The Splendor of Ordinary Days (16 page)

“But why no deputy?”

“Because I said so, Warren. Because I need this man to talk to me, and he's less likely to do that with a guy in a uniform standing over him.”

I walked back to the Mennonite fellow, helped him to his feet, and told him to come with me. Reluctantly, Warren let us by. We passed Clayton Ross's cell. His face was still buried in his hands. I helped the young Mennonite man to the cell block door and asked him to wait for me there.

I walked back to Warren. “Did you administer a breathalyzer test on Clayton?”

“Why? I didn't smell any alcohol on him.”

“You had him empty his pockets before going into the cell, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Ten bucks says he had a pack of breath mints.”

Warren's silence told me my guess had hit home. He nodded grimly. “I'll look into it.”

I returned to the Mennonite, who was leaning weakly against the wall. When we stepped into the front entry room, Jacob Yoder was waiting on us.

“Jacob, you know this young man?”

His worried face was resolute. “Yes, our families are friends, and he is courting my daughter. He rode into town with us today.”

“I need to get him to the clinic. He's got a bad cut on the back of his head.”

Jacob nodded. “My wagon is outside. We can take him.”

The wagon was parked in the shade on the side of the building. Jacob's wife, Hannah, and their daughter, Rebecca, sat there with anxious faces. I was preparing to help the young man onto the rear of the wagon, when an angry voice from behind me called out my name.

Boiling Point

“H
old on, Bradford. Your boy there needs to answer a few damn questions.”

It was Cal Ross standing three feet away from me, seething with irritation, his swarthy, ­thick-­jowled face dark and contemptuous.

“I don't think that's going to happen right now,” I told him.

He tried to move past me toward the Mennonite, but I stepped in front of him and spoke coolly. “Cal, if you're asking for trouble, you're going to get a quick reply.”

He grinned brutally, seemingly hardened by the challenge. “What you got against my boy? I just talked to the sheriff, and he told me you think Clayton needs an alcohol test.” Cal's own breath was rank with the smell of beer. “Why are you taking sides?”

“You know, in my experience it doesn't take a lot of guts to hit a man that you know won't hit you back.”

“You calling my boy a coward?”

“No, I'm calling your son a bully.”

“Oh, a bully, huh? Well, why don't I show you what a bully looks like?”

I looked to the side and smiled. “You could. But first you might want to think pretty hard about that.”

“And why is that?” he snapped in return.

I stepped forward and stood squarely in front of him. “Because, unlike your son, you'd be picking a fight with someone who will definitely hit you back.”

He was about to respond, when Warren's booming voice filled the air. “Is there a problem here, fellows?” He was standing on the sidewalk and had undoubtedly heard the exchange. Cal Ross immediately stepped away, recoiling under Warren's authority. I never moved.

After a few tense moments, I helped the injured Mennonite onto the wagon. Then I turned to Warren, expecting a stern admonition, but instead he regarded me with a slight nod of his chin. I grabbed my bag and as I walked toward my car, Cal Ross blurted out a rather odd declaration. “You should want to help my boy as much as you're helping that Mennonite kid.”

At the clinic, Jacob and I assisted the young man inside. The poor fellow seemed wilted and ashamed. Hannah and Rebecca followed close behind.

I addressed him with polite reassurance. “Tell me your name.”

He spoke with a slight German accent similar to Jacob's. “My name is Levi Beiler.”

I showed him to an exam room. Jacob joined us while the two women stayed in the waiting area. I asked Levi several questions about dizziness, and checked his visual and motor responses. Aside from the laceration on his head, he had a headache and a throbbing pain around his black eye.

“Levi, you've got a pretty nasty cut and it needs stitches. To do that, I'm going to have to shave the hair around the wound.” He nodded in understanding. There was a knock and simultaneous opening of the door. It was Ann Patterson.

“How we doing?” she asked. “I got here as quick as I could.”

“Word travels fast. How did you know I was here?”

“I got a phone call. You want me to prep so you can scrub up?”

“Sure.”

Minutes later, I was sewing in the stitches. Jacob stood patiently next to the boy.

“Levi, can you tell me what happened?” I asked.

