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Chapter 21

“Good character—like good soup—is usually homemade.”

A
ARON
S
HCROCK

W
ould you like another piece of peanut butter pie, Walker?” Lydia asked after the rest of her siblings had left the table. “I'd be happy to get it for you.”

He patted his stomach. “Lydia, you know I can't eat another bite. And if I do, I'm going to get so huge you won't like me anymore.”

“You know that would never happen.”

“It might. You don't know how I've been eating at my grandparents.”

Lydia's mother stopped by their chairs on the way to the kitchen. “Have you been eating lots of
gut
Amish food, Walker?”

She smiled broadly, letting Lydia know that she was mighty amused by Walker's quandary.

“My grandmother is a wonderful-
gut
cook,” he said with a grin. “Too good, I'm afraid.”

“Walker's been working hard at their farm, Mamm,” Lydia said, feeling so proud of Walker. She'd always thought that he was a man to proud of. She loved the way he was so confident and easy-going. But watching him in the fields, seeing him with his grandparents, hearing praise from other people about how hard he worked, and how determined he was to learn things the “Amish way,” she'd never been more proud.

Her mother squeezed his shoulder. “I must say I'm amazed at how well you've been doing, adjusting to our ways, Walker. Living Plain is not easy.”

Looking at Lydia, he smiled slightly. “I'll admit to being as confused about what to do as anybody. I was even hoping that Lydia would give living English a try. I was enjoying going to college and I thought she would, too.”

As Lydia expected, her mother became reflective. “But now?”

“But now I'm starting to feel like God has been guiding me toward my grandparents. I would never have wished for my grandfather to have heart trouble, but I can't ignore how glad I am that I've started working at my grandparents' farm.”

“He is guiding us both, Walker,” Lydia said with a gentle smile. “Together, we will find a way.”

“I hope so.”

She was vaguely aware of her mother leaving, giving them a few minutes of privacy.

“We just need to keep our faith and not try to rush things. I do think living Amish is in my future, but I think it's going to take some time. I want to be sure.”

Lydia knew it would most likely take several years for Walker to feel comfortable enough to meet with the bishop and take his vows. Until then, she needed to be satisfied with their love, and knowing that they were headed toward future happiness.

Unlike other couples they knew.

She wasn't anxious to bring up bad news, but Lydia couldn't help finally mentioning what had been on both of their minds for the last twenty-four hours. “I'm so worried about Jacob. What if he goes to prison? What will happen to him? What will happen to him and Deborah?”

“I'm worried, too.” He pursed his lips. “Jacob wouldn't talk to me. I went by his house last night. I'm really starting to fear for him, Lydia.”

“I know.” Darting a look at the open doorway, she lowered her voice. “I would have never guessed that he would have been capable of killing Perry.”

“I don't think he did. All anyone knows for sure is that he and Perry were fighting.”

“Walker, Mr. and Mrs. Borntrager have said he admitted it.”

“Is that what Deborah told you? Is that what Jacob told you?”

“Of course not.” Deborah was defending Jacob with all her heart. But Lydia just wasn't so sure that he was completely innocent. “My parents said that I mustn't go to Schrock's Variety until Jacob is back behind bars.”

“I'm still going to go there.”

“But Walker—”

“I don't think he did it, Lydia. I worked side by side with that guy for months. We've been friends longer than that. He needs our support.”

“I've been friends with him since we were children,” she murmured.

“The last thing he needs is to think that we've all abandoned him. Lydia, we need to be there for him.” Turning to her, he said, “I think we should go see him tonight.”

“But I'll get in trouble if I disobey . . .”

“Lydia, if you don't want to come because you don't want to, I'll understand. But if you are refusing because you don't want to disobey your parents, I think you should rethink that. You're a grown woman, Lydia.”

“I know, but—”

“Lydia, I intend to ask you to marry me soon. I want to know that you're mine, even if we have to wait months and months until I can enter the Amish faith. Are you prepared for that? Or will you be waiting to see what your parents say? It's time to grow up, don't you think?”

