A Plain Disappearance (32 page)

“You’re all he talks about lately. You and that church.”

“Me?” My eyes darted around the parking lot. There was no one else there.

“Yes, you turned my best friend into a wimp. He’d rather spend time at church than with me.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

He squeezed his arms more tightly. I felt like I was about to fold in half the long way.

“Help!” I cried.

Brock pressed his forearm up against my throat. I choked. “Don’t think I won’t finish you. I’ve had my eye on you since the moment you showed up in this town. I left you alone because of Curt, but his wish to keep you safe doesn’t matter much to me anymore.”

Spots flashed in front of my eyes. Curt protected me from Brock? How is that possible? I had always thought Curt was the instigator, and Brock was the one who followed his lead. Had it been the reverse all of this time?

He pressed down harder. “You cost me a best friend.”

I gagged. My eyes felt like they might pop out of my head, and I shut them tight to hold them in place. Was this what Katie felt before she died? Had Brock—not Caleb—been behind her death? My vision blurred and in my mind, I could see Brock looming over Katie’s body through the fog. I heard someone talking, but I couldn’t understand the words. “Don’t think I won’t.” I caught that phrase.
Don’t think I won’t what?
My thoughts swam in a gray mist. I couldn’t take hold of any of them.

Then, the pressure was gone. I slid to the snow-covered gravel parking lot, holding my throat and gasping for air.

Brock stood three feet away from me with his hands in the air. Chief Rose had her handgun trained at his chest. “Lay on the ground with your arms stretched out in front of you!”

Brock glowered at her. “The ground is freezing.”

“Ask me if I care,” the police chief barked back. “Do it. Now.”

Brock did as he was told.

“Get up, Humphrey,” Chief Rose said to me. I struggled to my wobbly legs. The police chief handed me her gun. “If he tries anything while I’m cuffing him, shoot him.”

The gun shook in my hand. My finger wasn’t even on the trigger. Was she serious? Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer that question because Brock let Chief Rose cuff him with little fuss. She yanked him to his feet. For a small woman, she was awfully strong.

“Thanks for cooperating, Buckley,” the police chief said sarcastically. She walked him over to her cruiser and shoved him into the backseat behind the wire mesh. She slammed the door on him. “You okay, Humphrey? Do you need to be checked out?”

I rubbed my throat, wondering if I would have a bruise. “I’ll be fine,” I croaked. I didn’t want to go back to the hospital. I had been there too many times before. If I weren’t careful I would need to make a change of address with the post office to have my mail sent there. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Okay then. If your sore throat doesn’t go away by tomorrow morning, I want you to go to the hospital. I need to take charming Mr. Buckley here to jail. I’m sure the warden will be happy to see him again. They are old pals.”

I nodded, because talking would take too much effort. All I wanted to do was go home and drink a big mug of lemon and honey tea.

The police chief opened her car door. “I’ll have Officer Nottingham swing by your place tomorrow to record your statement for both incidents. Is there anyone else out to get you that I should know about, Humphrey? Being attacked twice in the span of three hours is a little much—even for you.”

I wish I knew.

T
he three youngest Troyer children wandered aimlessly around the front yard. When my car shuddered to a stop on the Troyers’ frozen drive, Thomas and Naomi came running. Thomas opened his grandfather’s car door as I slipped out of the driver seat.

Naomi hugged my legs, and I squeezed her back.

Grandfather Zook adjusted his braces above his elbows while Thomas steadied him. “What are you all doing outside in the cold?”

“Becky is here,” Thomas said in an unusually hushed voice. “Ellie Young dropped her off a little while ago.”

Grandfather Zook cocked his head. “I’ll bet Ellie was disappointed that I wasn’t here.”

Naomi giggled.

Her grandfather’s grin turned to a frown. “That was nice of Ellie to give Becky a ride to the farm, but it still doesn’t answer my question as to why you are moping outside.”

Ruth joined us and kicked off snow that gathered on the toe of her boot. “Daed said we had to go outside so he and
Maam
could talk to her.”

My stomach clenched. I knew why.

“Hair,” Naomi whispered.