He glanced at Jacob. The two of them exchanged uneasy looks. Jacob answered. “You will hear many versions of what happened, Dr. Bradford. I'm sure you will find one that will satisfy you.”

“I think I'd like to hear Levi's version.”

Jacob nodded to Levi, who spoke in a detached voice. “The man kept trying to talk to Rebecca, bothering her. She walked away from him a couple of times, but he wouldn't stop. He was loud and rude. We were standing beside some tables and chairs near where food was being served. He tried to approach her again, and I set a chair in his path, trying to shield her from him. For some reason, he walked right into it and partially fell. When he came up, he struck me.”

“And you never hit him back?”

“No, of course not,” he responded with an amused dryness. “I was too busy bleeding on the ground.”

“So, what happened after that?”

“Almost immediately the sheriff's men were there, and the other man claimed I hit him with the chair. The next thing I knew, they were putting me in the police car.” Again, he exhaled a muffled laugh. “I lived for two months in Nashville without a single incident and came back home to be thrown in jail.”

“Levi, if you don't mind my asking, why were you in Nashville?”

“It was a time of testing before being baptized into my faith.”

“You mean like . . . What's it called? Rumspringa?”

“We don't really practice rumspringa in the traditional sense, but my parents thought it would be a good idea for me to experience the larger world for a couple of months.”

“I'm sorry this happened,” I said quietly.

“Persecution is nothing new to us, Dr. Bradford,” Jacob replied. “It has been our lot for centuries.”

I nodded and let the matter drop. I continued stitching the wound and addressed Jacob on a different matter. “How is your father's vision these days?”

He smiled stoically. “It is much worse than he will let on.”

“Why doesn't he come in for a thorough exam? Cataracts can be treated.”

“I have no doubt you are correct, Dr. Bradford. But Father can be a hard man. Things have to be done his way and on his time.”

It was an evasive response, one that left questions unanswered. As much as I liked Jacob and his affable, ­soft-­spoken ways, I had come to learn that he was a cautious and very deliberate man.

“So, Jacob, I have a question. I recently heard that many Mennonites served during Vietnam. What can you tell me about that?”

His surprise was only faintly masked. “How did you know Father did that?”

I hadn't known, but this gave me an opportunity to inquire further. “Oh, I just heard it somewhere. What kind of work did he do to fulfill his service time?”

Jacob had been ­tight-­lipped about today's incident, but apparently he considered events of almost fifty years ago idle talk to pass the time. “He milked cows at a research farm run by the University of Tennessee. It was considered government service.”

“Where was this?”

“About ninety miles away, near Columbia, Tennessee. He had just married Momma, and they lived in a small house near the milk barn. I was born there.”

I continued sewing the stitches. “Was having a baby away from your community difficult on your mom?”

“Perhaps. But it was a much harder time for my dad.”

I paused momentarily and looked up. “Why was that?”

“Father didn't like being away from home, so my aunt came to live with them and help with the delivery of the baby. Unfortunately, my aunt became ill with a sudden fever that turned into pneumonia. She died not long after I was born.”

“Sorry to hear that.” I continued suturing Levi's wound but was struck with curiosity. “How old was she?”

“My aunt was nineteen, like my dad. They were twins.”

“And she died of pneumonia?”

“Yes. Papa has never talked much about his service time. Momma had a difficult labor, and by the time my dad could take my aunt to the local hospital, her sickness was too advanced. I think he blames himself. Since you are a doctor, perhaps you understand these things.”

As I finished the last of the sutures, I considered Jacob's words. Pneumonia was a ­top-­ten killer, but usually in the very old or the very young . . . not in ­nineteen-­year-­olds. Then again, we were talking about events from almost fifty years ago. “What was your aunt's name?” I asked.

“Ellie, Ellie Louise Yoder.”

Moments later, I had just asked Ann to put a dressing on the wound when my cell phone rang. It was Warren Thurman. I stepped into the hallway to answer it.

“Doc, you got that Mennonite boy patched up?”

“Yeah, Warren. I'm going to observe him for a while. We'll head back after that.”

“No need. We're going to let the matter drop.”

