Material Witness (25 page)

“Matthew, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“We would have gone by there. We wouldn’t have lied to you,
Mamm
.”

“Not telling the entire truth is still lying. We’ve spoken on this before.” She waited for them to tell the rest, to explain the part that had her heart hammering clear up to her throat.

But they didn’t.

They fidgeted and continued to stare at the ground.

“Martha, how are you involved in this?” Deborah’s voice was soft and sounded much more controlled than Melinda felt.

Everyone waited, but Martha didn’t speak either. She held the pony’s bridle and looked from one boy to the other, as if they might jump in and offer an answer.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into them.” Melinda twisted her apron first one direction then the other, as if she were wringing water out of it. “Do they not understand the danger of this situation?”

“We understand it all too well,” Matthew said, his eyes suddenly dark and serious and so resembling Noah’s that Melinda felt a new fear, the fear that her boy had become a man when she’d been busy with other things. Which was ridiculous, since he was eleven years old.

Perhaps his maturity exceeded his years.

Perhaps helping his brother, in addition to the current trials they were all going through, had matured him faster than some.

Leah, Hannah, and Joshua were playing on the front porch, and their carefree sounds tumbled across the yard. Melinda, Deborah, and Esther stood there in front of the cart, waiting in the warmth of the morning sunlight. It was a bright fall day. A day they should have been preparing for the festival, looking forward to spending time with friends and family.

Melinda suddenly wondered what her parents were doing, whether or not they realized how much trouble had visited her family once again. She’d scarcely had time to speak with anyone, though the Amish grapevine did a good job of keeping each family aware of another’s needs.

She studied the children as a slight breeze played with the hair at the nape of her neck. They squirmed under her gaze, but offered no other details to their story. Maybe she should have left the children with their extended families, but that might be bringing danger into their families’ lives.

“Not speaking is fine. Might be a
gut
thing at this point,” Melinda admitted. “Wait here with this buggy, and I’ll follow you to our place before I head into town with Hannah.”

“But —” Aaron threw a sideways glance at his brother.

“No buts. It’s the least I can do to make sure my boys are safe. I’ll run inside and collect my things.”

Deborah crooked a finger at Martha. “If you don’t mind letting go of that pony, go and sit with your
bruder
. He’s staying with Esther today and after this stunt you may be too.”

The girl looked back once at the boys but didn’t attempt to say anything to them.

Melinda stopped halfway between the porch and the barn, halfway between the babies and her half-grown boys. Deborah’s twins, Jacob and Joseph, could be seen in the field with Reuben, and even from a distance she could tell they were covered in dirt.

“How do they do it?” Deborah asked, walking up next to her. “They haven’t been out there fifteen minutes.”

“At least they’re safe. What do you think those three were
up to?” Melinda sighed heavily, then caught herself because she sounded so much like her mother.

“Don’t know, but they weren’t headed only to your place. That was all I could tell by the way they were acting, and it doesn’t take much of a puzzle solver to figure it out.” Deborah reached out and tucked her arm through the crook of Melinda’s elbow as they began walking toward the porch again. “The important thing is that we caught them before they could go anywhere they shouldn’t. Maybe that makes us
gut
parents after all.”

“Do you know what is worrisome?” Esther asked. “How much those three remind me of the three of us.”

That statement stopped them all in their tracks.

“But we didn’t —” Melinda couldn’t seem to find the rest of her sentence.

“I agree with Melinda.” Deborah stared back toward the boys. They hadn’t moved at all. In fact, they looked almost comical, as if they were frozen there, waiting with the cart and the pony. “We never lied to our parents about our doings.”

“Don’t be too harsh, either of you.” Esther’s face took on a soft look, and Melinda thought again how much her friend had changed over the last year, since she and Tobias had wed. “They didn’t lie exactly. They’re
gut
children, and no doubt they thought they had
gut
reasons for what they were intending to do.”

