A Stranger's Wish (21 page)

“And Isaiah?”

“I predict he joins this fall.”

“Just like Ruth and Elam?”

“You have to join to get married.”

“Elam’s getting married? I didn’t even know he had a girl!”

“He doesn’t. Just Ruth and Isaiah. Up till now Isaiah’s stayed free of church discipline. He’s always intended to be Amish. He’s just been enjoying his
rumspringa
, usually with my sister.”

“Oh, Jake, surely not!” I was appalled at the implications of his comment.

“Oh, yes. Last fall Isaiah drove when they rented a trailer and took a long trip to New England.”

“Just Isaiah and Ruth?”

“And Joe Lapp and his girl.”

I was stunned. “And your parents let her go?”

“You can be certain that Mom and Father don’t like these little jaunts—and the frequent overnights—but they’re afraid that if they make a fuss, they’ll lose her like they did Andy and Zeke and me.”

Jake smiled at my consternation and confusion. “You have to remember, Kristie, that there are two types of Amishmen, religious and cultural. My parents are religious Amish. They love God and believe the church’s teachings. They live by the
Ordnung
because they believe it’s the avenue to eternal life, and they want eternal life.”

I nodded as we drove past six barrel-chested workhorses placidly eating grass in a field.

He continued. “Ruth and Isaiah are Amish because that’s the life they’ve been raised to live. Their families and friends live that way, so they do too. But the outer form has no inner significance. Can you understand that?”

“Sure,” I said. “There are people like your parents and people like Ruth and Isaiah in my church too. Even the Bible talks about people who have the form of faith but not the substance.”

Jake nodded, relieved that I understood.

“What about Elam?” I asked. I liked this intense young man.

“For a while I thought he was doing what he thought he had to do to please Father, but lately I’ve begun to think he’s becoming a religious Amishman. He drinks some, but basically I’d say he’s very moral. He seems to be looking for more than the outer trappings. I’ve even found him reading the Bible, something many Amish consider radical. And in English, no less! He said he wanted to understand it.”

“Reading the Bible is radical and unusual?”

Jake looked at me. “Sure. Especially in English. Interesting group, my people, aren’t they? Their major consistency is inconsistency.”

“Well, what about you, Jake? Where do you see yourself?”

His voice turned melancholy. “I think I feel in between. I’m not Amish, but I’m not a Christian like you and Jon Clarke. I’m not sick with germs and all, but I’m not well. I’m not ignorant or dumb, but I’m not educated. I’m in between—and it’s a very lonely place to be.”

On this somber note, we arrived back at the farm.

“You go on in,” he said. “I’m going to stay out here and feel sorry for myself for a while.”

“Jake, don’t—”

“See you, Kristie.” It was dismissal.

As I climbed reluctantly out of the van, he turned the radio to a rock station and adjusted the volume to a level guaranteed to damage his hearing. The sound followed me into the house, muted only when I closed the door.

I told myself that the worst thing I could do for Jake was to pity him, but I found myself doing exactly that as I crossed the great room and started up the stairs. I was so lost in thought that I misjudged my step, stubbing my toe and barking my shin.

“Drat!” I said as I rubbed the painful areas.

Immediately a loud crash sounded upstairs, and Big Bird began to squawk. Simultaneously heavy footfalls slapped across the floor.

I froze in surprise and fear, memories of that night at Mr. Geohagan’s crowding in. My eyes were on the door to my living space. No one was even supposed to be in the house, let alone in my rooms.

Suddenly a man I’d never seen before burst into view and stared menacingly down the stairs at me.

My stomach lurched. He was big! And he looked so threatening with his Braves baseball cap pulled down over his forehead and his gloved fists balled.

He never hesitated. “Out of my way, girl!” he yelled and charged straight at me.

I screamed and the sound ricocheted off the walls. There was no room in the narrow stairwell for him to pass me. We were going to collide, and such a collision seemed to be his intended purpose as he raced directly at me.

I have no recollection of being pushed or falling, but given my skinny body and his considerable bulk, I must have gone flying. Suddenly I was lying in a heap at the base of the stairs as the man climbed none too gently over me. I’m sure he wasn’t wearing hobnailed boots, but it certainly felt like it. I put my hands to my face and curled into a ball to protect myself. I stayed that way until I heard the front door open and the man race across the porch.

