Love Still Stands (28 page)

At the corner, he paused and peeked. Half a dozen teenagers milled around, four boys
and two girls. The girls wore tight jeans cut so low they exposed skin at their waists.
The boys held cans of spray paint and one of them, a tall, skinny, dark-haired kid,
sprayed a steady stream onto the barn.

Luke took a breath, then another. He tapped down the free-flowing stream of anger.
Anger served no purpose. He gritted his teeth. They were children. Children who needed
to be taken to their parents’ woodshed, but children nevertheless. He stepped into
the open. “What are you doing?”

The tall skinny boy jumped and whirled. The paint continued to flow from his can,
spraying Luke’s shirt and pants in a fine sprinkle of neon green that spread and deepened
across his chest. It freckled his face and beard. He could taste it on his lips. He
jerked up his arm to shield his face and stumbled back a step. “Stop it! Put the can
down.”

The girls laughed in high-pitched nervous giggles. They squeezed together and started
to backpedal across the open space. Beyond them sat an old pickup truck, parked far
enough away that William and Joseph wouldn’t have heard its approach. “Come on, Doo,
let’s get out of here!” one of the girls said. “I told you we’d get caught. We should’ve
waited until later. Let’s go!”

The boy with the unlikely name, apparently the can-wielder, held his ground. “I’m
not done with my painting.”

The slur of his words and the silly grin on his face—not to mention the bravado of
his unwillingness to see he’d been caught in the act of breaking the law—told Luke
the boy was high on something. Maybe alcohol, maybe something more. The other boys
adopted the same defiant stance as their cohort and lifted their cans of spray paint
as if they were weapons. Luke supposed they were.

“This is private property. I’d like for you to leave.”

“Or what? You’re gonna stab us with a pitchfork?”

“I’m asking you nicely to leave.” Luke perused his barn. The boys had painted a lewd
picture in big, sweeping strokes. “This is my property and you’re breaking the law.”

“What are you gonna do? Call the cops?” Doo snickered. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t
have phones.”

He could report it to the sheriff, but that wouldn’t give them the goodwill he sought
for his new community. These kids were bullies, but not necessarily criminals. They
needed a firm hand.

“Come on, Doo. They’ve got guns,” said the second girl. “I saw him in my dad’s store
buying ammo in the sporting goods section.”

“We hunt.” Luke took a step forward. “We don’t use guns on people.”

“You were told to leave.” Elijah spoke from behind him. “You leave now, no harm done.”

Luke took a quick sideways gander. The boys huddled behind Elijah, their faces twin
pictures of worry. Elijah held out a flashlight. Luke took it and pushed the switch
so a stream of light shone on the trespassers. “I’m Luke Shirack. This is my friend
Elijah and those are two of my boys, Joseph and William.” He jerked his chin toward
Doo. “I know your name, what about the rest of you?”

“Get that thing out of my eyes.” Doo put up his hand in protest. Luke lowered the
beam but kept the light pooled on the boys’ sneakers, now spattered in a rainbow of
paint colors. “You know you don’t need that light to get a good description of us
for the cops.”

“No cops. You come out here on my property, least you can do is introduce yourselves.
It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

Doo shifted from one foot to the other, but the can of paint came down. “Like we’re
gonna tell you our names so you can ride into town in your little horse-drawn buggies
and report us to the sheriff.”

“I told you I won’t report you.”

Doo huffed a bark of a laugh. “Sure you will, fast as you can going five miles an
hour.”

“It’s not our way.”

The other boys started to back down the road to where the girls stood. Doo stuck his
chest out and held his ground. “Why should I believe you?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“My daed never lies,” William piped up, his voice eager. “It’s a sin.”

“You’re crazy religious fanatics.”

“No, just folks minding our own business.”

Doo pursed his lips. Some of the defiance seeped from his face. He had the good grace
to look uncomfortable.

