Ties That Bind (19 page)

Ariana remained inside the carriage, talking to Nathaniel through the window. “So how long have you been writing poetry?” Had she asked a reasonable question? Nathaniel was on the hunt for a girl, and she didn't want him to think she was interested, but she was trying to give Abram as much time as possible to talk with Barbie. She wished Cilla hadn't gone to her carriage so quickly, but maybe she needed to get out of the sun and to sit for a spell.

Out of Ariana's peripheral vision, she saw an Amish man toting boards and plastic bags out of the hardware store.

Rudy.

When had he arrived? Had he seen her talking to Nathaniel? What must he think? Rudy shoved the two-by-fours into the wagon and tossed the bags on top. He glanced her way, paused a moment, and then pulled a red flag from his pocket and began tying it to the end of the wood.

She tried to open the door to the carriage, but Nathaniel was in the way. “Could you back up? I need to get out of the carriage, please.”

“Sure, little lady. Anything you'd like.” He opened the door for her.

She scrambled out. “Rudy!” She hurried across the parking lot, but he didn't look up. Was he so angry with her that he wasn't even going to respond?

This caring about what a guy thought was new, and she couldn't say it was particularly appealing. Nonetheless she ran, waving her arms and willingly looking desperate. “Rudy!”

He paused, frowning. A moment later his beautiful smile lightened her heart. “Well, look who's here.”

He hadn't seen her before now? Relief that he wasn't angry caused her to keep running until she was in his arms. Public displays of affection were frowned on, but at this moment she didn't care. What he did to her heart was just short of amazing, and she didn't want to lose it. He picked her up and twirled her around once, laughing, and then set her feet on the ground. His smile said it all. He was very pleased to see her. “What are you doing here?” He looked past her and saw Nathaniel beside the door of her carriage.

“He's a cousin of Barbie's, visiting from Indiana, and I was keeping him busy talking so Abram could get a moment alone with Barbie. What are you doing here?”

“Right now,” Rudy chuckled, “I'm enjoying that you're intent on making sure the record is straight about Barbie's cousin.”

Her heart pounded. “That obvious, huh?”

“Don't let it rattle you.” He held her hand and kissed her cheek. “I'm here because I care about you. Yesterday I had an idea about some items I could make that should fetch a good price at a yard sale or something, and we can use the money to go toward the café.”

“You're doing that for me?”

He squeezed her hand. “That's why we aren't going out tonight.”

“Denki.”

“Strange to be thanked for
not
taking you on a date, but just as strange to say you're welcome and mean it.”

Chuckling, they squeezed each other's hand before letting go.

“Rudy…” Her nerves jiggled a bit, anticipating how he might respond. “I've been thinking of having a benefit to raise money to buy the café.”

“To acquire a private business? For a girl? I think you're inviting the bishop to come to your home to correct you.”

Had Quill realized that? It seemed to her that he didn't like any kind of boundaries and tried to zip past them as if they didn't exist. She preferred to figure out where the lines were so she could avoid going anywhere near them. “Yeah, Abram had those same thoughts.”

Rudy leaned against the wagon, a mischievous smile beaming down at her. “But that getting-in-trouble thing isn't an altogether detestable plan since it could benefit me.” He grinned, looking sheepish, and she assumed it was embarrassment over his selfish proclamation.

“How?”

“If you need a place to escape to while the anger dies down, you could go to my parents' home in Indiana. You know, to get a reprieve from the fallout, and my family could get to know you and you them. See, win-win…for me.”

“You're assuming they'd like me.”

“Not true. I'm assuming they would love you.”

“You're very sweet, and I appreciate that about you.” She pointed a finger at him. “Now stop the nonsense and focus. Are you saying you wouldn't be against it if I decided to do a benefit?”

“For better or worse, I'm on board with whatever you think you need to do to get the café.”

She wrapped her hands around his suspenders and tugged. “I couldn't have a better boyfriend.”

“Remember that when we argue.”

They hadn't argued over anything yet, but they would. “Deal.” She released his suspenders and took a step back.

He straightened his shirt. “So, are we having a yard sale or a benefit?”

She owned hardly anything that could be sold. If something in the Brenneman household was serviceable, including secondhand and third-hand clothing, furniture, or cookware, she and her family were using it. How could she possibly pull off a successful yard sale if she didn't have anything to sell? Usually part of having a benefit was that skilled Amish men and women made items and donated them to be sold. Would anyone donate items to help her close on the café? Would Amish people even come to the benefit—other than the bishop to correct her?

“I don't know…yet.”

S
itting in his car at the back of a college campus parking lot, Quill turned up the music filtering through his earbuds attached to his cell phone. He chose an upbeat playlist, but it wasn't helping in his battle against feeling down. Watching the theater doors, he couldn't keep his mind off Ariana.

Her life would be traumatized if the girl who supposedly looked like Salome was actually a Brenneman. He fiddled with the flier. If the babies had been mixed up, that event wouldn't do any justice to the Nash girl either.

