The Search (5 page)

Chapter 5

“Perry loved animals, for sure. He cried for days when his beagle died. It was a blessing we had a new puppy for him.”

G
LORIA
S
CHROCK

D
eborah fought to keep her expression neutral. But it wasn't easy, because all she really wanted to do was leave the store and never return.

Ignoring Deborah, Mrs. Schrock shifted the puppy in her arms. “Well, what are you doing, son? Haven't you been hearing the commotion out here?”

“What do ya think I'm doing?” Through the open doorway, Jacob's voice held more than a touch of impatience. “I'm trying to fix this pen so the dogs stop escaping.”

“It shouldn't be too difficult. Your father put it together last night.”

“Daed put it together wrong. That's why the pups were running loose all night.”

Mrs. Schrock glanced at the entrance to the storage room and winced. To Deborah, she whispered, “It was quite a mess back there this morning.”

“Ah,” Deborah said.

Raising her voice, Mrs. Schrock said, “I don't know what your
daed
could've done wrong, Jacob.”

“There's no telling. Daed can hardly put a shoebox together, let alone a wire pen.”

“Now, Jacob, that's not very charitable.”

“You know I'm right.”

Deborah couldn't help but smile at the interplay. It was so familiar. Well, how her family would have been if Perry hadn't . . . if everything hadn't fallen apart like it did.

As if she had suddenly remembered Deborah, Mrs. Schrock cleared her throat. “Jacob, I need your help right now. These puppies are running amuck. We can't go on like this much longer.”

“Mamm, stop. I can't round up puppies and fix the cage at the same time.”

Deborah gasped at his tone.

Mrs. Schrock, too, looked a bit disgruntled by his remark. However, she must have been used to it, because after a moment's pause, she glanced Deborah's way. “Do you have a problem with the puppies, dear?”

Deborah shook her head.

“
Gut.
You may make yourself useful. Go grab a puppy and help me carry them all to the kennel in the back.”

Deborah's feet felt paralyzed. Out of all the things she would have imagined happening, being greeted by Mrs. Schrock and four oversized puppies was truly nothing she could have dreamt up.

But beyond all that was the terrible suspicion that she was the absolutely last person Jacob was going to want to see for any amount of time.

Resolutely, she refrained from looking at the door he was behind. “Mrs. Schrock, I'm happy to help you, but I'm not sure . . . Perhaps I could use your restroom and get cleaned up?”

“Later, for sure. But for now, go pick up a puppy and follow me.”

The order, given in that no-nonsense way, finally spurred Deborah into action. “Here, puppy,” she said gently. One chocolate brown nose nudged her hand and whined. As its tiny pink tongue slid out with a pant, Deborah couldn't resist a giggle. “Yes, that means you.” She wrapped her fingers around its thin collar, then with a heft, lifted the overgrown pup into her arms.

The puppy shifted and cuddled close, not worrying at all about its chunky weight or squirmy body. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let's go follow your mother.”

“I'm most certainly not that puppy's
mamm,
Deborah,” Mrs. Schrock protested while carrying a puppy of her own. “Only its owner. And a temporary one at that.”

Luckily, the other two pups ran to their sides, completing their little line toward the storage room.

When Mrs. Schrock noticed that Deborah was right behind her, she smiled kindly. “Thank you for your help. I tell ya, my husband comes up with the strangest ideas sometimes. I didn't think anything could beat the guinea pig and snake incident, but these giant puppies might come close.”

Deborah looked at the puppy padding by her side. “What kind of dogs are these?”

“Mastiff,” Jacob said, then stilled as if he suddenly noticed who he was talking to. “You.”

She froze. “Yes. Me.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here? And what are you doing, wandering around our store like you own it?”

“I only came in for a few supplies,” she said helplessly. “Cottage cheese.”

“And out of every store in the county, you chose our store? I find that pretty hard to swallow.”

Deborah knew he had reason to dislike her. But she wasn't her brother. And Jacob wasn't the only person Perry had taken advantage of or been cruel to. Perry had hurt her deeply a time or two as well.

Or twenty.

But out of respect for his mother, and for the simple reason that she had no desire to make trouble, Deborah kept her words light. “As I was saying, I only came in for a few things, but the puppies came rollicking forward, and one thing led to another.”

“They almost attacked her, poor thing,” his mother said. “Knocked her down!”

“But you weren't hurt.”

Deborah winced. It almost sounded like Jacob was disappointed about that. She lifted her chin. “Your mother asked for my help. And so I said yes . . .” Her voice drifted off as his expression became cooler. Like ice.

Giving up, she handed over the puppy in her arms. “Here. Excuse me. I'll go now.”

He took the dog, obviously trying his best to not touch her.

But by his side, his mother looked to be losing patience. “Jacob! You are being rude. You apologize.”

