Love’s Journey Home (6 page)

Yes. Consequences. For them all.

Helen breathed, in and out, in and out. She turned to Chief Parker. “Do you have to
press charges?”

“Edmond endangered many people when he drove the buggy into the parade route like
that. Underage drinking, public intoxication, driving while intoxicated. Those are
serious charges.”

Indeed they were. “What do we do now?”

“Sign some paperwork with Craig Southerland. He’s the only bondsman in Bliss Creek,
but he’s a fair man.”

Chief Parker turned and led them from the jail into the offices.

“Wait! Mudder, wait.”

The entreaty in Edmond’s voice forced Helen to look back.

He motioned for her to come closer. Without looking at the two men, Helen slipped
back to the bars. His eyes huge against pale skin, Edmond leaned toward her and whispered.
“I’m sorry. They invited me to the party and I thought it would be fun, but I didn’t
mean to do this. I didn’t.”

“I accept your apology.” Helen touched her son’s hand. It was cold despite the warm
heat of the cell. “I forgive you. But now you must face the consequences.”

“There was a bottle and it smelled bad, but they were all laughing at me and looking
at me when I didn’t fill my cup. They called me stupid names. Like bowl-head and fuddy-duddy
Eddy.”

“Why would you spend time with boys who act and talk like that? You have your own
friends, your own kind.”

“I just wanted to feel better.” He stared at his feet. They’d taken his boots so he
wore only black socks, a fact that struck Helen as sad. “
Groossdaadi
is gone. He was out there planting and then he dropped to the ground and then he
didn’t breathe anymore.”

Helen nodded. The cold, like a draught under the door on a winter night, pierced her
skin. That feeling. That sinking, sinking, sinking sensation. She knew it. She’d felt
it when George passed. Edmond had been ten when his father died. Old enough to feel
his absence. An absence that had been filled in large part by his grandfather. His
groossdaadi had been like his daed for almost seven years.

But that didn’t excuse Edmond’s actions.

“Your groossdaadi lived a good life. He worked hard. He took care of his family. It
was his time to go; he went. That’s how we live and that’s how we die. According to
God’s plan and His time, not ours.”

“I know.”

“See that you don’t forget it again.”

“What’ll happen to me?”

“I’ll be back for you.”

“I mean…after.”

“That will be up to the bishop and the deacons.”

Helen forced herself to turn away and not look back again.

She stared instead at Thomas’s back. She allowed herself to bask in his steady calm
for a few seconds. Steady. Calm. They moved through the door in a silent, single line.

Once on the other side, she turned to Chief Parker. “Tell me what a bondsman does.”

“The magistrate—you know Jim Walker, that lawyer who lives over on Oak Street—he’s
the magistrate—he was nice enough to stop by and set bail for all these boys so their
folks can take them home. The bondsman guarantees the bond.” Chief Parker stalked
over to a desk covered with paperwork in neat stacks and picked up a file. “You pay
a percentage and Edmond can get out on bond until he has to appear in court. If he
doesn’t show, you have to pay the bondsman the full amount of his bond.”

Pay a percentage. Appear in court. Helen’s stomach flopped.

“We’ll help,” Thomas said, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Emma and I have money
set aside.”

“That’s your emergency fund.”

“This would qualify.”

“But the bobbeli will be here soon.”

“And the community will help. As always.”

As always. Helen nodded and sank into the chair Chief Parker offered her. He slid
papers across his desk and handed her a pen. She stared at it as if it might bite
her. Chief Parker cleared his throat. “Take your time, Mrs. Crouch. Craig Southerland
already filled out the bond papers. All I need from you is a cashier’s check or cash.”

She had neither.

She picked up the pen. It shook in her hand. She tried to focus on the words, but
the strange dreamlike quality of this moment made everything around her shimmer. She
glanced away. A silver picture frame sat on the corner of Chief Parker’s desk. It
held a photograph of Charisma Chiasson and her two kinner. Things must be going well
with them if he had her picture on his desk. Helen sometimes wished she had a photo
of George to remember him by. But she only had to look at her children to see him.