She was so surprised that he even thought she was acting like a child, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was quick, barely more than a light brush of lips.

But it finally shut him up. “Walker, I am a grown woman. Don't worry about that anymore.”

“Um, all right.” He looked a little dazed and confused.

Standing up, she picked up their dessert dishes. “And if you would like to take me out for a drive this evening, I think I would even say yes,” she added, being very careful to not mention out loud that she was willing to follow his lead.

But Walker's smile told her everything she needed to know. “I'd love to take you out for a drive, Lydia. It's a beautiful night for a drive.”

Because her back was to him, she smiled broadly. “I'll let my parents know. I'll be back in a minute, Walker.” There. He might have some opinions about how to manage her . . . but she had opinions, too.

Lydia had a feeling they now had a chance for happiness. One day. When their lives weren't so torn over the loss of Perry. When they weren't all so exhausted from the investigation.

When they weren't all so very aware that even when things were bad . . . they could still get much worse.

Chapter 22

“My Perry, he used to bring over as many boys after school as he could. In no time at all, the house would be overrun with noisy boys—all as hungry as could be. But that was okay, I didn't mind one bit. I always knew those days wouldn't last.”

B
ETH
A
NNE
B
ORNTRAGER

T
heir home felt emptier than ever. As they walked into the front entryway, Deborah couldn't help but contrast the quiet feeling of despair that pervaded the air with the noisy brightness of earlier days.

The bench near the back door was empty and spotlessly clean. Back when she and Perry had been teenagers, it had been constantly covered with books and gloves, old boots and sheets of paper. The coatrack held two coats, the kitchen table was empty. Years ago, the coatrack had always been filled to overflowing. Friends would come over, then rush off without retrieving their cloaks or jackets or sweaters. It had been a constant source of irritation for their mother.

And the kitchen? Well, that hardly was worth thinking about. Her mother had often cooked soup or cookies or bread. It had been impossible to enter the house without being hit with the aroma of something fresh and warm to eat.

Walking into the quiet kitchen, Deborah turned on the gas, lit the stove with a match, then filled a kettle and set it to heat up. “I'll make some tea,” she said.

“I don't care for any.”

Deborah turned and noticed that her mother was standing next to the post at the bottom of the stairs. “Where are you going, Mamm?”

“Back to bed.”

Dismayed, she asked, “But don't you want to sit with me for a little bit?” Realizing her parents had probably not had lunch, she said, “I could make us something to eat.”

“I'm not hungry, Deborah.”

“But what about Daed? When did he eat last?”

Her mother's eyes turned vacant. “I don't know,” she murmured before heading up the stairs.

Her departure hurt. Deborah was so tired of trying to make things work between the three of them . . . and now she had nothing else to think about. She had no job, no other place to be . . . and now no Jacob in her life.

The kettle whistled, spurring her to action. Jumping to her feet, Deborah made herself a cup of tea, then opened the refrigerator and pulled out some vegetables.

She was slicing some carrots and celery for soup when the back door opened. “Daed, I'm making soup.”

“You don't need to do that.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Daed, you need to eat.” She needed to eat, too. And she needed to keep busy.

“Deborah, I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite. This morning's events have been terribly difficult on me.”

Slowly, she set her knife on the counter. “Daed, are you talking about seeing Jacob and me hugging?”

“And kissing. You shamed us, Deborah. I don't know when I'll ever be able to forgive you for throwing yourself at that boy.”

“Jacob is as old as I am. He's not a boy. We're grown adults. And I wasn't throwing myself at him.” Feeling desperate, she pulled out a chair. “Daed, sit down and I'll tell you about what happened. And I'll share with you his side of the story. Then I think you'll feel a lot better about Jacob.”

Ignoring the chair, his eyes turned cooler. “There is no ‘his side.' There is only the truth and his lies.”

“I disagree. If you'd just sit and talk to me, I think you'll change your mind.”

“I'm not going to change it. Our Perry is dead, and Jacob Schrock is responsible. That's all I need to know, and all you should be worrying about as well.”

