by Beth Wiseman
Charlotte stiffened at the mention of Lena’s daughter, Hannah, but cleared her throat with a slight cough. “Hannah’s a couple of years younger than me, right? Twenty-three or twenty-four?”
Lena nodded. “Ya. She’s twenty-four.”
That seemed old to still be living at home.
“Hannah had wanted to be here, but Widow Hostetler called and needed someone to cart her to the doctor. She doesn’t drive her buggy anymore.” Lena chuckled. “And we are all safer on the streets because of that.”
Charlotte bowed her head when Lena did. The Amish prayed silently before every meal, so Charlotte sat quietly with her eyes closed and waited.
“Did you say Widow Hostetler called?” Charlotte had seen the women in Beeville using cell phones, but she wanted clarification that she’d be able to use her phone while she was here. It was Charlotte’s understanding that some Amish districts allowed the use of cell phones, while others did not.
“Ya, our bishop allows portable telephone calls for emergencies.” She winked at Charlotte. “Funny how many emergencies pop up.” Lena frowned. “Oh, nee. Are you against the use of mobile telephones? Or does your district allow it?”
Charlotte swallowed a bite of bread, the tastiest she’d ever had. “Yeah.” She paused, kicking herself again. “Ya. We are allowed phones.” Lena handed Charlotte the bowl of chicken salad and Charlotte spooned a small amount onto her plate. Then she got two meatballs and a small scoop of chicken casserole.
“I hope you’ll eat more than that.” Lena sat taller, her eyes wide. “That’s not enough to feed a bird.”
To Charlotte, it looked like a ton, so she was a bit taken aback and not sure how to respond. “I-I’ve had a stomach bug recently.” One more lie to add to the collection.
Lena clicked her tongue a couple of times. “We’ve had something going around here too. Hannah took sick last week.”
Charlotte tensed again, knowing she would have to stop reacting every time Hannah’s name was mentioned, but she couldn’t shake the idea that maybe Ethan’s fiancée had something to do with his death. Or at the least, knew why her brother had killed himself.
“Save room for dessert,” Lena said as she motioned toward a chocolate pie at the far end of the table.
Charlotte fought a yawn before she nodded. She wasn’t sure how she’d eat one more bite, and for a brief moment, guilt nipped at her for enjoying the food so much. She forced the thought aside and decided her lies were justified.
Lena excused herself to the bathroom, so Charlotte took a good look around at the modest surroundings. The table was in the middle of a large kitchen, and as she ran her hand along the table’s edge, she took note of the fine craftsmanship. Eight oak chairs were around the table. On the counters were canisters, paper towels, a pitcher of tea, and a platter of cookies. Nothing decorative.
Charlotte took her napkin and dabbed at the sweat beads on her forehead. In Texas it would be unheard of not to have air conditioning. She doubted it got as warm here, but she was already dreading her time here without it. At least she didn’t have to worry about her makeup running down her face since her role as a well-bred Amish woman didn’t include cosmetics. She glanced at the back of her hands and recalled having the nail tech remove her gel fingernails and file them short.
She piled more butter on the homemade bread and let it melt in her mouth. She rarely ate bread at home, but it didn’t taste like this. She closed her eyes and sighed, letting the warm, buttery taste settle onto her palate. If she kept eating like this, she would be huge by the time she went home. Opening her eyes, she saw Lena come through the living room and stop at the window.
“Ach, gut,” Lena said as she made her way back to the kitchen. “That’s Hannah pulling in now. She’s been eager for you to get here, to have someone close to her age to pal around with.”
“And I’ve been looking forward to coming,” Charlotte said, finding comfort in her truthful response. Running around with Hannah might shed some light on what happened to Ethan, but Charlotte bit her tongue and fought the tremble in her bottom lip as Hannah walked into the kitchen. She was just as beautiful as Ethan had said. On the outside, anyway.
The story continues in Beth Wiseman’s, Her Brother’s Keeper . . .
