Reflection (40 page)

She stopped talking as Chris stood up and walked toward the memorial. She stayed on the bench, her eyes on his back as he read the plaque.

It was a minute before he spoke. “These were all children?” he asked without turning around.

“Yes. My students.”

“He shot them?” His shoulders looked rigid.

“No,” she said. “It was a grenade. People here are angry with me because they think I should have been able to protect the children from him. But by the time I got back to the classroom after trying to head him off, it was too late. He was killed in the explosion himself.”

“God, what a shit!” Chris turned to face her. “If he wanted to take himself out, why didn't he just do it at home? Why did he have to take a bunch of little kids with him?”

Rachel got to her feet. “He—”

“Phil was my real father anyhow,” Chris said.

Rachel reached him and put her arm around him, squeezing his shoulder. “No, honey. That's not fair. Phil was a wonderful father to you, but your biological father was an equally wonderful man.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Chris's eyes were red.

“He was. He was a good man who was injured in a bad war. He'd been wounded just like those guys who came back with one leg missing, only his injury was inside him. You couldn't see it.”

“Ten little kids.” He pulled away from her and sat down on the bench again, head lowered to his knees. “I feel sick. I'm glad you didn't tell me this while we were eating ‘cause I would've puked. I feel like puking. God, how'd they ever let you in a classroom again?”

“Phil did it. He had faith in me.”

He looked up at her. “You're a good teacher, Mom.”

“Thanks.” His words meant more to her than all of the awards she'd won put together.

“I think you should leave this asinine town if they can't see it wasn't your fault.”

She sat next to him again. “Well, remember you're hearing my side of the story,” she said. “If you were hearing it from the mother of one of those children, it would sound very different. And that waitress? Who knows? Maybe she's the sister of one of the children. The relatives are everywhere, and even after twenty-one years, they still hurt.”

He shook his head wordlessly.

“Well, honey, there's more,” she said. “That's the worst of it. But other things are going on here.”

“I don't think I want to know.”

She told him about the land situation and finding the codicil to her grandfather's will. She told him about the missing music, and he was fascinated.

“Have you looked everywhere?” he asked. “A Huber piece no one's ever heard? You've got to find it!”

“I wish we could, but either it no longer exists or it's hidden away so well it doesn't matter.”

And then, carefully, she told him about Michael.

“He might just be using you,” he suggested with the simple perspective of a twenty-year-old male. “His wife's out of town, so he's lonely.”

“They are essentially separated.” She stretched the truth, then decided she needed to tell him more to clarify the picture. “He's also learned that she's been having an affair with one of his close friends.”

“God, this town is full of cutthroat people.” He shook his head. “You know what, Mom? I don't think I like this place.”

She smiled. “I do. As a matter of fact, I love it, and I need very badly to make peace with it somehow.” She stood up, reaching her hand toward him. “Let's get something to eat and then head up to Gram's,” she said. “She's anxious to meet her great-grandson.”

MICHAEL COULDN'T SHAKE THE
eerie, irrational, and thoroughly wonderful feeling that he was sitting in Helen's kitchen with Luke Pierce. Rachel had cooked an early, prehearing supper for the four of them, and Michael could barely take his eyes from the young man's face. Chris had Luke's features, Luke's height, Luke's voice. More than anything, though, he had Luke's way of moving, his mannerisms. The way he used his hands when he talked. The way he opened his eyes wide when he listened. Michael had to keep reminding himself that Chris was not Luke, that it was not fair to try to make him into Luke. Yet, when he'd met the boy an hour ago, he'd felt a surge of love that still had not left him.

His fascination with Luke and Rachel's son was not the only reason he could barely touch his supper. He was anxious about the hearing, especially now that he knew that Drew's dealings within the business community had probably been designed to harm rather than help the fight against the Hostetter development.

He'd arranged for Jason to spend the night with his new friend, Patrick, again, so at least he didn't have that worry on his mind. Jason couldn't stop talking about Patrick, conversation so unusual in the Stoltz household that it was going to take some getting used to. At least having a buddy seemed to have taken the boy's mind off Katy. He hadn't mentioned trying to call his mother again.

“You haven't touched your corn bread, Michael,” Helen said.

“Or his beans or chicken,” Rachel added. “A little uptight about tonight, huh?” She touched his arm, and he felt the warmth of her fingertips on his skin. When would they have the chance to make love again? Their relationship had a time-limited feel to it, as if he'd only be free to love her until his conscience caught up to him again.

He smiled at her. “Just a tad.”

“You said the Amish will be there tonight?” Chris asked.

Michael speared a green bean with his fork. “Some of them. They rarely get involved in this sort of thing, but this hearing is important enough that they're willing to come and show their opposition to the development.”

“You're driving several of them, aren't you?” Helen asked.

“Uh-huh. Most will come in their buggies, but I'll be driving a few and so will some other members of the church.”

“I don't get it,” Chris said. “They won't drive themselves, but it's okay for them to go in someone else's car?”

“Right.” Michael set down his fork again. “They can't own a car or have a driver's license, but their economic survival has come to depend on them being more mobile. So if they can ride with others or take a taxi, they can keep up with the rest of the world economically without giving up their traditional values.”

“Can I go to the hearing?” Chris asked.

“Sure you can, if your mother will let me steal you away.” He looked at Rachel, who smiled.

“He's all yours.”

“As a matter of fact,” Michael added, “how would you like to help me with the transportation? With picking up some of the Amish and taking them over to the bank building?”

Chris's eyes lit up, their shape and sparkle the same as Luke's. It gave Michael a chill.

“Yeah!” Chris said. “But I don't have a car.”

“You can use mine,” Rachel said.

“Aren't you coming, Mom—no, I guess you wouldn't be.” He answered his own question as Rachel shook her head. Obviously he now had a good grasp of her dilemma.

