The Letters (7 page)

Oh
.
Of course! He must think of her as an older sister.

Rose tried not to let it show, as she helped unload Galen’s wagon full of spare furniture, but her stomach was still churning from this morning’s phone call. Allen Turner, a lawyer for the Security Exchange Commission Legal Affairs, called to inform her that Tobe was under suspicion for altering the company books.

She put a box of towels in the bedroom and sorted through them to see which could be used and which should be cut up into rags. As each pile grew, her thoughts drifted to Tobe, to Dean, to that awful time when everything imploded.

Someone had sent a letter to the Security Exchange Commission asking for an inquiry about Schrock Investments. How could they keep up such high returns, the letter had asked, when the rest of the economy was doing so poorly? It didn’t add up, the mysterious letter writer accused. That was the first portent—when Dean received a phone call from Allen Turner requesting a meeting after receiving that letter. A tipoff, Allen Turner called it.

Not much later, checks from Schrock Investments started to bounce. Dean made the appalling discovery that there was no money in the bank, though statements said otherwise.

Investors caught wind that Schrock Investments was in trouble and demanded their money. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, Dean declared bankruptcy. Then the claims began from investors, which heightened the concern of the Securities and Exchange Commission. Allen Turner was
waiting at the office one morning for Dean to arrive. He had a subpoena for the company books, which Dean handed over. He had nothing to hide, Dean insisted. Allen Turner was stunned to realize that the books were actually physical books, ledgers—no electronic transfer of funds. But Dean didn’t use computers. “I’m a Plain man,” he explained to Allen Turner, “and I run my company in a Plain way.”

“With the added benefit of no paper trail,” Allen Turner pointed out, unkindly and with suspicion. He left, shaking his head, those black ledgers tucked under his arm.

It made her sick to think Allen Turner would doubt Dean’s integrity. To her knowledge, Dean had never once broken the law. He was a straight-as-an-arrow type. She couldn’t even remember that he had ever gotten a parking ticket. But something had happened and no one seemed to understand what. Rose couldn’t sleep nights, knowing how many folks had lost so much money. It wasn’t like Dean had just spilled punch at a Sunday picnic. For a moment, she closed her eyes as she thought of all the people, scattered across the country, who had invested in Dean’s company, Schrock Investments, trusting him with their savings.

That was the day that Tobe ran away. He left a note on his pillow that said,

Dad and Rose, Don’t worry about me. Don’t try to find me. I’ll be fine.

Tobe had worked for Dean’s company since he turned sixteen. Dean didn’t know where Tobe had run off to, or why.

Throughout their marriage, Rose and Dean had had their share of quarrels and misunderstandings like any married
couple, but they argued that night in a way they had never argued before. Finally, Dean grew silent, sullen. Then he said to her, “I’m going to fix it. I’m going to fix everything.” He went to the door, snagged his hat off the bench, and jammed it onto his head. At the threshold, he turned back and gave her a long look, then shoved the door open and headed down the driveway. She watched him disappear into the darkness. The next morning, his body was found, drowned, in a pond. Even now, months later, she shuddered as she thought of that day. The worst day of her life.

She dropped the towel and rubbed her face with her hands. This entire situation was so complicated and—almost eight months later—only seemed to get more complicated. When would it end? Would Tobe ever show up again? A part of her didn’t want him to. What might happen to him if he showed up? She couldn’t bear thinking of him, indicted, faced with jail time. If . . .
if
he was guilty.

It seemed Allen Turner thought he was. This morning Allen Turner had told her that Jake Hertzler had been called in for questioning and reluctantly admitted that he suspected Tobe might have been involved in keeping a second set of books. Jake said if that were true, then it was possible Dean had handed over cooked books to the SEC—ones that had been altered to appear as if they complied with accounting regulations.

“Tell me everything you know about Jake Hertzler,” was how Allen Turner had started the telephone conversation this morning.

“He’s a nice young man. Very polite, very likable. He was new to our church and looking for work. When Dean learned he had some experience with accounting, he hired him on an hourly basis to help with some paperwork.”

“What kind of paperwork?”

“Preparing statements to the investors. He never handled money, other than to make bank deposits. Never withdrawals. I know that for a fact.”

“But your husband trusted him?”

“Of course. Of course he did. There was never a reason not to.”

“Mrs. Schrock, was it possible that your husband had stopped paying attention to details?”

Maybe.
Probably.
“I find it hard to believe that Jake would accuse Tobe of keeping a set of altered books. Jake was a good employee. He worked hard to help Dean and Tobe. Everything changed when he came on board.” At least for a while.

“How did everything change?”

“Dean was able to spend more time finding investors. He was very grateful for Jake’s help. And don’t forget that the problems had started long before Jake had been hired. Dean had been struggling to pay dividends for over a year.”

“I see.” He paused and Rose knew that he didn’t see at all. “But you didn’t answer my question. Could your husband have stopped paying attention to details?”

“Is that what Jake said?”