“Helen.” Thomas towered over her. “Sign it. Everything will be fine.”

The door slammed open so hard it smacked against the wall, making her jump and drop
the pen. It rolled across the desk and disappeared on the other side. A sign on the
wall that said visiting hours were from ten to noon on Monday through Friday shook
and then slid to the floor with a tinkling of broken glass.

“Where he is? I demand to see him this instant!” An open umbrella in one hand, Mayor
Gwendolyn Haag stomped across the office, smacked the swinging gate that separated
the lobby area from the desks, and halted in front of Chief Parker. She leaned over
and tapped the chief’s chest with a long, pale pink fingernail. “Who do you think
you are? Arresting my grandson?”

“Beg your pardon, Mayor Haag?” Chief Parker’s tone remained even, his expression polite.
He leaned back to avoid the rain dripping from the mayor’s umbrella. “Did you need
something?”

Mayor Haag whirled, and advanced on Helen’s chair. “Helen Crouch. Your boy Edmond
started this, didn’t he? I heard people talking on the parade route. This is all your
son’s fault.”

“My son will take responsibility for the things he has done.” Helen stood and planted
herself on both feet. Her stomach churned and her heart ached, but she stood firm.
“As each boy should do.”

“Christopher’s never been in trouble before. Now he’s been hanging around with your
son, and look what happens.”

“Likely, it’s the other way around.” Thomas stepped between them. “There’s little
history of Plain folks drinking, if you’ll beg my pardon for saying so.”

“There’s no history of Christopher drinking—not until your son started coming around.”

“Isn’t Christopher staying with you because your son sent him to you to straighten
out?” Chief Parker waded into the fray. “Got kicked out of school, didn’t he?”

“He’s a sensitive boy. Very smart. Got bored at school.” Mayor Haag waved a hand as
if waving away the question. “This Edmond boy encouraged him not to go to school.
Said it wasn’t necessary for real men.”

“I see.” Helen did see. Edmond simply shared the ways of Plain people. Boys Edmond’s
age learned a trade from their fathers. They prepared to become men and fathers themselves.
Thomas and her own brothers had stepped in to help her with Edmond. Even then he’d
stumbled. But the Englisch world was different. In that world, Christopher was still
a young boy with years of schooling ahead of him. “I’ll speak with Edmond. He won’t
bother Christopher again.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do him with this underage drinking and public intoxication.
I’ve hired an excellent lawyer for him.” The mayor rooted around in a black leather
bag that hung from her shoulder and produced a check. “Here’s the cashier’s check
you requested, Chief Parker. I’ll be taking him home now.”

Chief Parker took the check, studied it, and then paper clipped it to a folder. He
proceeded to write a receipt and hand it to the mayor in unhurried movements. “You’ll
receive notification when he’s to appear in court.”

Keys in hand, he rose. “Mrs. Crouch, if you want to work on getting together the cash,
that’s fine. I’ll stay here as long as necessary. My officer doesn’t come in to relieve
me until midnight anyway. Come back as soon as you have it and we’ll get Edmond home
tonight.”

The kindness in his voice nearly undid her. She nodded, afraid to speak for fear her
voice would crack. Thomas saved her. “We’ll be back.”

As soon as they came up with five hundred dollars.

H
elen snatched the teakettle from the side cupboard and plopped it on the gas burner.
A cup of tea—even in July—might calm her mind enough to let her sleep. Tugging her
robe tightly over her nightgown, she stared out the window over the counter as jagged
lightning split the sky and lit up the night. The wind howled and whistled through
the eaves overhead. Tree branches dipped and bowed in a violent dance. Not even tea
would get her to sleep in all this noise. As if to underline the truth of this statement,
hail began to pound the roof again.