“I will not.” Jacob glared. “Don't ask me to pretend she's my friend, Mother.”

“You used to be friends.”

“That was a long time ago. Before—” He opened his mouth to say more, but must have changed his mind, because he cut himself off.

“Before what?” Mrs. Schrock's eyebrows rose, practically daring her son to continue.

But instead of continuing, he turned away.

Deborah's visit to the store had now gone from bad to worse, and she had no one to blame for the situation but herself. She should have listened to her mother and stayed away.

Because if anything was true, it was that she wasn't Jacob Schrock's friend at all. In fact, she could very well be his enemy. She'd known he felt like that, and once more, she couldn't say she blamed him.

Turning around, she mumbled to his mother, “Goodbye, Mrs. Schrock.”

“But, didn't you want something? There must have been a reason you came in,” Mrs. Schrock said.

“It wasn't anything important.”

The lady's expression turned hesitant. “Do you still want to use the ladies' room and get cleaned up?“

“Let her leave, Mamm,” Jacob said as the puppies started barking again. “The sooner she's out of our lives, the better.”

Deborah tucked her chin and strode from the back room toward the front of the store, nearly running into Walker Anderson.

He held up his arms to keep her from knocking into him. “Hey, Deborah. When did you get back in town?” he asked with a smile that slowly vanished as he noticed her disheveled appearance. “Um . . . how are you?”

She'd just walked three miles to get humiliated by Jacob Schrock and was now covered with puppy prints and slime. Now she was going to have to walk back without getting what she'd come for.

So, she wasn't fine. She wasn't close to fine. But she couldn't very well say that, now could she? “I'm all right.” Trying to smile, she said, “You?”

His eyes narrowed. “Where is everyone?”

“Mrs. Schrock and Jacob are in the back room. With the puppies.”

Walker's eyes suddenly looked as pained as she felt. “Those puppies are like miniature horses.” He ran a hand through his short hair. “I tell you what, some days I'm sure this place is going to kill me.” As if he'd suddenly noticed her hands were empty, he said, “Hey, do you need some help? You came here to shop, right?”

There was nothing she needed more than to get out of the store. “I don't need anything. I'll just be going.”

“All right. Well, I'll be seeing you.” Just as he turned away, she heard Walker groan in frustration. “These puppies have now left a present for me to pick up.”

Walking quickly to the front door, she heard him grumble some more. He sounded so put upon, she would have normally found it funny.

But the tears were falling too fast. Much too fast for laughter.

As she began the long walk home, Deborah considered praying for Jacob. He was obviously in a lot of pain, but she so wished things would get better between them.

But unfortunately, she barely believed even the Lord could convince Jacob Schrock to ever forgive her.

After all, her brother had made his life miserable. And both she and Jacob knew it.

Chapter 6

“Perry was the type of man to give you the coat off his back. If he didn't need it, that is.”

J
ACOB
S
CHROCK

F
rannie, can you hear me?” A pause. “Frannie? Frannie, try to wake up now.”

She heard the voice clearly, and understood what he was asking. Part of her wanted to open her eyes and focus on the voice, but the rest of her far preferred to stay in the peaceful foggy slumber.

It had been a long and difficult night. After her surgery, she'd spent time in a recovery room, where she'd been poked and prodded by nurses who wouldn't tell her exactly how bad her wounds were.

Would she see out of her eye again?

She fought a rising panic and focused on what she did know. That she wanted to leave this place, if only to get some rest.

Hours had gone by before she was wheeled to a regular hospital room.

But it offered no rest, either.

Throughout the night, she was alternately awoken up by her roommate—a chatty, rather loud woman occupying the other side their room—or by nurses taking her blood pressure and temperature.

Only during the last few hours had the painkillers kicked in enough to drown out the noise, the visits, the ache around her eye, allowing her body to finally relax and drift into a peaceful slumber.

She stretched a leg. Then the other. Perhaps if she shifted just enough, she could drift right back into oblivion and ignore her visitor.

Ignore his summons.

“Frannie?”

Wearily, she gave up sleep's grip and allowed her attention to drift to the voice coming from the chair next to her bed.

A voice, which had risen yet again. “Frannie? Francis? Wake up.”

There was only one man who said her name like that. With the speed of ice melting, she opened her left eye. “Micah.”

“Jah.”
A satisfied smirk appeared.

“How long have you been here?”

“I've been sittin' here an hour. Watching you sleep.”

Watching her sleep? In a snap, her grogginess disappeared. She hastily double-checked to make sure her sheet was pulled up to her chin, and wished he'd left her asleep. Why was he here? Why had he woken her up? “Seeing you—it is most unexpected,” she mumbled, her throat dry and scratchy.

“Unexpected” was something of an understatement. For the last month or so, Micah had been making himself terribly scarce. She'd seen him only once or twice.

