A Bee in Her Bonnet (25 page)

One of the men on the other side pounded as if they were trying to break it down. The force of the blows rattled the door against Luke's back.

Aunt B looked daggers out the window. “Hold your horses, Kyle,” she yelled. With her gun draped over her elbow, Aunt B placed one foot on the window seat as if she were settling in. She watched Luke and Poppy with barely disguised impatience, but she didn't say a word.

Luke didn't seem to notice the tempest on the other side of the door. “I know how mad you are, Poppy,” he said, his voice like a soft caress against her cheek. “I thought Griff would be gone this morning. I sent Rose and my sisters into danger.”

Poppy's anger fizzled like a campfire in the rain. “You couldn't have known.”

“I couldn't protect them, but you did, Poppy. You will never know how grateful I am that you are so brave.”

She studied his face. “You're not mad at me?”

He groaned. “How could you think I was mad?”

She threw up her hands. “I wonder why.”

He lifted his head, and his dark eyes were filled with so much sorrow, she wanted to cry for him. “
Ach
, Poppy. I don't even know how to begin to make it right with you.” He pushed himself away from the door and grasped her arms with his strong hands. “I said some very
deerich
things because I was afraid.”

“Afraid I would die?”

He nodded. “And afraid that I would be responsible. My mom lost her foot because of me.” A shadow of pain passed across his features. “It's a shame I live with every day.”

“You can't hide,” Kyle yelled from outside.

“Be patient,” Aunt B fired back.

Poppy had no idea why Luke felt ashamed. “Your
mamm
lost her foot in a farming accident. How could that be your fault?”

He seemed to lose his strength. Exhaling slowly, he pulled out the nearest chair from the table, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. “My
dat
was sick. Mamm and I had to care for the farm. She asked me to help her fix the flatbed. I was full of pride and told her I could hold up the wagon bed by myself, but I turned out to be too weak. It slipped out of my hands and crushed her foot.” His voice cracked into a thousand pieces. “They had to amputate. My
dat
was furious that I was the cause of it. He taught me better than that, and I let him down. I promised myself I would never let something like that happen again.”

She reached out her good hand and laid it on his shoulder. He flinched, but he didn't pull away. “That is
Gotte
's burden, Luke. Not yours.”

With his hands still covering his face, he shook his head. “It's my
mamm
's burden. A woman should never have to do anything that a man is better suited to do.”

She knelt at his feet so she could look him in the eye. “You are talking to the wrong person. I don't think a man is better suited for anything. And sometimes a woman doesn't have a choice about the situation she's in.”

“Also my fault.” He took her hands, stood up, and pulled her with him. “I don't so much like you kneeling at my feet.”

She tried to ignore the pleasant sensation of his rough hands. Now was not the time to lose her wits. “You take too much responsibility for things that belong to
Gotte
.”

“I take care of what I can with
Gotte
's help.”

“That's why you were so nervous about me using the hammer.” She curled her lips. “But I won the race.”

His eyes flashed with a scolding. “That's why I am so nervous about you using anything.”

Five loud knocks came at the door. “Elizabeth Kiem, let us in.”

Aunt B puffed out her cheeks with air and then slowly released it. “I was hoping he'd get tired of waiting and go home.”

Before they opened that door, Poppy had to make Luke understand. “I forced you to let me use the hammer, Luke. If I am careless enough to hit my own thumb, that's my fault, not yours.”

He slumped his shoulders. “It feels like my fault.”

Aunt Bitsy peeked out the window. “I hate to interrupt, especially when you two are finally getting somewhere, but Kyle looks to be foaming at the mouth.”

Luke pled with his eyes. “Poppy, I would never forgive myself if I let you go out there unprotected. I need to make everything right again. Won't you let me?”

Gone was the gruff, rough-around-the-edges boy who wouldn't let her play football and used a drill behind her back. In his place stood a vulnerable, aching young man, the heavy responsibility of the family farm thrust upon him, the guilt of his
mater
's accident choking him like a rope around his neck.