Grandfather’s bushy eyebrows fused together. “Hair?”

“Becky cut her hair,” Thomas whispered. “Like an
Englischer
.”

Grandfather Zook sighed. “I see.” He hobbled toward the house.

The children and I followed. Even before we reached the screened-in front porch, we heard the angry timbre of raised voices. Grandfather Zook didn’t hesitate and went inside. Through the opening, I saw Becky and her parents in the living room. Mrs. Troyer sat on the couch. Her hands covered her face and her body shook as silent sobs rolled through her.

Mr. Troyer stood across from his eldest daughter, his face bright red as if he had scrubbed it hard with a bristle brush. Becky stood defiantly across from him with her arms folded across her chest. “I told you that I wasn’t coming back. You knew that. I don’t know why cutting my hair makes any difference.”

Mr. Troyer responded in Pennsylvania Dutch. Even though I couldn’t understand the words, I knew by the way Becky sucked in air that his comments bit. “So you care what Deacon Sutter says now?” Becky asked.

Mr. Troyer opened his mouth again, but Grandfather Zook stamped one of his braces on one of the wide floor boards. “What is going on?”

I hovered in the doorway, but the three younger Troyer children dashed back into the yard. Should I run too?

Mr. Troyer spun around and faced his father-in-law. He said something in their language.

“
Ya,
I see that she has cut her hair.”

Mr. Troyer responded again in their language.

Grandfather Zook sniffed. “Speak
Englisch
. Chloe is here.”

Duly outed, I stepped forward.

Mrs. Troyer dropped her hands from her face and stared at me through her tears. Her expression was pointed, accusatory. I glanced at Mr. Troyer and saw the same look on his face. Behind me, cold wind sliced into my back through the open door. Did I leave it open as a means of escape?

Mr. Troyer’s eyes narrowed. “You did this to her.”

“I—I didn’t.”

“Your
Englisch
friend did.”

I licked my lips. “Becky asked her to.”

Becky took a step closer to her father. “
Daed
, Chloe had nothing to do with this. Cutting my hair was my decision.”

I stepped forward. “Becky didn’t take the decision lightly. I know she’s thought about it for a long time.”

Mr. Troyer turned to me as if seeing me for the first time and he did not like what he found. “You knew she would do this?”

“I . . .”

Mrs. Troyer covered her face again as if she couldn’t look at me.

Mr. Troyer pointed at the open door. “Chloe, please leave. This is a conversation for the family.”

His words cut, but they were true. I shouldn’t be there. I wasn’t family, and if Mr. Troyer’s thunderous expression was any indication, they didn’t want me to be.

I stumbled back. “Oh, right, I’m so sorry.”

“Close the door when you leave,” Becky’s father added.

“Chloe, wait,” Grandfather Zook said.

I shook my head. “I should go.” I backed out onto the front porch and shut the door behind me. I hurried down the steps, waving at the children, but avoiding eye contact because more than anything I didn’t want them to see me cry. Naomi and Thomas were making snow angels. “Bye,” I choked out. “Gotta run.”

My hands shook as I opened my car door.

“Chloe,” Ruth called from behind me.

I closed my eyes for a moment because I didn’t want her to see how much her father’s words affected me. I inhaled slowly and turned.

“What’s happened? Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” I gave her a weak smile. “I have to go to work and check on some things.”

She placed a hand on my sleeve. “You will come back later, won’t you? To come with me to see Anna? We have to go. She will be waiting for us.”

I blew out a breath, and a white cloud blurred my sight. “I’ll come back. Can you meet me here? In the driveway?”

Confusion crossed over her expression. “
Ya
, if that’s what you want.”

“See you then,” I said and jumped into the car.

The Harshberger College campus
was like a graveyard, which wasn’t the best analogy to think of while still reeling from the morning’s events. I parked as close to the front entrance as possible and made sure I had my keys to the Dennis academic building where the computer service department was located. Inside, the building was still and quiet. It was hard to believe that in a few short weeks, the campus would be buzzing again with students and faculty.

