s house and get home.” She reached out and patted Rebecca’s hand.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Hannah said to her niece. Sarah scooted out of the booth clutching the place mat.
Rebecca watched Hannah and Sarah walk hand in hand toward the exit. Hannah glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t hesitate to call.” She jerked her head toward the phone mounted on the wall, indicating Rebecca could call her from the diner if she needed her. “You don’t have to go through any of this alone.”
Rebecca nodded. Hannah seemed happy outside the Amish, so why did the thought of her son leaving the Amish fill her with unbearable sadness?
Because leaving meant walking away from everything Rebecca firmly believed. It wasn’t about happiness in the moment; it was about faith and God and heaven.
What would happen if Samuel left?
Rebecca ran a hand over her forehead. The beginning of a headache was pulsing behind her eyes.
“Excuse me.” The elderly lady seated at the window booth snapped Rebecca out of her reverie. “Could we have more coffee, please?”