Under his straw hat, the man who'd courted her off and on for most of her life stared right back. “My being here shouldn't be much of a surprise. I came as soon as I heard about your accident.” He paused. “I wanted to be here when you woke up.” His satisfied smile grew. “And I was.”

Indeed, he was! . . . And, well, he had certainly done his best to make sure she woke up.

Over and over he'd said her name, loud and clear. Almost as if he'd been sitting across the room instead of right by her side. It had been the exact opposite of a certain
Englischer
detective's husky baritone.

She needed to remember what a good catch Micah was. After what happened with Perry, and her unfortunate attraction to the detective, she needed to remember where her attention should really be focused. She summoned a smile. “That's very kind of you.”

“Someone needed to be here, don'tcha think? Can't have you sitting here alone.”

His words were everything she should want to hear. But they felt the same as hearing recorded messages played at regular intervals around the hospital halls. Canned, monotone, meaningless, insincere. “Hmmm.”

Micah reached for her hand, saw the bandages wrapped around her palms, then awkwardly folded his hands together on his lap. After a moment, he exhaled.

He was waiting for her to make the next move.

That was how it had always been. Frannie was the leader in their relationship. When they were courting, he never approached her until she smiled his way. He didn't take her walking or driving unless she mentioned that she wanted to. He didn't call on her without an invitation. And he rarely conversed on any topic that she hadn't initiated.

So now, here they were.

If there was ever a time she needed him to step up, to take control, this was it. She was scared, worried, hurt.

It shouldn't be up to her to ask him to comfort her. He should want to comfort her.

And him, sitting here exhaling? Well, it didn't comfort her one bit.

And though he had taken the initiative to visit, he wasn't prepared to offer her anything else.

Same as always.

As covertly as she dared, she glanced his way. He continued to stare at her, his light brown eyes full of want and expectation. Much like a well-trained spaniel awaiting the next command.

Being with Micah was terribly exhausting.

On the other side of the room, her roommate flicked channels on the television set. A nurse came in and spoke to her. A cell phone rang.

Frannie and Micah sat in silence.

“Tell me about the farm,” she said at last, unable to take the tense silence. Unable to bear the weight of his expectations. “What is new?”

He relaxed. “Well, wouldn't you know it? Gretta had her kids.”

“Your goat had babies?” She had a special fondness for Gretta. “I bet they are
wunderbaar
!”

“Indeed, they are. I reckon they are the cutest kids in the county,” he pronounced, sounding like a proud papa. “Frannie, when you get out of here, I'll have to take you to our barn to see them.” He scratched his head. “That is, if you would care to visit.”

Finally! He had finally asked her somewhere. “I would enjoy that. How many babies did Gretta have? And what color?”

“Three, white and tan.”

She waited for more details. Waited some more. Then realized he was again expecting her to lead the conversation. But though she liked goats just fine, Frannie couldn't think of another thing to ask. Her head was throbbing, and the eye that wasn't bandaged was watering terribly. All she wanted was to sink back into oblivion.

But Micah was now leaning forward in that eager way of his.

His short visit now felt like the longest journey imaginable.

“Um, anything else new?” she asked, grasping at straws.

He frowned, obviously thinking.
“Nee,”
he finally said.

“Ah.”

As they once again lapsed into silence, she let her thoughts wander. It was no wonder, actually, why she'd been tempted to explore what Perry had to offer when he'd shown the slightest bit of interest in her. Sometimes a woman didn't want to be in control, at least she didn't. She had no need to always have her way.

Her parents' relationship had been more of a partnership, full of a constant push and pull. What she could remember, anyway. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift toward the past, back to when her mother was still cancer-free and vibrant. Frannie recalled her mother busily bossing her father around the kitchen, and then his teasing whenever she tried to reorganize the cellar.

They'd playfully argue about all sorts of things. Their marriage had been noisy and full of life.

She wanted that. That give and take. A man who was a match, not a man who only wanted to do as she bid. But she also knew that what she wanted wasn't necessarily what she needed.

A union with Micah would never be full of fiery arguments, or even much teasing laughter. That wasn't Micah's way.

But she would feel catered to and cared for. And she had no doubt that if they both tried, they would have a happy marriage. Perhaps even years of compatible living.

What else could she possibly want, really?

Who else?

It was a fine question. Because there was no one else sitting beside her bed. Only Micah. Who patiently sat. Even though they had little to talk about, he never questioned her or did anything other than make her feel like she was the best part of his life.

He was so terribly loyal.

Surely, there were worse things to start a marriage with?  . . .

“Frannie, are you back asleep?” he whispered. “Frannie, I thought maybe we could talk about our future some. You know . . . me and you?” He cleared his throat. Leaned so close she could smell the lingering scent of horse on his clothes. “I care for you, Frannie, though I expect you know that.”