I hurried to the server room and unlocked the doors to the racks. All of the machines blinked happy green lights at me. I fired up the laptop and ran a few small tests on the system. Everything pinged back with no complaints. My shoulders sagged with relief as I turned the laptop off again and locked the door.

I ran up the stairs and was outside of the building on the way to my car within five minutes. I cleared my throat and felt the scratchiness from Brock’s attack. I wished for some of Mrs. Troyer’s honey lemon tea, but considering what had just happened, would I ever be invited to drink it again?

The parking lot outside of Dennis overlooked a small pond on the campus, and I made the mistake of glancing in its direction as I made my way to my car. A figure sat on one of the park benches beside the pond.
Curt Fanning
. He sat bent at the waist with his face buried in his hands. I hesitated. Even though I was over a hundred feet away, he must have sensed me because he lifted his head in my direction. His sad expression didn’t change when he saw that it was me.

I bit my lip.
I should leave
. Something told me that I needed to see if Curt was okay.

Was he
okay
? That wasn’t my problem. How many times over the last few months had he and Brock gone out of their way to make the Troyers’ lives and mine miserable? Too many to count. Yet again, I felt the nudge toward him. He looked like he needed someone to talk to. I glanced around the campus grounds. I was the only one there. Despite everything, how could I ignore him now?

I groaned. I would check to see if he needed any help, but then I was out of there. I wasn’t going to be stupid about it though. I unlocked my car and tucked my purse under the passenger seat after slipping my cell phone into my coat pocket. I pushed the front seat forward and grabbed my ice scraper from the back. If Curt tried anything, I’d whack him one. I relocked the car and put the key into my other pocket. Slowly I made my way down the icy steps that led to the pond.

Curt was alone. The geese and ducks that called the pond home during the warm months had gone for the winter to points south. A fresh pile of snow lay on the ground next to Curt’s feet. He held his father’s army dog tags in his hands and caressed them with his thumbs as if they were some type of talisman.

I held my snow scraper in front of me.

“Is this how you’re going to approach me from now on?” Curt asked hoarsely. When I had seen him on campus earlier in the week, I had been brandishing the same scraper. It almost came as a relief to hear some of the characteristic sarcasm in his voice.

“Better safe than sorry,” I replied and lowered the scraper just a hair.

His eyes grew sad. “I don’t blame you. I would be nervous around me too, if I were you.”

I took another step forward, but still left over twenty feet between us, having no desire to move any closer than that.

“I heard what Brock did.” Curt’s voice sounded gravelly. “Are you all right?”

Reflexively, my free hand went to my throat and touched the sore spot. “I will be okay. Brock is a strong guy and he was very angry at me.”

Curt turned his gaze back to the frozen pond. “Because of me.”

“That’s what he said.”

He made eye contact with me again. “He doesn’t like how I have changed since meeting you.”

“How is that?”

He sighed. “I’ve started asking questions, wondering if there is something more to life than causing trouble and just getting by.”

“Is there?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“In your life there is. In my own life, I wasn’t so sure. Over the last couple of weeks I’ve been thinking how you saved Brock last month. You could have left him to die in that freezing pond and gotten away from us, but you stayed and helped.” Curt’s shoulders rolled forward. “I would have never done it. I wanted to know what could possibly make you do that. Brock wasn’t curious about it at all.”

I took two small steps forward. “What did you do?”

“I knew you were a Christian, so I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I found my dad’s old Bible in his knapsack from the war. Mom never even bothered to unpack the bag when the army sent it home. The Bible was dog-eared and written all over, like my dad spent hours and hours studying it.” His eyes glistened as he looked at me. “Do you think that means he was a Christian when he was killed?”

My heart thundered in my chest. How could I possibly answer that? How could I answer that question for anyone other than myself? And yet, for some reason, I believed I knew the answer. “I do,” I said.

His shoulders relaxed. “I read the part my dad underlined and that made sense when I thought of you and how you react to things like people being hurt or when Brock was in trouble.”

“Then what happened?”

He laughed softly. “You saw me at the Christmas Eve service. I have to say the look on your face when I sat next to you was priceless.” His tone became serious. “But you didn’t run away when I sat down. It meant a lot to me.”