“I can’t even imagine what they had planned — the three of them together. If it wasn’t at your farm, Melinda, and it wasn’t here, I’m guessing it was in town.” Deborah looked at Martha, who was now on the porch, holding baby Joshua.

“And did we stop them, or did we merely change their plans until they can come up with another idea?” Melinda knew her boys. They were good boys, faithful to a fault, and incredibly stubborn. That was the look she’d seen on their faces — not shame, but stubbornness.

Which worried her more than the thought of their lying to her. The question was, stubborn enough to do what?

D
EBORAH STOPPED
by her mother-in-law’s farm on the way into town. Ruth had baked dozens of small, single-serve-sized cakes during the past two days. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, lemon, apple, even blueberry. Deborah wanted to sink into a chair, accept her offer of coffee, and forget the troubles waiting in Shipshewana.

But she had offered to drive the desserts to the festival. They would be sold in the family booth and the money would be put into Ruth’s jar, which she kept for the grandchildren’s gifts. Ruth and Abe had been blessed with eight children, all married — except for Stephen, who was only twenty years old — and Ruth’s number of grandchildren had quickly grown until she found herself with a total of forty-two.

On the Sundays when they had no church meeting, the family met at Ruth and Abe’s for lunch. After the meal, Deborah would often find Ruth in the barn or down at the picnic table Jonas’ father had set up years ago. She would be surrounded by her grandchildren, young and old, telling them a story from the Bible. The way she told the Scripture, Deborah barely recognized it — there was always so much adventure and romance.

The Bible was full of such things though, and Ruth had helped Deborah see that over the years.

When she’d walked into the house and smelled the baking, Deborah thought of the stories, of the grandchildren, and of the jar her mother-in-law kept. Ruth had explained that birthdays and Christmas tended to take its toll on the family budget.

She’d helped Deborah start her own jar the first year she married Jonas — though her money didn’t go toward
grandkinner
yet. Still, Deborah loved knowing that doing small things like making cakes or knitting blankets for strangers could bless her own family as well as the strangers themselves.

Ruth had heard about the murder of Mrs. Knepp, and she knew Callie was involved. She didn’t look surprised to hear the situation now included Deborah.

“How do you find yourself in these messes?” Ruth asked as she helped carry the cakes to Deborah’s buggy.

“I was wondering the same thing at five this morning.”

“When you and Jonas were young and going through your
rumspringa —
”

“We didn’t go through
rumspringa
. I was always an obedient child and so was Jonas.”

Ruth didn’t bother to contradict her. Instead she continued her story as if Deborah hadn’t interrupted. “I prayed and comforted myself by knowing there would come a day when your life would settle down.”

She pushed the box of cakes into the buggy, then stood back and straightened her apron. “I suppose I thought that day had come already, but maybe it hasn’t.”

Deborah cocked her head, studying Ruth and trying to decide if she was being scolded or not. All she saw in the woman she’d come to think of as her own mother was love and a healthy dose of concern, probably the same expression Deborah had worn questioning Martha on the way over.

The questioning had been brief since it had produced nothing.

Martha had stared at her hands and answered in single syllables. The girl was embarrassed and remorseful but tight lipped.

Kissing Ruth’s cheek, Deborah said,
“Danki.”
Then she walked around to her side of the buggy and called out to Martha, who was in the barn visiting with Abe.

“For what?” Ruth asked.

“For always caring about us. For stepping in when my
mamm
passed away. And for not trying to talk me out of helping my
freinden
.”

“Would it do any good?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t be the right thing to do either, though there’s always a temptation to protect one’s own.”

Martha walked out of the barn, holding her grandfather’s hand. “She favors you.”

“I worry about her. She’s still a child.”

“Eleven years old. Sixth grade now?”

“
Ya
, but —”

“Two more years, and she’ll begin to decide what type of work she’d like to do. Her quilting is
gut
like yours.”

Deborah shook her head. “Seems yesterday she was building blocks on that first quilt you gave me.”