He felt so powerless, an experience he'd had too many times in his life before leaving the Amish. He had been so sure that if he took Frieda and left, he would never have to go through this kind of helplessness again.

What do you want from me, God? I'm trying here. Where am I missing it?

There was nothing as isolating as doing what he believed was right in God's eyes and then having almost everyone he respected or cared about consider him a traitor.

Four of the faded-red double doors swung open with a bang, and people tumbled out—loud, boisterous young men and women who appeared to have no weight on their shoulders at all. But he knew better. Anyone who understood life knew better.

Although he was tempted to use his binoculars, he left them in his backpack. He removed his earbuds and leaned forward, searching for a girl who looked like Salome.

The group talked loudly across the lot about selling tickets and when to meet back here. People waved, some hugged, and the jumbled masses of energy soon dispersed to their cars. He scanned every girl, seeing no one who fit the description. Most of the crowd left. Had he missed her? The remainder of the people formed small groups around a few vehicles.

The number of people thinned even more as they moved to different spots around three cars that were next to each other.

Wait.
Was that her?

A girl opened her car door and tossed a backpack and purse inside. While staring at her back and hoping he could get a good look at her face, his heart moved to his throat, and he couldn't catch his breath.

She closed the car door and stood upright, almost facing him directly. A cold chill ran through him. It was her. If she and Salome were the same age and an onlooker went by just their faces, the two could have been twins.

She leaned back against her vehicle, facing him directly. Two guys and a girl joined her as they talked to others who were by the two remaining cars. Several of them lit cigarettes, but the girl who favored Salome didn't.

He had prayed that Mark had exaggerated how similar Salome and this girl looked. He couldn't have dropped his investigation based on outward appearance alone, but it would've given his nerves a bit of relief. Getting a clear view of her only intensified his anxiety, and it felt as if God had once again ignored his fervent pleas.

Then a new thought came to him, the kind that carried hints of peace with its insight. If the girls had been switched at birth, what were his prayers supposed to accomplish? Was God going to miraculously undo what had begun two decades ago? Faith was one thing. Dreamy prayers, as if God were a star to wish upon, were totally another. He apologized to God for being shallow and quick to feel abandoned by Him. It just felt as if so much of Ariana's happiness and well-being was riding on the outcome of the true identity of this stranger.

Aside from her face, nothing else about her favored the Brennemans. She wore a sleeveless knit shirt that clung to her body as if she'd outgrown it before puberty. Her boots were silver and black with a metallic-looking heel. Her jeans were tattered with gaping holes, and he wondered how much she'd paid for them to look that way. She wore an abundance of jewelry everywhere—fingers, wrists, neck, ears, and ankles. Maybe her nose too, but he was too far away to see that. She had the same shade of dirty-blond hair as Salome, except for two streaks of dyed hair—one black and one purple.

The remaining youth were leaning against three different cars, bantering loudly amid their laughter. He could overhear bits and pieces of the conversation, most of it silly and useless as they exaggerated tales of mishaps during rehearsals and poked fun of one another and talked about how much they hated certain subjects.

The girl seemed quieter than the others, sadder somehow, despite the smile that peeked out. If she had been born to Lovina and Isaac and had been raised with them, would she and Quill have been close friends growing up, as he and Ariana had been? Ariana had helped him keep his sanity when his dad died. Without her help in navigating his anger and depression, he shuddered to think where he'd be. In jail. Maimed. Dead. All were viable possibilities for him at that time. Because of that, he couldn't imagine anyone taking her place during those years. She'd understood and strengthened him in ways no one else came close to.

The guy nearest the Salome-lookalike pulled out another cigarette and lit it. No wonder these cars were parked so close to the back of the lot. This was a smoke-free campus.

Quill took no joy in behaving like a stalker, but he continued to watch and listen. He needed to speak with this girl. A casual but inquisitive conversation would let him know if she'd been born in an Amish birthing center. If she hadn't been, he could leave her alone forever. But there were too many other people around right now for him to approach her. He wanted to avoid drawing questions from her or her friends. She took the half-smoked cigarette from one of the guys and inhaled deeply. Her eyes closed, and she held the smoke inside her before passing the cigarette back to the guy. Her eyes didn't open until she released the smoke from her lungs. He knew that look, that desperation. He would bet she was hooked and was trying to quit or cut way down.

She pushed away from the car and stood. “I'm going to Ankara Mall.” She went to the driver's side of the car and opened the door. “Anyone who wants to come, hop in, or I'll see you there. I'll be by the food court doors, and I better not see any of you losers selling tickets to my peeps.”

There was an uproar of laughter, and he guessed that some part of what she'd said was an inside joke. Several of her friends made comments that Quill couldn't distinguish, but he caught the words
mall cops
and
trouble.