I uncurled cautiously and looked outside, and then I breathed a great sigh as I confirmed that he was truly gone. Slowly I pulled myself up and limped to the door. I must have hit my hip on the stairs as I fell; it was already stiff. Or maybe he kicked me as he passed. Sore toe, scraped shin, and bruised hip. Not bad for less than one minute of time.

I was uncertain what to do. I could call the police, but somehow the idea of the police at Mary and John’s house was unthinkable. Flashing lights and guns just didn’t fit here. In fact, this peaceful Amish farm made the violence of the big man and my feelings of violation all the more intense.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture the intruder. Nothing. All I saw was a big man, a terrifying man, rushing at me. The only thing I was certain of was that he wasn’t Amish, and I didn’t even know why I was so sure of that fact beyond the baseball cap.

I stepped cautiously outside. No one was visible but Jake, sitting in his van with his back to the house, lost in his music. There were no cars or people on the road, and I wondered where Hawk was. There was never a biting dog around when you needed one.

I limped to the far end of the porch and peered through the wisteria vine. A bulky figure in a baseball cap was running through the corn stubble toward the Stoltzfus farm. It was my giant of an intruder, looking oddly small in the distance.

Well, at least he was gone. I limped back into the house, rubbing my sore hip.

“Quiet down, Big Bird,” I called. “I’m coming.”

I went upstairs one step at a time and found my room almost the way I’d left it except for my philodendron lying on the floor in a tangle of leaves, soil, and pottery shards. That must have been the loud crash I’d heard. I’d been afraid it was Big Bird and his cage. My clothing on the pegs was askew, the items on my night table slightly awry, my bureau top rearranged but nothing seemed harmed. I checked carefully, but I could find nothing missing.

It wasn’t until I began cleaning up the plant that I discovered my cell phone under the mess, its casing cracked and dirt lodged in every crevice. I sighed. I wouldn’t be talking to anyone on it ever again.

“In fact,” I said to Jake later as I stood beside the van, “I can’t think of a reason why anyone would try and rob the farm. This isn’t a place where there’s money, is it?”

Jake shook his head. “Father keeps all his money in the bank. He’s very smart financially, and he’d never leave anything lying around. Your TV’s still there?”

I nodded.

“Let me check the rest of the house to see if anything’s gone. I’ve got several electronic things I’d hate to lose.” He pushed the proper buttons and lowered his chair to the ground.

“Why would anyone risk coming here in the middle of the afternoon?” I asked as I walked to the house with him. I found I didn’t want to be alone.

“Think about most Sunday afternoons, Kristie. Mom and Father visit family. You’re out with Todd. No one’s here but me, and I’m no great threat. Conveniently, even I went out today. If you look at it from the least chance of being caught, Sunday afternoon’s it.”

“But why take the risk at all?”

Jake shook his head. “We have little to steal, that’s for sure. How about you? You’re not keeping a stash of valuable jewels up there, are you? He was in your room.”

I grinned weakly. “Only the few diamonds and rubies I’ve been able to buy with the overwhelming income from my paintings,” I said, digging my shaking hands into my jeans pocket. I began fiddling with the key. “I’ve got nothing. Nothing.”

14

W
hen Mary, John, and Elam returned, I was just getting into my car to go to the hospital. I climbed out and told them about our afternoon visitor. Predictably, they were distressed, but they were relieved I hadn’t called the police.

“You just be very careful, Kristie,” John said. “We don’t want anything happening to you,” With that he and Elam went to the barn to feed the animals and milk the cows.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care,” I called after him, touched by his concern. I smiled reassuringly at Mary. “I’m on my way to visit Mr. Geohagan. Tonight’s his last night at the hospital. Tomorrow he gets transferred to Holiday House.”

Mary nodded approval. “I know that place. My cousin Sadie Lapp, who’s church Amish, had to go there when all her family died. It’s nice for that kind of place. It’s run by the Mennonites. They’re good at taking care of people.”

Too bad Mr. Geohagan couldn’t talk to Mary. He didn’t see his upcoming move so positively.