“Okay, good. Should I ask why?”

“Probably best if you didn't.”

“Warren, did you run the breathalyzer test on Clayton?”

There was a noticeable pause. “Like I said, we're going to cut everybody a little slack here. I hope that's okay with you.”

Warren was smart. He had the option of making both Levi Beiler and Clayton Ross toe a hard line, but he was trying to defuse an otherwise ­lose-­lose situation. Still, I was certain Clayton was the aggressor, and the omission in Warren's response made it clear that alcohol was involved. I didn't like the injustice of it and let out a heavy sigh.

“Yeah.” I paused. “Yeah, I get it, Warren. Thanks for the call.”

Jacob had stepped into the hall and stood a short distance away.

I endeavored to put on a positive face. “Jacob, good news. That was the sheriff. He said Levi is free to go. The charges against him are being dropped.”

Jacob nodded thoughtfully. “And the young man who hit Levi. He is going free as well?”

“The sheriff didn't exactly say, but my guess is yes. I think he believes the whole matter is best set aside.”

Jacob said nothing, but his disappointment was clear. I was embarrassed at having to tell him. It was shameful. Levi had done nothing wrong, but he had received a black eye, a nasty cut, and a healthy dose of humiliation for his trouble. Clayton Ross was being given a free pass.

“Jacob, it is certainly Levi's option to press charges,” I said.

Jacob seemed amused by my statement. “That, Dr. Bradford, is not our way.”

He walked to the front waiting room to speak with his wife and daughter. A moment later, Rebecca was timidly heading down the hall toward the exam room. I could tell that she had been crying, but still, she had a strikingly winsome and delicate prettiness about her. As she passed, I offered her a ­tight-­lipped smile of encouragement and pointed toward the exam room door. Ann was coming out of the exam room just as Rebecca entered.

The two of us stood in the hallway, our mutual disgust of the situation easily communicated in our silence.

“Let's give them a moment,” I finally suggested.

She nodded in agreement and headed toward the break room.

I went to my office, dropped into my chair, and spun around to gaze out the large windows. The handkerchief that had been dropped at Moon Lake was on my credenza. After studying it for a brief second, again noting its embroidered initials, ELY, I grabbed it, put it in my lab coat pocket, and walked back to Levi's exam room. Curiosity had gotten the better of me.

Levi and Rebecca were alone, talking softly to each other. She was touching the bruise around his eye. I reached into my pocket and held up the delicate piece of cloth. “Yours, I believe?”

Panicked glances shot between the two teens. I had the answer I needed. Rebecca stared at me behind a face seized with apprehension.

I brought my finger to my lips and shook my head lightly to communicate that I saw no reason to speak further on the matter. I held out the handkerchief, smiling warmly.

Cautiously, she took it from me, her shy face framed in embarrassed gratitude. “Thank you.” Quickly, she slipped the cloth into her pocket.

I turned to Levi. “It's very important that you keep the wound clean. Let me know if you see any signs of infection. Come back in about ten days and we will take your sutures out.”

“I will, Dr. Bradford.”

We all gathered in the clinic lobby, and Jacob thanked me again. But before he left, I had a final question for him.

“Jacob, I understand there was a fire out your way recently. Was it anything serious?”

“No, just an outbuilding where we keep hardened corn ears to feed the livestock. It was near our main barn. The rain had stopped, and it looked like it might catch the large barn on fire as well. Fortunately, the rain started again and prevented that.”

“Any idea what started it?”

“We presume a lightning strike.”

“The volunteer fire department came out. Do you have any idea who called them?”

Jacob smiled. “That, Dr. Bradford, is a mystery even to us. As you might guess, we don't have telephones. It was an unfortunate waste of their time.”

“Well, I'm glad the fire wasn't serious.”

I bid him ­good-­bye and they departed. But the mention of the fire and the phone call had sent a subtle bolt of panic to the faces of Levi and Rebecca, just like the one I had seen in the exam room. They had quickly exchanged a series of worried, nuanced glances. Levi had just returned from two months in Nashville, and a young woman on a burner phone had made the call to the fire department. It was the first piece in a larger puzzle.