“Ja, I hope so.” Joseph handed him the folder containing the copy of the lease.
Abbott put on a pair of silver-rimmed reading glasses and glanced over the papers as Joseph explained the situation.
When he’d finished, Abbott looked sharply over the top of his glasses. “I understand that you’re not pleased about who this McMillan works for, but are you sure you want out of the lease? This is a good bit of money, more than you’re likely to get from anybody else, and it was my understanding that you and your sister were relocating to Ohio.”
Joseph wondered how, exactly, Abbott had known about that. “I was, ja, but those plans have changed.”
“I see.” Abbott steepled his fingers on top of his desk. “Do you think it’s wise, though, to stay here in town? I mean, the movie’s going to be made whether this particular fellow rents your house or not. There’ll be plenty of publicity, the studio will see to that, and all the fuss that goes with it. It won’t be easy, especially with your sister in such a delicate state of health. I really”—he leaned forward, holding Joseph’s eyes with his own—“really think you should go ahead and make that move out of state.”
The lawyer’s tone was friendly enough, but there was no mistaking the message in those unflinching eyes. Watch your step. Sheriff Townsend’s warning echoed in Joseph’s memory.
“That won’t be possible,” Joseph replied evenly, “but I thank you for your concern.”
“Oh, I am concerned. Very concerned.” Abbott removed his glasses and set them to the side. “I think you’re making a big mistake. This round of publicity won’t be like the last one. I’ve heard some things, things maybe you’re not aware of.”
There was something in the other man’s expression that Joseph couldn’t quite decipher. “What things?”
The lawyer leaned against the high back of his leather chair. “Let’s just say this movie isn’t going to take quite the same slant as the previous news articles did. This publicity may prove to be far more . . . painful for your family.”
More painful than what they’d already dealt with? That seemed unlikely. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“I’ve read the outline that the studio’s approved for this film. It’s not for public view, of course, but my family has always supported the arts, and the producer happens to be an acquaintance of mine. He did me the favor of giving me a preview. I’m afraid your family—at least in the draft I read—doesn’t come off too well. Your parents particularly.”
Joseph’s heartbeat sped up. He found himself measuring his breaths, the way his father had taught him to do when his temper was rising. “I don’t see how that could be possible. My parents did nothing wrong, Mr. Abbott.”
The attorney shrugged gently. “I’m not saying they did. But movies have more license to explore the nuances of a situation. More creative freedom, as it were. This film isn’t a documentary, you see. It’s based on a true story, but it doesn’t pretend to be one. It’s just entertainment.”
Entertainment. Joseph shook his head. “This makes no sense to me.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t.” Abbott’s sympathy felt as oily as his hand. “But then so many things in this world don’t make sense. Not much we can do about that, I’m afraid. This, though”—he thumped the lease with one finger—“this we can certainly do something about. I’ll make a phone call or two. You won’t have to lease your farm to this fellow if you don’t choose to. But like I said, Joseph, I’d think seriously about going ahead with your plans to move away, at least for the time being. You sure you don’t want to think this over a little longer?”
Joseph stood. This conversation had his skin prickling the way it did during the height of a summer thunderstorm, just before lightning struck. He needed to get away by himself to someplace quiet and try to think all this through. “I would like to get out of the lease if you can manage that. Can you give me an idea of what your time will cost?”
Abbott took his time rising from his own chair. “Don’t worry about the money, Joseph. I’m happy to make a few calls on your behalf, as a gesture of my goodwill. This terrible tragedy happened to both our families, just like you said that day at your home. Remember?”
“Ja. I remember.”
“It’s one of the finest tenets of your faith, that way of thinking. Who knows?” Abbott’s smile didn’t reach into his eyes. “If you’ll stick to that, the publicity may be kinder to you. Of course, given the relationship you have with the press right now.” The lawyer shrugged. “I certainly wouldn’t count on them cutting you much slack. But we’ll hope for the best.”
He extended his hand, and Joseph saw no way short of rudeness to avoid accepting it. The other man’s fingers clamped around his own, and Abbott leaned forward as if he were about to share a secret. “Since I’m doing you this favor, you might consider talking to that hotheaded brother of yours for me. Rein him in, get him to settle down and start behaving himself. That would make things a lot . . . easier . . . for everyone concerned.”
Joseph withdrew his hand without answering. Abbott held his gaze for a second longer, then clapped him on the back before throwing open the office door. “Good to see you, Joseph. Give your family my best, won’t you?”
The lawyer’s voice was pleasant, and he’d agreed to sort out the lease trouble for free, something Joseph was fairly certain wasn’t a courtesy often extended in this office. He’d gotten what he’d come for, but talking with Stephen Abbott was a lot like sticking a hand into murky water. Unpleasant feeling, and you could never be sure about what lurked underneath the surface.
He could add understanding lawyers to the growing list of things he wasn’t good at. Still, he’d understood enough that he wasn’t overly sorry to see that Titus had pulled up an uneven circle of the Abbotts’ grass and dropped a pile of steaming manure in the middle of his expansive lawn.