“Come on, Doo, let’s go, let’s go.” One of the other boys snatched at his friend’s
sleeve and gave it a jerk. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m Jake Doolittle. Mostly they call me Doo.”

“Nice to meet you, Doo.” Luke held out his paint-spattered hand. “I’ve met your parents.
You look a lot like your father.”

The boy stared at Luke’s hand, then at his face. After a second he wiped his hand
on his jeans and shook. “You gonna tell him?”

“No.”

Doo’s gaze traveled to the barn. “It was just in fun.”

“For you.”

“Doo, we’re leaving.”

Doo began to back away. “Sorry.”

“Next time, knock on the door. My wife makes a great apple pie.”

In the growing darkness Luke couldn’t see the boy’s face anymore, but he heard the
tiny grunt of surprise. “Next time?”

“Come to the door. Best do it a little earlier, though. We’re early risers and we
go to bed early.”

Doo tucked his can of paint into the long pocket of his sweatshirt and began to back
away. “Sorry, dude.”

“Give your mother my regards.”

Luke had no doubt where these kids had learned their prejudices, but it seemed that
Doo might have some of his mother’s redeeming qualities. He might still have a chance
to grow into a decent human being. Luke didn’t know about the others. They piled into
the pickup truck, the boys in back and one of the girls in the driver’s seat. The
engine sputtered, groaned, and finally turned over. The driver made a wide turn and
managed to get the pickup on the dirt road headed the other direction.

“How do they get to the highway going that way?” Elijah came to stand next to him.

“I imagine the same way they got down here. Cutting fences and driving across fields.”
Luke studied the barn wall. The boys were doing the same. “Don’t look at that. Get
on up to the house and wash your hands for supper.”

They averted their eyes but didn’t move. “Why would kinner do something like this?”
William squeezed up against Luke, his tone plaintive. “They drove all the way out
here to paint on our barn. Don’t they have their own barn to paint on?”

“I don’t think so. They’re city kids.” Luke put his hand on William’s shoulder. “It’s
not about the painting.”

“What’s it about then?” Joseph slid in next to his brother. “Don’t they know we have
to clean this up?”

He seemed more concerned about the extra work than the why, but Luke explained anyway.
“It’s about prejudice.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when people are afraid of folks who are different from them.”

“Like if my hair is brown and a girl’s hair is yellow?” William shook his head. “Who
cares?”

“People don’t know any better, I guess. They don’t understand that what we look like
is only skin-deep. Inside, God made us all the same.” Luke struggled for words that
young boys who still had open minds and hearts could understand. “We live our lives
in ways that some folks can’t understand. That scares them so they lash out and make
fun.”

“Maybe they aren’t secure in their own beliefs,” Elijah added. “They’re uncomfortable
and they don’t like that, so they take it out on others.”

“That’s just not right.” Joseph stuck his hands on his hips in an unconscious imitation
of Leah when she was aggravated with him. “They shouldn’t get away with it.”

“We teach them they have nothing to fear from us by showing them love and kindness.”
Luke felt a sermon coming on. “Get a move on. It’s time for supper. Your mudder doesn’t
like her food to get cold.”

Prejudice had led his ancestors to come to this country to seek the freedom to worship
as they saw fit. To be baptized as adults. It seemed a simple thing, but it had led
to a journey into the unknown for his people. His boys had heard these stories, but
Luke wasn’t sure they really understood. He propelled them both forward with a small
shove. “God expects you to be the salt and light of the earth.” He could use a good
reminder himself. “Never forget that.”

A smile on his face, Elijah started toward the house. “With you around, they won’t.”

“We’ll clean this up tomorrow after school.”

Both boys groaned. “It’s not fair.”

“No, but it’s life.”

They would get many opportunities to learn that lesson, of that Luke was certain.

