Forever Amish (23 page)

“But we must not hold past indiscretions against those who return to the fold,” Esther said. She unplugged the basin; the water gurgled down the drain.

“Yah, you're living proof of that.” Anna sipped her coffee. “When they return and ask for forgiveness.”

“But do you remember a girl named Mavis Miller?” Speaking her name made the inside of my mouth burn as if I'd consumed chili-pepper paste.

“Nee.” Anna shook her head. “But I'd be lying if I told you your father's name hasn't come up. There's speculation that he—”

A rap-rap on the kitchen door startled me. The knob turned, the door swung open, and an attractive brunette dressed in a loose-fitting flowered dress and a jacket strolled into the room as if well acquainted with the house. She carried a paper bag.

“Hi, Mom.” Her jacket wouldn't close in the front—her tummy curved as only a pregnant woman's can. At the beautiful sight, a welling deep inside me for a child of my own expanded.

“We didn't hear your car,” Esther said, taking the bag. “Aren't the roads slippery? Ach, you shouldn't be out on such a night.” Esther set the bag on a vacant chair.

“It's four-wheel-drive, and I inched along like a turtle.”

“Holly, liebe.” Anna beamed up at her granddaughter. “I've been missing you so.”

“Hi, Mommy Anna. Here's the fabric you wanted.” Holly kissed Anna's cheek. Then Holly noticed me. “Sorry, I didn't know you had a guest.”

“Sally, this is my daughter, Holly Fleming,” Esther said. “Holly, this is Armin's friend, Sally.”

“Oh?” Holly gave me a skeptical looking over. I suddenly felt inferior in her eyes.

At that moment, footsteps tromped through the utility room.

“Actually, we have two guests,” Esther said, and Holly's mouth flattened.

I heard Armin's and Nathaniel's voices intermingling. Armin stopped when he crossed the threshold to the kitchen. For a moment he and Holly stared at each other as if a palpable current ran between them.

“Long time no see,” Armin finally said, not removing his hat.

“How're ya doing?” Holly smoothed her hand over her round belly.

“Couldn't be better.”

As if coming to their rescue, Nathaniel edged over to them and said, “Yah, Armin is moving into Anna's. Gonna make a go of it as a farmer.”

“I'm glad,” Holly said. “I hope you're very happy, Armin.”

“Yah, I will be. Don't ya worry.” He spoke to Esther. “Thanks for the
appeditlich
—delicious—meal. We'd best be on our way.”

“Leaving so soon?” Esther said. “Thank you both for coming.” As she handed me my coat, her gaze lingered on mine. “Nice to meet you, Sally.”

“Thanks for having me.” I had many unanswered questions clamoring to make themselves heard but decided to come back by myself when neither Armin nor Nathaniel were here.

“Good-bye,” Holly said, not looking up from a swatch of eggplant-colored fabric she was unfolding for Anna to view. Holly seemed to have everything I longed for—a husband, a baby on the way, an extended family, and a mother who adored her.

Armin and I stepped into the night. The sky had cleared, the waning moon illuminating our path. The temperature had dipped. Our footsteps crunched and the soles of my shoes slipped. I slid my hand through the crook of Armin's elbow to maintain my balance.

“Maybe this isn't the best night to see my new place,” Armin said. “The house will be dark and cold as a tomb.”

I glanced up at the halcyon moon and the star-studded galaxy. “I don't care. Just a peek?”

“The house will look better in daylight. And I left Rascal in the cabin.”

“Lizzie said she'd let Ginger out. I'm sure she'll look after Rascal, too.”

He steered us back to the Zooks'. “Nee, Rascal will track me down and then Nathaniel will have a fit.”

I didn't buy his excuse. Why the abrupt turnaround when he'd been so eager to show me his new abode? Did Holly still own his heart? My hunch was that comparing me to her had catapulted him back into what Pops would call the lovesick blues.

We advanced along the side of the road. A truck whizzed by and Armin draped his arm around my shoulder, turning me away from the glaring headlamps.

I looked up into his face. “So, you had a thing going with Esther's daughter?” I asked. More a statement than a question.

“She had a fondness for me,” Armin said. “But it never would've worked out. She wouldn't have been satisfied living on a farm.”

“In other words, she broke it off.”

“Nee, I did. And I don't appreciate your insinuating otherwise.”

A car sped by, spraying up an arc of slush. He made no move to shield me.

“Why didn't you tell me ahead of time?” I said.

“How was I to know Holly would show up tonight?”

“What does that have to do with it? You're obviously still carrying a torch for her.”

“I am not.” He started toward the Zooks' and my hand slid from his elbow. “Don't say another word about it,” he said.

On the walk home, I tried to center my concentration on staying upright and not being furious at Armin or jealous of Holly. Their relationship was ancient history; she was married and awaiting her first child. I shouldn't have been envious, but I was. What had happened to my joyful anticipation of spring?