On the drive home, Joseph barely noticed the occasional trucks and cars rumbling by as he methodically sorted through what Abbott had told him. His sense of unease grew as he fit the puzzle together. There were pieces missing yet, but he could see enough to distrust the picture that was forming.
He should’ve listened more closely to Caleb. Maybe his brother was too rebellious to mold easily into the Amish faith, but he’d never been stupid. Now, after talking with Stephen Abbott, Joseph suspected that Caleb had been right all along. Abbott would do whatever it took to protect his son from the consequences of his actions—including investing in a movie that spun the story in Trevor’s favor at the expense of the truth.
Joseph had no idea how he was supposed to steer his family through this. He’d have to talk to Isaac and see what the bishop suggested. No matter what Joseph did, though, one thing was for sure. More tough times were coming for him and those he loved.
He registered that truth dully. A better man would be thankful that Gott had protected Naomi, grateful that the woman he cared for wouldn’t have to walk through this mess alongside him.
Maybe Joseph should be thankful, but right now he couldn’t muster up much gratitude. His heart, having suffered blow after blow, felt strangely dead. It was like that instant of blankness when a fellow sliced his finger open with a chisel. The blood welled up right off, but just at the first there was no pain.
That came later.
A small car whizzed past, honking its horn and causing Titus to sidle sideways. Joseph tightened his slack grip on the reins and spoke soothingly to the startled animal. When he glanced up, the vehicle had pulled over to the side of the road ahead, taillights and blinkers flashing. A young man got out and walked toward the approaching buggy.
Joseph felt a fresh surge of irritation. He didn’t want to deal with some pushy Englisch stranger, not now, not today. He wanted to get home and close himself off in his workshop, get his hands busy and try to find a scrap or two of peace.
The man advanced wi
th his hands extended and a determined look on his face. Joseph started to swerve around him, but then he narrowed his eyes. That was Naomi’s driver, wasn’t it? The one who’d driven her to Knoxville.
All right. Maybe he’d stop after all. Joseph had a few questions for that fellow, and right now he was in just the right mood to ask them. He slowed the buggy, drawing it as far off the sloping shoulder of the road as he dared. The man Naomi had called Eric came to the side of the buggy, his expression grim.
“I want to talk to you.”
“Do you.” Joseph made the words a statement rather than a question, since there didn’t seem to be much question about it. Any fellow who’d flag you down in the middle of a road obviously wanted something. “I want to talk to you also.”
“I’m going first.” The younger man fixed Joseph with a steely stare. “Just so you know, I really hate doing this. Just because I’m a reporter doesn’t mean I enjoy sticking my nose in other people’s business. But the more I thought about it, the madder I got.”
Joseph frowned. This fellow was a reporter? Naomi sure hadn’t mentioned that.
“Just say your piece,” Joseph ground out, feeling both hurt and annoyed.
“All right, I will. Naomi’s one of the sweetest girls I know, and you’re a poor excuse for a man if you don’t take a lot better care of her than you’ve been doing. I don’t know much about how you folks handle things,” the other man went on, “and I don’t mean to be disrespectful of your religion or anything like that. But I don’t care what church you go to, a man doesn’t send any woman he cares about to an appointment like that alone. She was scared to death, did you know that? She acted brave, but I could tell. Seeing her sitting there, counting her cash over and over again, worrying over whether she’d have enough . . . it just killed me. She didn’t use my credit card but I wish she had. At least then somebody would’ve done something for her.”
What was this crazy Englischer talking about? “I don’t understand. You gave her a credit card? Why?”
The Englischer sputtered. “You really have to ask? Why do you think? Because I wasn’t going to let her go into that cardiologist’s office worried about money on top of everything else!”
Cardiologist. Suddenly all the confusing bits of information whirling in Joseph’s brain clicked together into a terrible certainty.
“Hah, Titus!” Joseph snapped the reins sharply on the horse’s back and the buggy lurched forward, causing the Englischer to stumble to the side of the road.
Joseph didn’t spare him a backward glance. The reporter would have to look after himself.
He had to get home.
Chapter Thirty-One
Naomi switched off the gas stove burner and used a pot holder to pluck the hot lid off the water-bath canner. A cloud of steam wafted upward, heating her face as she set the lid to the side and reached for the rubber-tipped tongs.
“Spread out the towel, Miriam. This batch is ready.”
Miriam quickly doubled the bath towel on the table to protect its wooden surface from the heated jars, then stepped back as Naomi began transferring the dripping half-pints of apple butter.
“Look at those cute jars.” Miriam laughed softly. “We’ve never canned in such small amounts before. Mamm always used pints. Quarts sometimes, even, if it was something everybody liked.”
“Ja, they are little!” Naomi smiled, dabbing at her damp forehead with one sleeve. It was wonderful gut to hear Miriam laugh. “Since this was only a small batch of apple butter, there wasn’t much to work with.”
She didn’t add that with only Joseph and Miriam living at home now, there was no point canning big jars of anything. It would take the two of them long enough to get through these small ones.