I had just waved goodbye to her and had my car door open when Clarke pulled into the Zooks’ drive.

“Hi,” I called and waved, shutting the door.

“Hi, yourself,” he said as he walked over. “Are you coming or going?”

Yowzah, he’s handsome!
I thought, mesmerized by his smile, his eyes, his gait, his everything. I hoped I didn’t look as infatuated as I felt.
Sorry, Mr. G. I think I’ll just see you tomorrow.

“She’s going.” Jake had rolled up silently beside me. “She’s going to visit Mr. Geohagan and be Lady Bountiful, whoever she was.”

“Jake!” I exclaimed.

Both men looked at me, Clarke surprised by the vehemence in my voice, Jake delighted with himself, knowing he’d gotten to me. To cover my outburst, I said quietly and reasonably, “Jake, you’re sneaking again.” I turned to Clarke. “His chair doesn’t make noise. I think he oils the wheels.”

“I bet the hospital’s noisy though, isn’t it? Poor Mr. Geohagan,” Jake said with mock pity. “He needs you.”

I wondered what people would think of someone who beat up a wheelchair-bound man.

“You’ve been very faithful in visiting him, Kristie,” Clarke said, watching with interest and probably understanding as I shot daggers at Jake, who was grinning like an idiot. “I hope he appreciates you.”

“I think he does. I keep praying that my kindness will let him accept God’s love. He’s absolutely furious with God about his wife and daughter.”

“It’s funny.” Jake was suddenly serious. “I never considered blaming God for my accident. I may not know much about the deeper things of life, but I have noticed that tragedies seem to strike both the godly and the ungodly without favoritism. I get mad at being crippled because obviously I’d rather be walking, but it’s the guy who ran the stop sign that I get mad at, not God.”

“The thing that fascinates me is that Mr. Geohagan blames God rather than himself or Cathleen,” Clarke said. “He seems to conveniently forget that choices always have consequences.”

“Yes!” I was excited that both these men saw the situation as I did. “There they all were, living without a single thought for God and in defiance of His standards. Then, when the natural consequences of their acts occurred, suddenly it’s all God’s fault. And believe me, Mr. Geohagan can be very brutal and caustic about it all.”

“And you keep going back?” Jake asked.

“Sure. Why not?” I shrugged. “You were right. He needs me.”

“But how much do you owe to a quarrelsome old man you met in the emergency room?”

“If I don’t go visit, who else will? Besides, he’s not quarrelsome; he’s sad. And I have his key.”

Immediately I realized what I’d said.
Tell no one! Promise!
I made a face and muttered under my breath.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you look so guilty?”

“I do?”

“You do.”

The curse of an honest face. “I just broke a promise.”

“About what?” Jake asked.

Clarke looked at me closely. “About a key?”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone I have it.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Geohagan told me not to.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“Let me get this straight,” Clarke said. “You have Mr. Geohagan’s key, you’re not supposed to tell anyone you have it, and you don’t know why.”

“That’s it.”

“Why did he give it to you in the first place?” Jake asked.

“Because he might die?”

Clarke laughed, and his eyes crinkled almost shut. “Don’t ask us, Kristie. We’re asking you.”

I grinned back at him, the tension draining away and my shoulders relaxing. It was too late to worry about saying too much now.

“Mr. Geohagan gave me a key the day we met. I think he thought he might die, and he gave it to me for safekeeping. He even wrote instructions before he had bypass surgery, leaving the key to me. I’ve tried to give it back to him several times, but he keeps telling me he wants me to hold it for him.”

“What kind of a key is it?” Jake asked. “A house key? A car key? A safety deposit box key? A treasure chest key?”

“I don’t know.” I pulled it from my jeans pocket and held it out in my palm.

“Looks like a regular house key to me.” Jake sounded disappointed.

“It’s pretty small for that. Maybe a garage key?” I had studied the little piece of metal so many times. “All I know is that it isn’t his front door key because he gave me another one when I went to his apartment.”

“Too bad it wasn’t a closet key,” Clarke said with a wicked smile.

I made a face at him and slipped the key back in my pocket. “Now I’ll have to tell him that I told you two.”