 

CHAPTER 30

On Saturday morning, after an early breakfast, I told Rhoda I was driving back to Connecticut to pick up some clothes and check the mail. Truth was, I was so discouraged I didn't intend to return. Not unless Armin vaulted over here and begged me to stay this very instant.

He'd moved out of the cabin Tuesday morning. I'd worked all week and didn't see or hear from him, except passing him once in the Zooks' barnyard. He and Reuben had been speaking Pennsylvania Dutch and didn't switch to English.

I'd driven myself to work each day but received no pleasure from sitting behind the Mustang's wheel. Over suppers, Reuben and Rhoda had mentioned Armin had attended a livestock auction to buy draft horses. He was feeding them and settling new chicks in the coop, plus milking the cow Nathaniel had given him. Apparently Lizzie and Esther had gone to the grocery store and stocked up Armin's refrigerator and also dropped off several prepared meals, enough to last him through the week. Plus a cupboard full of canned vegetables and fruit. Armin was all set. He had no use for me. I doubted he'd given me two thoughts.

I packed my few belongings, scooped up Ginger, and headed out to the Mustang. I couldn't wait to escape all the uncertainty and heartache Armin was causing me.

Pops sat on the back stoop, his elbows on his knees, his hands cupping his chin. As I passed him I kissed his stubbly cheek. “Are you sure you're okay?” I asked.

“With Rhoda looking after me? Absolutely.”

Lizzie and Rhoda escorted me to the Mustang. “I do hope you'll come back soon,” Rhoda said. She placed a wicker basket containing sandwiches, fruit, and cookies on the passenger seat.

“Please tell us you will,” Lizzie said, then hugged me.

“I honestly don't know. I could work at the car lot and earn twice the money I earn at the Sunflower Secondhand Store.” Not that I hadn't enjoyed the store's ambience and its customers. But in New Milford I'd have quiet solitude to puzzle my life back together and care for Ginger's pups. And I needed to speak to Donald face-to-face instead of taking the coward's way out—no matter how he'd acted. As for Armin, I'd given up on him.

The sky grew ominous as a battalion of clouds moved in. But I didn't care.

“See ya,” I said to Pops, and he raised a hand—not much of a farewell. And where was Armin? Maybe to him I was a wisp of a cloud that had dissipated into oblivion. An image of Armin atop Thunder charging over here to try to stop me entered my mind. But he didn't.

I slid the key into the Mustang's ignition. The engine rumbled to life, thank goodness. If the battery had been dead again, I might have screamed. I'd never been in such an irksome, awkward position. I felt as though I were on a boat without sails or motor, floating in the doldrums, a windless ocean of self-pity.

I tried to elevate my mood by singing. “Just can't wait to get on the road again,” I crooned as I rolled out of the lane. One of Pops's favorite oldies, so I switched to singing the first verse of “Amazing Grace.” Again? What was wrong with me?

My thoughts circled back to the Zooks' home, and to Armin. I missed him.

Several hours later, after crossing into Connecticut, I passed Honest Ed's Used Cars. The lot was buzzing with activity. Ralph had brought his two teenage sons to help him, and I saw his wife's silhouette in the small business office. I kept going until I reached our driveway and parked outside the kitchen. I helped Ginger exit the Mustang with the greatest of care. I wouldn't allow anything to injure her pups. I put her in the fenced run, gave her fresh water, then headed to the house for her food.

I brought my key to the kitchen door's lock, then noticed the door wasn't completely shut. Had Pops left in such a hurry he hadn't bothered to close it properly? I wondered if he were one click shy of dementia. I'd read that decreased mental sharpness was a symptom of kidney disease.

I stepped into the house and saw the square kitchen table and its two chairs sprawled on their sides, helter-skelter. The vinyl floor was littered with shards of glass and broken dishes. The place had been ransacked!

I glanced into the living room: the couch was also tipped and its cushions sprawled. Our plasma TV's screen had been bludgeoned, one of Mr. Big's Best in Group trophies lay on the floor in front of it, and the computer had been knocked off Pops's small desk. All my other trophies and our books, once housed in the cases on either side of the fireplace, had been toppled to the floor. Some fiend had gone on a rampage.

A spike of adrenaline gushed through me as I tried to imagine who would commit such a monstrous act. Had Pops left the door unlocked? No, I glanced into our laundry room, just off the kitchen, and saw the wooden door to the outside hanging at a tilt, the top hinge broken, as if a heavy shoulder or foot had kicked it in. Perhaps a group of teenage boys? Unlikely: Pops's bottle of scotch was still on the top shelf in the laundry room. And they surely would have taken the TV and computer.

Stunned by the wreckage, my lungs froze. My hand shaking, I fished out my cell phone. My hand shaking, I fished out my cell phone, turned it on, and called 911.