Martha and Abe had stopped halfway between the barn and the buggy. They were leaning over the pasture fence, feeding an apple to one of Abe’s horses. Ruth moved closer and put her hand on Deborah’s arm.

“It’s natural to want to protect them while you can. I wouldn’t tell you not to, but you can also trust Martha. When I said she favors you, I meant more than in how she looks. She has a
gut
head under her prayer
kapp
.”

Deborah was tempted to leave Martha at her in-laws’, but then her daughter started telling Ruth and Abe all the things she planned to see while in town at the festival. Suddenly Deborah was eleven again, with all of her life still in front of her, and she couldn’t disappoint Martha in this.

Deborah worried less as she directed Cinnamon toward the festival. The roads were busy, but with the smell of the cakes in the seat behind them, both she and Martha were smiling by the time they delivered them to Jonas’ sister Kate.

Kate thanked them, then asked if Martha could stay awhile and help in the booth, as Deborah knew she would.

“Can’t see why not.” Deborah wasn’t sure how much Kate had heard about the murder, but she knew her sister-in-law would keep a good eye on Martha. And like Ruth had reminded her, Martha was almost grown.

They talked for a few more minutes, and Deborah felt the tension leaving her shoulders as she watched the tourists, musicians, artists, and vendors. Fall Festival had always been one of her favorite times of year. Maybe this weekend would end on a good note after all.

Maybe they had blown the danger out of proportion.

Deborah walked through to the back of the booth, exited out the flap in the canvas, and climbed into her buggy. Martha was standing near Kate’s oldest daughter, Sharon. Perhaps that’s what Martha needed.

A little time to visit.

A little time without any responsibilities.

As she turned Cinnamon to go, she looked back and saw Martha and Sharon dip their heads closer together, as if they were sharing a secret. Sharon was a sweet girl, if a little wild. At sixteen, she was definitely in her
rumspringa
.

As she watched, though she couldn’t be sure, Deborah thought she saw Sharon hand Martha something. Whatever it was, it looked like Martha slipped it into the pocket of her dress.

Aaron reached down for the chicken closest to his chair and received a sharp peck on his hand.

What had he expected? It wasn’t a chick. Grown chickens pecked. His
daed
had warned him as much.

His
daed
had warned him about a lot of things.

Aaron looked around the chicken coop. Funny how nothing had changed. Looked the same as it had yesterday morning and the day before that. Same as it had last week in fact, before Creeper had come into their lives.

Aaron was the one who felt different — like those boys who had changed on the long cattle drive with John Wayne, maybe he was changing too. Maybe something inside of him had shifted when he’d seen the murder.

Scattering more feed on the ground, he rolled his chair away from the gate so the fowl would follow, then spread the rest of the feed.

His
mamm
had caught them. Didn’t matter how. She had a sixth sense about such things. One thing Aaron knew — he and Matt wouldn’t be going to town today unless they were with their
dat
, and that prospect didn’t seem likely.

His
mamm’s
words to his
dat
still rang in his ears. “Seems the boys told you one thing and me another.”

“We didn’t say—” He’d stopped there, the sentence half out of his mouth. The look from his
daed
had silenced him quickly enough, and the expression on Matt’s face told him it would be wiser to stay quiet.

His
daed
hadn’t asked any questions at all. But his
mamm
sure had. She’d questioned them for a full ten minutes before they’d left Reuben’s. Finally she’d allowed Matt to drive the cart, but insisted Aaron ride in the buggy with her and Hannah. He’d been afraid she was going to question him more, but she hadn’t. The hurt look on her face had been even worse than her questions.

He’d almost broken down then, told her they meant to help. And they would help too, because they had to. But he remembered what Matt had whispered to him as she’d stood between the barn and the porch with Deborah and Esther. Matt had said, “Don’t tell them our plan. No matter how badly you want to. If you tell them, you’ll feel better, but we won’t be able to help. Helping is more important than feeling better.”

So in the end he’d sat beside
Mamm
in the buggy and felt worse than during his toughest coughing spells.