“You're not being fair.”

“Being fair has nothing to do with any of this. You'll have a lot of time to think about your poor judgment now that you're staying home.”

He turned away then, leaving Deborah to stare at the pile of neatly chopped celery and carrots in front of her.

This was what her life was going to be like. Yes, her parents were still grieving for Perry, but they'd developed new habits over the last few months. They were content to keep the house quiet and dark. In a perpetual state of mourning.

And it looked like they were eager for her to stay that way, too. She could make tea and soup, do the laundry and the sewing, keep to herself and be quiet . . . but it was never going to be enough. She was never going to take the place of Perry.

Never would they start concentrating on her needs or her feelings.

Leaving the cut vegetables on the counter, she turned off the stove, added more hot water to her tea, then carried her mug up to her room. After closing the door firmly behind her, she took her teacup to the window seat and she curled up on the worn, frayed cushion.

Outside spring had arrived. Leaves were sprouting on the trees, flowers had begun to bloom. And the path that led to the Schrocks wasn't quite as worn down as it usually was.

With a sense of doom that surely matched the rest of the house, she realized that the weeds around the path would surely grow tall and unruly again.

Because there was very little chance she'd be visiting Jacob ever again. Yes, she was once again being a dutiful daughter . . . but she wasn't very happy about it.

Once again, she didn't know how much longer she was going to be able to last.

I
can't understand why today's sales are down so much,” Jacob's father said at the kitchen table that evening. Looking up from the receipts on the table, he turned to Jacob. “Why do you think it was such a bad day?”

“Probably because everyone thinks I killed Perry?” Jacob said dryly. Of course it wasn't a laughing matter, but he was so uneasy, he knew if he didn't try to joke, other, darker emotions were going to get the best of him.

“No one thinks that.”

“Daed, the whole town now knows I was taken in for questioning.”

“But not charged. That's an important distinction, for sure.”

His father was right. But he was tired of talking about it, and at the moment, he could care less about the day's totals. “Daed, I don't understand why you're looking at the store's receipts, anyway.”

“I look at them every evening.”

“But what would it hurt if you skipped one night?”

“Jacob, I'm disappointed in you. I've grown this store all my life, so you'd have something to depend on when you built a family of your own.”

“Daed, I appreciate all that you've done for me. You've been a mighty good father.”

“There's no need for thanks. You are my son.”

“What would you have done if I hadn't wanted to take over the store one day? What if I had wanted to do something else?”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe I would have wanted to be a farmer or something.”

Taking off his glasses, he stared at Jacob in confusion. “Why would you have wanted to do that?”

“Because it's my life. Not yours.”

He laughed dryly. “When you have a family, you'll understand. My dreams are yours. I've lived my whole life preparing for the day when you would follow in my footsteps.”

“But if I hadn't wanted to follow?”

“I would have stepped in and set you back on the right path.” Slipping on his glasses again, he added, “I have done it before. No way was I ever going to allow anything to get in the way of your bright future.”

A twinge of alarm coursed down Jacob's spine. “Daed . . . what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

“No . . . it was something.” Looking at his father carefully, Jacob said, “What did you do? How did you ‘step in'? Were you speaking about Perry?”

Staring at the receipts, his father smoothed the top one over and over again. “Perry passed away, son. He is no one you will ever need to worry about. He won't harm you or the store.” Raising his head, he looked Jacob in the eye. “Plus, we've got your Mr. Meyer. He's costing a pretty penny, but he's sure to be worth every cent, don'tcha think? He'll get you off.”

Bitter foreboding hit Jacob hard. At last, everything made sense.

And no sense at all.

“Daed, did you have something to do with Perry's death?”

His father turned chalky white. “Jacob!”

Feeling like he was stepping into another person's dream, Jacob shook his head in shock, “Daed, when I was talking to Frannie on the front porch, and she told me about her argument with Perry on the Millers' farm, you overheard. Didn't you? ”

“Don't ask me to answer you.”