The operator asked me if anyone were still in the house. “I don't think so,” I said, hearing a tremble in my voice.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“I'll send a patrolman around. You wait outside.”

Figuring the police would take a few minutes to get there, I called Ralph, who dashed over from the car lot. As he and I waited for a squad car, he filled me in on how the lot had fared in the past week. “Business has been hopping,” Ralph said. “I've sold six cars.” His wife, a certified CPA, was keeping the books. I'd heard that nature abhorred a vacuum; from what I could tell, the empty space we'd left had been filled. I didn't feel needed at Honest Ed's anymore.

“Have you seen anyone over here?” I asked him.

“Just your fiancé. I noticed his car several days ago but didn't think anything of it.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “I should have kept a better eye on the place, not just sent my son over to bring your mail to the lot.”

Moments later, a patrolman arrived and did a walk-through. Ralph and I followed him. In my bedroom, my undergarments were strewn across the carpet. I felt queasy as I envisioned grubby hands pawing through my lingerie drawer. Its lid wrenched off, my jewelry box lay upside down on the floor. Not that I had anything of monetary value, but several pieces, like my charm bracelet and the locket Pops had given me on graduation day, held sentimental value. I'd always secretly hoped my mother had bought them for me.

Do any of these possessions matter anymore? I asked myself in an attempt to calm my racing thoughts and steady my galloping heart. Life was fleeting. On my deathbed, none of these items would matter. The reality of my dwelling here alone, even with my darling Ginger and her puppies, brought a shroud of doom.

The patrolman wrote out his report. When I told him my father and I hadn't been home for days, he shook his head. “Better make out a list of your lost possessions for your insurance company.”

“I don't think we have that kind of insurance.” I felt deflated, a balloon pinpricked.

“Can you think of anyone who would have done this?”

“I saw her fiancé's car over here a few days ago,” Ralph said.

The officer took Donald's name and asked for the make of his automobile. “A disgruntled boyfriend?” the patrolman muttered. I'd dismissed the notion. Surely Donald wouldn't have done this.

“Are you all right, miss?” As the policeman spoke, his radio buzzed to life. He was being summoned elsewhere.

“I'm fine.” Not true; there was nothing fine about me.

“In that case, I'll be on my way.” He left for his squad car and rolled out of the drive.

My cell phone chimed. Glancing at the screen I saw Donald's name. I couldn't take more drama, but I needed to speak to him. “Hello, Donald.”

“Finally.” The word oozed with scorn.

I almost apologized, but how dumb was that? He owed me an apology.

“Were you at our house recently?” I asked.

“Yeah, I came by.”

“And?”

“You mean the mess? Yes, I saw it.”

“Why didn't you let me know?”

“Duh. I've been trying to call you.” Derision darkened his voice. “Where have you been?”

“I don't owe you an explanation. Not after your tryst.” I wondered how many other women had slipped between his sheets.

“Look, I came by to say I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I brought you roses.”

I scanned the counter and saw no trace of them. “Why didn't you call the police?” I asked. “You could have at least tried to repair the broken door.”

“And have your father get on my case? For all I knew, he'd locked himself out and kicked the door in, himself.”

“And broken the TV and knocked the furniture over?”

“It's possible for a man to go nutsoid if he's pushed far enough.” Donald spoke with such certainty a chill slithered up my spine. Was Donald that kind of man?

“I can't talk anymore,” I told him. “I need to put this house back together.” He started to say something, but I pushed the End button. I'd heard enough.

After I'd set the phone aside, I led Ginger into the laundry room where she turned a tight circle and plopped into her basket. “I need to get you fed, baby girl.” I brought out canned food, added prenatal vitamins I had on hand, and filled her metal dish. I propped the back door closed with a box of Tide. For her own safety, I closed the sliding door between the kitchen and the laundry room, then sorted through my scattered clothes and stuffed the light-colored items into the washing machine. I added extra detergent, bleach, and hot water. They'd never be clean again—not really.

As I gathered clothing for the next load, Ralph and his son brought over a replacement door they'd picked up from Home Depot. They hung it and installed a deadbolt. I was grateful but felt no sense of peace. Whoever had done this was still out there.

Ralph handed me the new key. Then he and his son stood the kitchen table and couch upright. “Anything else we can do for you?” Ralph asked. “Want me to call your father?”

“That would be great.” Or would it make Pops too anxious? He'd seemed so peaceful when I left. “Never mind, Ralph. I will.” The woman speaking barely sounded like me—more like a bag lady twice my age—her words slurred. “Thanks, guys. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

“I feel terrible this happened,” Ralph said. “I should've come over here every day, but I didn't think to. Do you want me to stay here with you tonight?”

“No, I have Ginger to protect me.”

“Maybe you should borrow a Doberman pinscher,” he said with a shrug.

“Not such a bad idea. But I have pepper spray around here somewhere. At least I used to.”