Poppy's determination crumbled like dry leaves in late autumn, and for probably the first time in her life, she gave in. Sort of. Her lips curved into a conciliatory smile. “We won't be unprotected if we go out together.”

He gave a low growl, but it was more of an I-surrender growl than an I'm-mad-at-you growl. “Will you at least stand behind me?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the anxiety in his eyes made her change her mind. She would let Luke win this one time, but only because he might die of anxiety if she didn't. She took a deep breath and nodded.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He looked as if she'd just given him ten loaves of nut brown bread. “
Denki
. And will you promise not to say anything? I need to do all the talking.”

She rolled her eyes. That boy could not relinquish one iota of control. “Okay. No talking unless absolutely necessary.”

“Not even then,” he said, pinning her with a look that invited no argument.

“I'll do my best.”

Luke looked as if he might start yelling again. Instead, he pressed his lips together and nodded. “Bitsy, will you stay inside so I don't have two people to fret about?”

A dozen worry lines appeared on Aunt B's forehead. “I've got your back.” She opened the door. Griff and his dad were standing right where they'd left them. Aunt B tapped her hand on the barrel of her gun. “No trouble, Kyle, or I might have to load this thing.”

“I don't start trouble,” Kyle said. “But I finish it.”

“I'll be standing right inside the door,” she said. With the heart tattoo on her neck and her dangly black earrings, she looked more intimidating than the average Amish
fraa
. Poppy frowned. Kyle's tattoos could have eaten Aunt B's tattoos for supper.

Luke marched out onto the porch, and true to her word, Poppy followed him and stationed herself directly behind him. She couldn't see much but Griff's head around Luke's broad shoulders. Aunt B shut the door behind them. With her back to the house, Poppy couldn't know for sure, but she suspected that Aunt B had her nose stuck right up against the window. Would she have to load her gun? Did she even have ammunition?

Poppy felt ridiculous standing behind Luke, but he would be very upset if she broke her promise. She should at least attempt to make him happy.

Griff looked pale, as if he wanted to be in Canada or Milwaukee or anywhere else in the whole world. Poppy couldn't feel sorry for him. He'd brought the community nothing but trouble.

The muscles of Luke's neck and back looked so taut, Poppy could have bounced a penny off them, but his stance was casual and nonthreatening, with his hands at his sides and his feet spread apart. “I'm here,” he said. “What do you want to say?”

Kyle's scowl got even deeper, as if it would never find the bottom of his face. “What gives you the right to punch my son?”

Indignation boiled inside Poppy like honey on an overheated stove. Griff, the coward, obviously hadn't told his father who had really hit him, but she wasn't about to let Luke take the blame. She braced one hand on Luke's shoulder and stood on her tiptoes so she had a clear view of Kyle. “It wasn't—”

Luke's warning glare could have shriveled her tongue. She had promised not to say anything—unless absolutely necessary. She thought it was time for absolutely necessary. He obviously didn't.

Luke nudged her hand off his shoulder like a piece of lint. She took a step back and growled softly. Why wouldn't Luke at least tell Kyle the real story?

Because Luke Bontrager was the bossiest boy she had ever met. Hadn't he just told her that the world would be a better place if everybody just did what he wanted?

Bossy and arrogant. There was no reasoning with him.

“No one should hit anybody else,” Luke said.

Without warning, Griff's father made a fist and popped Luke in the nose. Poppy shouted as Luke's head snapped back, but he didn't fall over. He was as solid and immovable as a tree trunk.

Poppy staggered as if she were the one who'd been hit. As soon as she got her bearings, she darted between Kyle and Luke and pushed up against Luke's chest so he'd be forced to step back, farther away from Kyle. “Don't touch him,” she yelled.