Silence.

“Why would you believe Jake?” she asked.

“He gave us information in a deposition,” Allen Turner explained. “He was under oath.”

Well, that’s the problem right there. Plain people don’t take oaths. They shouldn’t need them. Telling the truth isn’t optional.
She was afraid it would sound like a deflection, a distraction from what he was after, and that wasn’t how she wanted to seem to Allen Turner. She wanted to convey an
image of strength, of confidence, that she was sure Dean and Tobe would not have done something illegal—not intentionally.

“When did your husband realize that there was a cash problem?”

“When checks started bouncing and he discovered there was no money in the bank. Soon after that, he filed for bankruptcy. He needed protection from investors and he needed help from the bank to try to figure out what was going on. But he was always planning to make good on the principal investments. He didn’t declare bankruptcy to avoid anything. I have no doubt of that.” Dean had been adamant that declaring bankruptcy was the only choice—no one could go after them personally, they could only go after the assets of the company—the office, the land it was on, the office equipment. Still, she hated living with those debts over her head. Allen Turner said he was optimistic that up to fifty cents on the dollar could be returned to investors who made claims.

But those claims, only about one fourth of the investors, came from non-Amish, non-Mennonite investors. The rest were all Plain folks who had put their trust in one of their own. What about them? she had asked Allen Turner. “If they aren’t willing to pursue the claim in court,” he said, “there’s nothing that can be done for them, legally.”

And
that
was a burden, among others, that weighed on Rose. She was determined to pay every single person back the principle they had invested in Schrock Investments, even if it took her years and years. She felt responsible for these people.

“Mrs. Schrock, it’s imperative that we find your stepson. Do you know where he could be? Any idea at all?”

When he asked her that question, her heart started to race.
Tobe was in danger, as surely as he was when he was a reckless young boy, doing foolish things like Luke did now—climbing to the tops of trees, teasing the goat. He thought he was invincible. “You’ve caught me unprepared,” she said. “I can’t think of anything. But I’ll try. I’ll . . . make a list.”

Allen Turner said he would call again soon to see if she had any idea where he could be. “If you hear from him, you need to let me know.”

As if she would need a reminder.

When would it ever end? She threw the last towel into the rag pile and grabbed the empty box, startling Chase, the dog, into action. He sprang from sleeping by her feet and began to bark, then chased his tail. Watching that silly old dog act like a puppy made her lips tug in a smile.
Maybe that is one of the reasons God gave us dogs
, Rose thought, watching Chase spin in a circle. A gentle nudge from above to “hangeth thou in there,” even on days when you just feel like you’re only chasing your tail.

Bethany lifted a large tray filled with dishes to take out to the dining area to a group of Rotary businessmen. Her friend Ivy had started their orders but needed to leave early today for a dentist appointment, so Bethany agreed to stay and finish up her section. She set up the tray and looked at Ivy’s orders to see how the meals should be served around the table: left to right was how they were taught. When she finished serving, she refilled coffee cups and water glasses, made sure everyone had serving utensils. Hopefully, this big table would guarantee generous tips. Not always, but usually.

As she spun around to check the other tables in Ivy’s section,
she noticed the unmistakable black felt hat of an Amish man who had been seated at a table against the window. Her heart caught for a moment. The man’s head was tilted down to look at the menu. It didn’t matter—she wouldn’t be recognized, not with her English outfit and hair pulled in a ponytail. And lots of makeup too. Ivy had treated her to a makeover a few weeks ago and given Bethany her old mascara, eyeliner, and blush. Lipstick too.

Bethany turned to a fresh page on her pad and went to the table. “Do you know what you’d like to order for lunch?”

When he didn’t answer, Bethany looked up from the pad. Her heart dropped. The Amish man was Jimmy Fisher, grinning at her like a cat that cornered a mouse.

“That feisty girl was late bringing me supper again!” Vera said, sitting by the kitchen window.

Rose knew whom she meant: Mim. Whether Vera truly forgot her grandchildren’s names or she was just being ornery, Rose didn’t know.

“I told you that I’d help you with supper, Vera.”

“Last time you tried to cut my food, I nearly choked to death.”

“Now that’s not true, Vera. It was just broth.”

“Because you think I’m fat.”

Rose swallowed another sigh. Vera constantly raked conversations, looking for slights or insults. She had always been sharp tongued, never been a picnic to be around, but Dean’s passing brought out her mean nature on a full-time basis. It caused Rose endless distress. The children deserved a home filled with laughter and love, not sadness and strife.

I’m not going to think like that. I’m not.

She went outside to get a fresh breath of air. A breeze soon made the sheets on the clothesline lift and luff. Rose reached out to touch one. Cold but dry. She unclipped the pins and folded the sheet. The sun felt good on her face.
Lord, Sir, I know I keep petitioning you for a string of miracles, but could you please give me patience to endure that woman? Not just patience, but sincere gratitude. She’s put a roof over our heads. Help me be truly grateful.