Maybe Miriam figured that out for herself, because as she stood looking at the growing line of tiny jars, her smile dimmed. The younger woman picked up a dishtowel and began blotting the jars dry. She was silent for a moment, then she said, “Well, they are the sweetest jars, and they will look real pretty on the breakfast table, ain’t so? You must tell Katie thank you for sharing them with us.”
“I will,” Naomi promised with a smile.
It was slow going, but Miriam was getting better. She’d not been farther than the doorstep since that last disastrous trip to town, but at least she wasn’t hiding in her room these days. She got up every morning, dressed, and helped around the house. If a person didn’t know Miriam’s troubles, they’d never guess there was anything wrong with her—unless they asked her to go out of doors.
Given what the future held, this improvement was Gott’s providence. Hopefully now, once Naomi was gone, Miriam could manage the housework on her own.
Unless the canceled wedding caused another setback.
Naomi had braced herself to see Miriam upset over that news today, but apparently Joseph hadn’t yet told his sister what had happened. Naomi wasn’t sure what to do, so she had simply let things be. She didn’t think her heart could handle Miriam’s disappointment, not when her own was so fresh.
In a strange way, it had been comforting, going about the kitchen today as if nothing had changed, as if the future she’d been so joyful about was still possible. At first she’d felt less than truthful, but then she’d decided it was all right to enjoy this final bit of happiness, like savoring the last sunshiny afternoon before winter started in earnest.
As she set the last jar on the table, Naomi heard the buggy rattling into the yard, and her heartbeat fluttered. “Joseph must be back from town.”
“Gut. Likely he’ll want to try a bit of this apple butter on some fresh bread for a snack. It was always one of his favorites. He—” Miriam cocked her head, listening. Her face changed, the fear that was never far away sparking back into her eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
Naomi set down the tongs. “Don’t go jumping at shadows, Miriam. He’s not even come into the house yet. There’s no reason for you to think such a thing.”
“He’s stopped in the yard instead of driving the buggy to the barn. He never does that.” A high note of panic had crept into Miriam’s voice.
Come to think of it, Joseph did always drive Titus straight to the barn. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Naomi soothed. “He probably has something to unload.”
However, the minute Joseph came through the door, Naomi knew that Miriam was right. Something was wrong, for sure and certain. His eyes found hers and locked on.
“Miriam, would you leave Naomi and me for a minute?”
Miriam’s fingers worried the damp dishtowel. “What’s happened?”
Joseph’s face gentled as he glanced at his sister. “It’s all right. I promise you. I just need to speak with Naomi. Alone. Please.”
Miriam hesitated for another moment then nodded. She folded the dishtowel neatly over the lip of the sink and went toward the stairs.
As Miriam’s soft footsteps padded up the steps, Naomi struggled to read Joseph’s expression. What had happened in town to give him such a hard look?
He waited until he heard the soft thud of Miriam’s bedroom door closing before turning to Naomi.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick again?”
Naomi’s stomach gave a nauseating roll. He knew. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine how, but somehow, he’d found out. “Oh, Joseph.”
He stepped forward, searching her face. “You haven’t been well for weeks.” Suddenly Joseph snatched off his hat and flung it at the table. It landed half over the little row of cooling jars and settled crookedly. “I should have seen it myself. I did see it, some of it, but there were so many other things going on . . . It was wrong of you, Naomi, to keep such a thing from me. Especially when—” He stopped short. “It was wrong of you,” he finished roughly.
She’d never seen Joseph this angry before. It was a sight to behold, for sure, the way his brown eyes flashed like autum
n leaves catching flame in a bonfire. Who knew this quiet man had so much fire in him?
“How did you find out?”
“That Englisch driver of yours. Eric. The reporter. The one you’ve been giving pies to, ain’t so? There seem to be plenty of things you forget to tell me. Ja, your reporter friend flagged me down, worried over you, and he told me. I’d sooner have heard this news straight from you, Naomi.”
She didn’t know what to say. The whole world was crashing down around her. “I’m sorry, Joseph.”
“Are you? Then you’ll tell me now. Everything, Naomi. All of it.”
So she did. Quietly she told him what the doctor had said, watching the lines etched into his face deepen as she did.
When she’d finished, she added, “I am sorry for not telling you before. But I wasn’t sure I really was sick, not to start with. The trouble came on slow. Even when I knew there was something amiss, I didn’t want to believe it. I kept hoping—kept praying—it would just . . . go away.”
Joseph’s face had gone white, but his expression didn’t soften. “You’ve known for a while, though. Long enough to go to the doctor. Yet I had to hear from some Englischer how I was hurting his friend, making you sicker, as if he cared more for you than I did. Than I do. Naomi”—he stepped closer and took her wrists in his hands—“you should have told me this. It was my right to know and to help you, if I could.”
It wasn’t really anger in Joseph’s voice, Naomi realized. It was hurt. Somehow that was too much for her, that she’d hurt this man when all she’d wanted was to find a way to protect him, to keep him safe from the shadow looming over her life. Tears welled up into her eyes, but she couldn’t dab them away, not with Joseph holding fast to her hands, so she finally lifted her chin and just let them streak down her cheeks.
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