She sighed and pulled a brown ceramic mug from the shelf, then shook out a tea bag.
Even after all these years, she hated sleeping alone during a thunderstorm. Silly
thing for a grown woman. She couldn’t help it. George loved a good storm. He’d sit
in his rocking chair next to the bed, little Betsy in his arms, and hum. He didn’t
sing outright, although he had a strong baritone, but he hummed the tune of some old,
familiar hymn that comforted not only the baby, but Helen.

Of course, it wasn’t just the storm that kept her eyes open, gaze staring into the
black night in her empty bedroom. The memory of her brother Tobias’s face when she’d
arrived at his door to ask for his help with the bond looped round and round inside
her head. It had woven itself together with the other memories: Thomas handing her
half the money to match Tobias’s. Edmond’s pale face behind bars. Gabriel Gless’s
headlong flight across the street to save his small daughter from being crushed under
the hooves of an out-of-control horse. Gabriel Gless, period. In the dark of night,
she turned this memory over in her head. Something about Gabriel. His dark, sad eyes,
his lined face, his callused hands, his broad shoulders still thrust back despite
the heavy burdens he carried.

George had been short and stout, like herself, eyes blue, hair blond, a perpetual
smile on his face. He’d never minded her social lapses or her awkward moments. He
seemed to like them, in fact. He said she made him laugh and life should be full of
laughter in between the tears. And there would be tears, so why not laugh whenever
possible?

She’d liked that idea. She loved her family, but they were a somber lot. Work hard,
obey the Ordnung, go to bed early, get up early, she had no problem with that. But
to laugh a little each day. She liked that. Liked it a lot. Enough to marry a man
who lived and breathed it.

Until he didn’t anymore. Until the day he went on without her. It had been his time
to go, but not hers.

“Helen? Helen, is that you?”

Helen started and dropped the tea bag on the floor. “Mudder, what are you doing up?”
She knelt to pick up the bag and bumped her head on the shelf. “Ouch.”

“I was about to ask you the same question.”

Rubbing her forehead, Helen swiveled. Her mudder wandered into the kitchen. She didn’t
have her cane, but she did well, all things considered. As long as Helen didn’t move
the furniture around or leave a chair pulled out.

“Where’s your cane?” Helen took another cup from the shelf. If her mother were up
now, she’d probably be up the rest of the night. She hadn’t slept much since Daed’s
passing. “You can’t be wandering around in the middle of the night like this.”

“What difference does it make if it’s night, silly girl?” Mudder reached until her
outstretched hand landed on a chair at the prep table, then moved forward until she
could slide into the seat. “It’s mostly dark all day long for me.”

No self-pity lingered in those words. She sounded what qualified as cheerful for her.
With her hair still neatly hidden behind her kapp, and a shawl over her robe, she
looked as proper as she did in broad daylight.

Even the day Helen had taken her to the doctor and he’d explained the strange tricks
her eyes had been playing on her, her mother had simply nodded and said, “Well, then,
take me home.”

Loss of sight in the middle, while the edges remained. Helen had the doctor write
the name of the disease on a piece of paper, sure she wouldn’t remember it long enough
to share it with her brothers and write about it in letters to her sisters.

Macular degeneration. Words from some foreign language that translated to mean her
mother could no longer sew or cook or even take herself into town in the buggy. Her
vision hadn’t completely disappeared yet, but so little remained that she’d taken
to using a cane to tap her way about the house and the yard.

“Will you have a cup of tea with me? The water’s hot.” Pleased she’d managed to sound
equally cheerful, Helen picked up a hot pad and poured the water into the two mugs.
“Chamomile for you. Black tea for me.”

“Black tea will only keep you awake.”

“I’ll add lots of milk and a dollop of honey.” She knew she wouldn’t be sleeping anyway,
tea or not. “Honey for you?”

“Naomi told me about Edmond.”

The muscles in her arm seemed too weary to hold up the teakettle. Helen set it on
the stove.