Here he was. Finally initiating a conversation. But perversely, she now didn't want anything to do with it. Like the coward she was, she kept her body still.

“I think you've always known how much I care for you,” he continued. “I think we would have a wonderful-
gut
union. For sure.”

A union? Was he talking about their relationship now? While she was wrapped up in a hospital sheet, had a tube stuck in her hand, a bandaged eye, and was pretending to sleep?

But if she opened her eye and turned to him, he would expect her to talk. To ask him more questions. To make the plans for their future together. To tell him what to do, what to say.

And at the moment, she didn't think she could do anything more than just lie there. She tightly held her eyes closed and let him continue to think she was sleeping.

Go away, she silently pleaded.

What felt like hours later, he stood up and walked out—leaving her feeling slightly guilty but relieved, too. She heard the curtain part and him as he stepped across the linoleum with sure, even steps, and then the door open and close.

He was gone.

She sighed.

“That man is an eager one, huh?” said the voice from the other side of the curtain.

With a flood of embarrassment, Frannie realized the voice was the other patient . . . and that she'd heard every single word that had been said.

Feeling awkward, she went ahead and answered. “Yes. He is.”

“In my day, the men didn't propose at the hospital. Wasn't seemly.”

“He didn't propose.”

“Sounded like he was about to!”

No, she thought. He'd been waiting for her to suggest it. But there was no use in explaining that to a stranger. “Perhaps.”

“Hope you'll weigh your decision carefully. I'm not at all sure he's the man for you.”

Intrigued, Frannie said, “Why do you say so?”

“He's too weak-willed. A woman needs a strong man to hold her up from time to time. Just like a strong man needs a strong woman to allow him to show weakness once in a while.”

Was Frannie strong? Yes, she supposed she was. Suddenly, she was feeling a little better. “If he asks,” she said, “I'll be sure to think about my answer.”

“Good, good.”

The woman coughed a bit, then picked up her phone when it rang. She began to talk about her sheepdog and her boss's terrible habits.

She talked so much, and in such a speedy, friendly-sounding way, the words began to blend together. Before long, Frannie closed her eyes and let the woman's voice wash over her, lulling her to sleep.

Where she was thankful to drift back into the warm comfort of her dreams.

F
rannie?”

Her name was being called yet again. Oh, couldn't anyone here simply leave her alone? The words felt like needles to her brain, prickly and stinging.

“Stop,” she mumbled.

But it still continued. “Frannie? Frannie, wake up.”

Slowly, her eye opened. Immediately, she felt the pain. The ache of her wounds throbbing around her eye, her cheeks, her jaw.

Wincing, she tried to focus on her newest visitor, wondering if Micah had returned—and what she would say to him if he asked her to marry him.

But instead of Micah, she saw that Luke now sat by her side.

“Hello, Luke,” she whispered. Her throat was still scratchy, strained.

Without her having to ask, he reached for the pitcher on the side table and poured her a cup of water. Placing a straw in the cup, he smiled as he held it to her lips. “Sip,” he said.

She sipped, and stared in wonder as he set the cup back on the nightstand. “Thank you.”

“Do you need more pain medication? I'll talk to the nurse . . .”

She was going to try to be brave, strong, but realized it was foolish. With the way pain was tapping a steady drumbeat behind her eye, she wouldn't be able to focus on a word he had to say. Slowly, she nodded.

“I'll be right back.”

Purposely, he strode out of the room. While he was gone, she made sure she was tucked in, and even tried to tidy her hair a bit. A lost cause.

When he finally came back in and sat down, she said, “Are you here to ask me more questions?”

“Ah, no.” He settled into the plastic chair beside the bed. “I rarely question women in hospital rooms. I had some extra time so I thought I'd stop by to see how you're doing.”

“Ah.” She wanted to tease him about caring for her, but she was afraid of his answer.

Afraid he was here out of duty. Out of friendship. Nothing more.

But of course she couldn't ask, and she shouldn't even think about it. To him, she was merely another suspect in his murder investigation.

And his former innkeeper, merely an acquaintance.

So instead of saying anything, she tried to relax against the pillows.

She was amazed that with him, there was no awkward silence. And when he smiled at her, his grin did more to comfort her than a hundred visits from Micah ever would.

She didn't know what to think of that.

“So,” he said, “I used my considerable charm and coaxed some information from the hospital staff. They said you had a rough night of it. But . . . the word is out that the doctors think you're going to be just fine.”

She'd heard that, too. But it didn't hurt to be sure. “My eyesight?” she asked.

“As far as I've heard”—he paused before continuing—“that's just fine, too. The doctor will be here in a while to tell you all about it.” Tossing another smile her way, he said, “I tell you what, Frannie Eicher, you gave me a scare.”