Chapter 27

B
ethel slid the last batch of cookies from the oven and turned off the gas. She inhaled
the scent of peanut butter and felt the muscles in her shoulders and back relax. Baking—that’s
what the folks in her therapy group needed. Not more talking. They needed to bake
or sew or hang a load of laundry on the line and smell the fresh air while they did
it. Not that she would be seeing much of the group in the future. Luke had been adamant.
After the trip to Bliss Creek for Helen’s wedding, Bethel would go to therapy one
day a week. One day. To get better. She had Elijah to thank for that. No, that wasn’t
fair. She shut out the image of him sitting across the supper table from her, his
expression somber, shoveling buttered noodles into his mouth and not speaking. After
her disciplinary action and the trespassing and vandalism of the town teenagers, meals
had been quiet. The boys wanted to talk on and on about the spray paint and why people
did things like that, but Leah had hushed them, exclaiming such things were not proper
for mealtime conversation. His face lined with exhaustion each night, Luke shoveled
food into his mouth with no indication he tasted it.

Elijah had said his goodbyes after supper tonight without meeting her gaze. She wouldn’t
see him again until they returned from Kansas, as he would be staying behind to take
care of their farm.

It didn’t matter. There was nothing between them. There couldn’t be unless she got
better. And he’d made sure she wouldn’t by tattling on her to Luke. Again, unfair.
He did what he thought was right. She shouldn’t fault him for that. She would have
to find a way to do the exercises at home. She would continue to improve until she
could throw away the crutches.

She let one of the offending crutches fall against the counter. Supporting herself
with the other, she quickly arranged the cookies on wax paper and washed the pan.
Her back and legs ached with weariness, but somehow taking a batch of fresh baked
cookies to her parents made the idea of the four-hour drive packed into a van with
five children and two other adults seem easier to contemplate. They would leave before
dawn and she would be ready.

Focusing on the here and now, she spot-checked the kitchen. No mess. No crumbs. It
looked clean and orderly, just as Leah would expect it to be in the morning when she
arose to cook a quick breakfast before they hopped in the van. A driver had been hired
from La Plata after Luke had found none willing in New Hope. She didn’t dwell on that.
Not tonight. Time to sleep. The cookies had taken longer than she’d intended and the
others had gone to bed much earlier.

After wiping her hands on her apron, she turned off the pole lantern and grabbed the
second crutch. She trudged through the living room toward the hallway, wishing she
could whip into her bedroom like a rock from a catapult. No heaving herself forward
one swing of the crutches at a time.

A bright light flashed in the creases of the blinds that covered the windows. Bethel
dug in her crutches and let her feet touch the floor. A flashlight?

Elijah.

Her heart began to pound and her mouth went dry. She touched her kapp with a shaking
hand. It fit snugly, just so, right where it should be, but her apron was dirty and
her face surely shone with perspiration from working around the oven.

The lights danced and then went out. It hit her. Lights. More than one. Not a flashlight.

Not Elijah.

To her surprise, a disappointment so profound welled in her that tears pooled in her
eyes.
Get a grip
. Her hands tightened on the crutches and she moved forward. Then the sound of an
engine registered in the moment that its rumble ceased. A car. Maybe the teenagers
had come back. With no real repercussions for their actions, they might come back
for the fun of it. Bethel swung herself to the front door and peered out the window.
A car indeed, but not the pickup truck Luke had described. More like a jeep. Someone
had parked it parallel to the hitching post. No one got out. In the gathering dusk,
she couldn’t tell who sat inside it.

Only one way to find out. She opened the door and forced herself out onto the porch.
“Who is it?” she called in a semi-whisper, not wanting to wake the children.

“Darlin’!”

She stopped in the middle of the porch. Even in the weak light she could see that
the man at the wheel was not Shawn, but the voice belonged to him. Glancing back at
the door, she contemplated whether to run inside or stay long enough to tell him to
go. The man at the wheel stuck a hand through the window and waved. “Sorry to bother
you. Could you come out and talk to him? I’m afraid he isn’t in any shape to come
to you.”