“That'll be a big help, especially since Drew's not around.” He gave Rachel a wry look. Then he was jarred by a memory. He turned to Chris. “Your father used to hire himself out to the Amish as a driver, remember that, Rache?”

Rachel nodded, but Chris groaned. “I don't think I want to hear any more about my father,” he said.

Michael wanted to erase the pain and disappointment in Chris's eyes. “Your father was the best friend anyone could ever ask for,” he said.

Chris didn't reply, but he looked as if he wanted to hear more, and so Michael continued. “He was very popular, but not like so many kids you think of who are popular at everyone else's expense. You know, who think they're above it all.”

Chris nodded.

“He cared about people, no matter who they were or where they came from. I was the runt of the class, for example, either ignored or teased by other kids—”

“It wasn't that bad,” Rachel interrupted.

“You weren't inside my skin,” Michael said seriously. “But Luke treated me like I was every bit as valuable a person as he was. Your mom treated me the same way. The three of us were inseparable. We'd ride our bikes out to the quarry and explore caves, or play in the woods around the pond. The woods that are about to be demolished.”

“Or you three would come up here and play in the crick,” Helen added.

“That's right,” Rachel said. “We'd fish or skate or swim up here.”

“Luke was smart, too,” Michael continued. “And he looked so much like you. So much.” He felt a lump form in his throat, and Rachel reached across the corner of the table to rest her hand on his. He liked the openness of the gesture.

“That's what Mom says,” Chris said. “I can't get it out of my head, though, about those kids. What he did.”

“He was a casualty of the war, Chris. Believe me, the guy who went over there was a different person from the guy who came back. Luke was one of the most extraordinarily kind people I've ever known. You know what he did for me one time? For my family?”

Chris waited, hope in his eyes that Michael could somehow erase the terrible images coursing through his head.

“My dog had to be put to sleep. We were fourteen, I guess?” Michael looked at Rachel for confirmation, and she nodded. “My father was out of town, and my mother was so upset that she couldn't bear to take Cleo to the vet. And I was pretty useless myself. So Luke took Cleo for us, and he sat on the floor holding her, talking to her and comforting her, while the vet gave her an injection.”

“Wow,” Chris said softy, and Michael thought of another example of Luke's compassion.

“One time we were cruising around Lancaster. It was about five in the evening, wintertime and very cold. We went past a bus stop, and this old woman was hunched over, waiting for her bus. We drove on, went about our business, and about half an hour later, we drove by that same bus stop again, and there was that same woman. Luke couldn't stand it. He stopped the car and got out. He asked her if we could give her a ride someplace.”

“I remember you telling me about that.” Rachel smiled.

“Did she accept?” Chris asked.

Michael shook his head. “No. I guess she thought freezing to death was a better risk than getting into the car with two teenage boys. But I wanted you to know what kind of person your father was. He wasn't the man in that classroom. That man had a mental illness that was not his fault. He was a patriot and thought he should fight for his country. He did what he thought was right.”

“He followed his beliefs,” Helen added. “You can't ask a person to do more than that.”

“When he came back, he was different,” Michael said, “and no one realized how serious the problem was until it was too late.”

Chris's eyes were red, and Michael hoped he hadn't gone too far. He looked at his watch. “Well, listen,” he said. “We'd better get going. We have a lot to do before the hearing. You ready?”

Chris nodded and stood up.

“Oh!” Rachel said. “I forgot about the box in the attic, Chris. There's memorabilia, pictures of your father and some other things. Would you like to see—” The expression on her face changed suddenly. Michael saw her shoot a glance at Helen, then she stared at him.

“What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I just thought of something. It's nothing, really. I'll bring the box down tonight, and you can sift through it tomorrow if you like, Chris.”

“Okay.”

Michael looked at Chris. “You ready?” he asked again.

Chris rested his crumpled napkin on the table and stood up. “Yeah. You'll have to tell me where to go and everything.”

Michael stood himself. “Well, for now you can follow me over to the church. We'll get organized with the other drivers and then make our pickups.” He looked at Helen and Rachel. “Wish us luck,” he said. “I hope we can pack the place.”

“Me, too.” Rachel walked them to the door, handing Chris her car keys. “Drive carefully,” she said.

“Yes, Mom,” Chris said with mock annoyance.

The air outside was still thick with the heat of the day as Michael and Chris walked toward their cars. “I'm glad you want to do this,” Michael said. He felt nearly overwhelmed with happiness, walking next to Luke's son.

“I just have one question,” Chris said. “How do I explain who I am to the people I'm picking up?”

“Ah.” Michael understood. “You can tell them you're Helen Huber's great-grandson. It probably doesn't matter. Most of the Amish don't hold anything against your mother, but everyone knows who Helen is, and they like her.”

Chris got behind the wheel of Rachel's car and rolled down the window. He smiled up at Michael. “Thanks for the stuff about my father,” he said. “It helped.”

Michael gave Chris's arm a squeeze where it rested on the window. “I'm glad,” he said, and as he walked toward his own car, he thought to himself that he would never let this young man or his mother out of his life again.

“HOLY MOLY,” IAN SAID
as he and Lily pulled into the crowded parking lot behind the Starr and Lieber Bank building. “It's gonna be a hot time in the old town tonight.”

Lily lifted her gaze from the dog collar she was mending in her lap to the parking lot and its strange combination of automobiles and gray-topped buggies. “Looks like the Amish are out in force,” she said.

“And the media, too.” Ian pointed to several vans parked alongside the rear of the building. Lily recognized the logo for a Philadelphia television station on the side of one of them. Good. They would have plenty of coverage.

“We'll have to park on the street.” Ian turned out of the parking lot and began hunting for a spot.