The flier listed three girls with the surname Nash, so he didn't have confirmation of her first name yet, but he could recognize her anywhere now, and he had a plan. While he waited for the cars to leave the lot, he searched for Ankara Mall on his phone's GPS.

He eased from the lot, taking what the GPS said would be the quickest route and hoping to get to the mall before they did. Minutes later he found the outside entrance to the food court, but he didn't spot the car she was driving. He parked and went inside, his mind swirling with various plans. He had to create an opportunity to speak with her, and during those few minutes he needed to find out a lot without her having any clue what he was doing.

While waiting, he bought a drink and took a seat just inside the row of double-wide glass doors. It wasn't long before he saw her driving across the parking lot, but the people who'd left with her were gone. She parked and walked toward the mall, a purse strap on her shoulder and tickets in her hand.

If she didn't ask him if he wanted to buy a ticket, he would come up with some sort of icebreaker as he passed, maybe remarking about the boatload of tickets in her hand. And she would ask if he wanted to buy one.

Even in his efforts to help Amish leave, had he ever needed to be this calculating toward innocents? Ariana would say yes, but she was the exception, and he'd done it for her own good. Besides, he'd never baited someone for information, and he didn't like it.

Once she was on the sidewalk, he left the mall, catching her eye to give a friendly nod.

She smiled and said “Hi” as she approached him. “I'm Skylar, a drama student at the community college. Remember loving Dr. Seuss as a kid?”

He actually did. “One fish. Two fish. Red fish. Blue fish.”

She nodded, looking sincere and pleased. “And how about ‘A person's a person, no matter how small'? It's from
Horton Hears a Who.
”

“Neat saying. I remember the title of the book but not that line.”

“Maybe you need a refresher course. We're putting on a great show for adults and children. It's a musical called
Seussical.
”

“And like the phrase ‘musical
Seussical,
' the songs will be filled with rhymes, right?”

“Exactly. But there's even more than the musical. Our troupe has skilled dancers and singers, all of whom will surprise you by their ability to act, and the event is filled with superb costumes, thanks to my mom.”

It appeared that drawing her into a friendly conversation would be pretty easy, but his gut knotted tighter than ever. She enjoyed being part of the troupe, but if she were Amish, her family wouldn't be able to embrace that part of her. Nor could they share in her enthusiasm about her mother being a costume designer. His mouth was dry and his palms sweaty as he tried to push those thoughts aside. He had a goal to accomplish—confirmation of where she'd been born or her birth date. Learning either of those could answer a lot of his questions. “How much?”

“Fifteen dollars apiece.”

He tried to whistle, but his mouth was too dry. He took a sip of his drink. “That's pricey, isn't it?” But his remark had more to do with keeping the conversation going than with money.

“You ever gone to a college play?”

He shook his head. The only plays he'd attended were in a one-room schoolhouse at Christmastime.

She pulled a flier from her purse. “A lot goes into making one. Buy some tickets and come watch. You'll see what I mean.”

He took the flier. It was the same one Lovina had given him. “I guess I could use a ticket or two.” He put his mouth on the straw and took another sip of Coke, trying to look casual. He flipped open the flier. “You in the play?”

“I am.”

He separated three tens from the rest of his cash. With that in one hand, he maintained eye contact as he slyly got out three one-dollar bills and hid them in the palm of his other hand. “The cast has to sell tickets?” He put the bills between his index and middle finger.

“Yeah.” She took the money, slid it into her jeans pocket, and passed him two tickets. Her black nail polish stood out as if screaming at him. The Amish frowned on clear nail polish. All of it was considered vanity.

He'd successfully executed the sleight of hand. In a few minutes he'd bring it to her attention, and if she thought it was funny, he would use the levity to steer them into a different conversation, maybe one that would answer all his questions. But right now he studied the list of names. “So which character are you?”

“I'm the cat in
The Cat in the Hat,
and as fun as that part is, it's not my favorite for the evening. After the play is over, we do an olio, which is a medley of popular songs that we've paid the rights to use.”

He spotted the words “Cat in the Hat” and with his finger followed the line that went to the person's real name: Skylar Nash.

He hated the number of clues stacking up, and he longed to scream at God,
No, please, no!
She strongly favored Salome, and she had the same surname as Brandi. “You have the same last name as a couple of people in this flier, including someone named Brandi.”

“It's a playbill, actually, and, yeah, I share a last name with people I'm unrelated to, except Brandi. She's my mom, and she makes most of the costumes.”

He struggled to temper his mounting disappointment as he aimed to stay on task. “According to the list of solo performances, you'll sing.”

“During the olio, yeah.”

Had she explained what that was? The noise inside his head and the panic rushing adrenaline through his body had him as spacey as he'd ever been. He willed himself to think. If Lovina and Isaac wanted to see her without her seeing them, they would both need tickets. “I…I have friends who've never seen a college play either, and I think they would be very interested in coming to this one.” Could he call Lovina and Isaac friends? Would they want anyone besides the three of them attending, like maybe Abram?