Stubborn, aggravating Luke would not be pushed. He took her good hand and tugged her behind him again. If she hadn't been so
ferhoodled
by his touch, she would have protested. As it was, she felt powerless to do anything but let him lead her wherever he wanted, even if he did have blood trickling from his nose.

Griff's face turned a sickly shade of green.
Jah
, he wanted to be in Canada.

Luke calmly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his nose. Lots of blood. Too much blood. “If you want revenge, Kyle, you or Griff can punch me in the face as many times as you want, and I won't fight back. But you have to let Poppy go in the house first.”

Poppy squeaked in protest. Luke squeezed her hand as a signal to keep quiet. She squeaked in protest again.

“Poppy,” he growled, “stay behind me and stay quiet.”

Ach.
She hated Luke Bontrager.

Kyle flexed his hand as if hitting Luke's face might have been hard on his fingers. “Are you satisfied, Griff?”

Griff nodded mutely.

Kyle turned back to Luke. “Now we're even. But come near my son again, and you'll get worse.”

Poppy was nearly beside herself. She wanted to shout at Kyle for hitting the wrong person and at Griff for scaring her sister and at both of them for being despicable people, but if Luke could keep his temper, then so could she.

Kyle jabbed a finger into Luke's chest. Luke didn't move, but Poppy flinched. “We haven't had no problem with the Amish before. We don't want no trouble again.”

“We'd like nothing better than to be left alone,” Luke said, sniffing back the blood dripping from his nose.

“Then we understand each other.”

Luke folded his arms across his chest. Still confined to standing behind him, Poppy could only guess that the blood dripped down his shirt. “I want to talk to Griff alone,” he said. “Would that be all right with you?”

Kyle's eyes were tiny slits. “Why?”

“Man to man,” Luke said. “No fighting.”

Kyle frowned. “I suppose you deserve that. You took it like a man.”

Griff sneered, and Poppy could tell he tried to muster a little swagger. “I got nothing to say to him.”

Kyle grabbed a handful of Griff's T-shirt and pulled Griff toward him. “You listen to what he has to say, like a man. You understand?”

Griff nodded, his eyes full of resentment.

Kyle motioned to the shiny black motorcycle parked in the lane. “I'm on my bike right over there.” He took the porch steps in one jump, got on his motorcycle, and started the engine. Although he was near, he wouldn't be able to hear a thing.

Griff crossed his arms over his chest, giving Poppy a
gute
look at the tattoo on his forearm, which was a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. She swallowed hard and thought of Aunt B's heart tattoo. Poppy much preferred cute little hearts, but Griff Simons wasn't so tough.

For sure and certain, he didn't look tough. His arms were folded as if to protect himself from Luke, the Amish boy who hadn't fought back, but who looked like he could break Griff's arm with a flick of his wrist. Griff's eyes were downcast, his shoulders stooped. He looked scared and weak and even a little contrite. Had that been Luke's doing?

“What do you want?” he said, as if he hated the very thought of Amish people. He probably did.

“What would have happened if I'd told your
dat
you hit a girl?”

Griff pressed his lips together and lifted his chin. “Nothing.”

She could see the muscles of Luke's jaw tighten. “Do you know why I didn't?”

Griff stared at the barn as if Luke hadn't just asked him a question.

“Because I didn't want him to hit you.” Luke tilted his head to force Griff to meet his eyes. “He would have hit you, wouldn't he?”

Griff exhaled a puff of air and stared at his shoes again.

“Griff,” Luke said. “I didn't want him to hit you.”

Poppy could have growled. She could have stomped her feet and yelled at the top of her lungs. She could have thrown her arms around Luke's neck and kissed him silly. She felt so turned over every which way, she had no idea which urge was the strongest.

Luke had known all along what Griff's father would do, and he not only wanted to protect Poppy, but he had wanted to protect Griff Simons, who in many ways was a victim himself. Luke could have explained it to her instead of asking for a promise that only caused her aggravation.