“You did, didn't you?” he pressed. “What did you do, Daed?” But with a sinking feeling, Jacob knew. He knew it as clearly as if he'd been watching his father's actions on the kitchen wall. “You went out to the Millers' farm and found Perry, didn't you?” Feeling sick to his stomach, he asked the next question. “Daed, did you follow me?”

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “That boy . . . that Perry, he was nothing but trouble. He was going to hurt you, he was going to hurt your reputation. So . . . I did follow you.”

“Oh, Daed . . .”

He raised a hand. “Oh, I wasn't going to do anything, Jacob. I was just going to stand out of the way. Just in case you needed me, you know.”

“You shouldn't have done that.”

“You're my son, Jacob.” Frowning fiercely, as if it had happened only yesterday and not months before . . . his father continued. “After you two fought, and you ran off, I stood and watched Perry bleed. At first, I only stayed because I was sure he was going to stand up and run after you, and I didn't want that. But then, he didn't get up. He just kept bleeding. And eventually, he closed his eyes.”

Jacob wanted to cover his ears, or run from the room. Anything to delay what seemed to be the inevitable. “What did you do, Daed?” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I marched up to that boy and finally told him what I thought of him,” his father said. “Even though his eyes were closed and he wasn't moving, I explained how he was shaming his family, and how he was an embarrassment to us all. I told him how he'd been hurting you.”

“Oh, Daed.”

“I did it, Jacob,” his father said, his eyes gleaming with pride. “I finally stopped holding my tongue and turning the other cheek. I stopped quoting well-meaning sayings. Stopped trying to turn everything that had happened into a positive. I yelled at Perry, Jacob.” His voice cracked. “I yelled at that boy while he sat there on the ground bleedin' something awful.”

“And then?” Jacob could hardly bear to say it.

“And then? Nothing happened. Perry just sat there, motionless. He'd likely passed out. Or died. He could've very well been dead by then.” His father's eyes filled with tears. He pursed his lips, frowning at the memory. “I couldn't leave him there, Jacob. If I left him there, someone was going to find him. Then, all of the sudden, I realized he was leaning up against the well! It was like the Lord had placed it there, just for me.”

“Daed . . .”

“It wasn't hard to put him down there. All I had to do was lift up his shoulders some, twist his body . . . and then let it fall.”

Jacob felt stunned and scared and completely at a loss. “Father, you killed Perry.”

If his father heard him, he didn't let on. Instead, he continued with his account. “After I got him down, I noticed there was some blood on the rocks. You know, the rocks he'd been leaning on? So I tossed those down the well shaft, too. Then I went back home a different way and prayed for a good rain.”

“Rain?” Jacob swallowed.

“To cover up the tracks, you know? I didn't want anyone to see the tracks and decide to start following them. Someone might have taken a peek down that well.”

He swung his gaze toward Jacob. “But no one did. No one even guessed he was down there. I had done it! I had protected you.”

“Me?”

“Well, yes. To be sure. I didn't want anything to happen to you, Jacob. And for months, nothing did. Why, everyone thought Perry had left.”

With a sudden burst of memory, Jacob swallowed. “Daed, you're the one who told me that Perry had left town.”

He shrugged. “It was an easy enough rumor to start. No one wanted the boy to be here in Crittenden County, anyway. Not even his parents. See, they didn't love Perry like parents should, Jacob. If they had, they would have tried harder with him. They would have given him more attention.”

Gingerly, Jacob took a chair and wondered what to do. If he said nothing, he could very well be blamed for Perry's death. But if he told the truth, he could be sending his father to prison.

“Daed, I don't understand your thinking. I don't understand how you could have hid his body. You hurt so many people. You took another person's life.”

His father turned so that they were face-to-face. Looking at him with a solemn expression, he said, “That is what you don't understand, Jacob.” Quietly he added, “See . . . all I had to do was think of you. I would have done anything in the world to save you pain, son.”

Jacob believed his father completely.

But unfortunately, it didn't make him feel any better. Only a whole lot worse.