Ties That Bind (4 page)

He nodded, but it was apparent he didn't want to leave her there. When he walked out, he left the door open a few inches. He could hear her if she yelled for him, but the rain would drown out a normal tone. She turned to face Quill. There was only one question she wanted him to answer, one she'd ached to have answered every day for five years. “How's Frieda?”

“Good…better.”

“Better?” What did that mean? Had she been sick?

He stood his ground, his broad shoulders straight, his feet planted firmly in place, and he didn't give so much as a shrug in response to her question. That was so typical of Quill. When he was in silent mode, a concrete wall had more give to it. She'd seen it a hundred times, maybe a thousand, but she'd never been on the receiving end of it, at least not in a way she'd recognized. Giving up on getting a satisfactory answer about Frieda, she asked, “What do you need to tell me?”

“That I'm truly sorry.”

The day he'd left they'd talked. Actually she'd railed at him, pacing beside the creek and flailing her arms, and he'd talked softly for almost an hour before she broke into defeated sobs. He had held her, his first time to actually touch her other than poking her a few times on the shoulder or pulling the strings to her prayer Kapp. He'd apologized then, saying he was sorry she was caught in the mess and if there was any other way to get out with Frieda, he would.

She shooed away the embarrassing memory. Whenever she looked back, disgust at how vulnerable she'd been with him ate at her. She wasn't that wide-eyed, trusting young teen anymore. “You apologized clearly five years ago before you disappeared.”

“Ari…” He took a step toward her and then came to a halt a few feet outside the doorway of his bedroom. “Remember when I said that we have to allow people to make their own decisions about what's right or wrong for them?”

She remembered. He'd whispered it to her as he held her while she cried. At the time, his words brought a warm, hopeful sensation, causing her to believe she might survive what he and Frieda were doing.

“When I left here, I promised myself I wouldn't ever do anything that would hurt you again.” His voice carried grief, as it had for more than a year after his Daed died. “But like you used to say, the threads of your life are woven into the fabric of mine, and I…I'm truly sorry.”

She didn't understand. If she asked, would he answer? She doubted it. He seemed to enjoy tormenting her. As his words registered, they began to form into clues. For years there'd been rumors that a man returned at night to help Amish leave so that no one could hinder their exit. People called him the Amish Nightcrawler. Was that who'd helped Quill and Frieda leave? If so, then Quill knew the man—the traitor.

Wait!

Realization of what he was saying dawned, and her knees threatened to give way. Quill had apologized because he knew the Nightcrawler was going to take someone else she loved! Maybe Quill was in the area to help the Nightcrawler.

Thief! Liar! Names for him pummeled her, and tears welled. She choked them back. She'd fallen apart five years ago, begging Quill to change his mind…for all the good it did her. She would maintain control this time.

Wanting to hide from his prying eyes, she blew out the candle. Faint coils of smoke floated upward and disappeared. Quill volunteered nothing else, and she couldn't speak for fighting with tears. They just stood there.

How appropriate—she and Quill at opposite ends of a passageway with nothing between them except darkness and unspoken words.

A
bram stared out the window as the work van headed for his home. Roofing houses in August was difficult enough without doing it twelve hours a day, six days a week. But pounding nails on a Saturday had earned him extra money. It was cash he would use to pay bills, go on his first date tomorrow night, and give to Ariana for purchasing the café.

Not only did Ariana need help getting cash, but she needed extra encouragement right now. The moment his twin had walked into their home, drenched, at three minutes past ten last night, Abram knew something was troubling her. But she acted normally, keeping her tone even and her smile pleasant. After Salome and Emanuel went to the birthing center and everyone else had gone to bed, Abram set his hunting magazine aside, ready for her to tell him what was going on.

He listened, but he didn't possess the words to express to his sister what this news did to him. No one had the power to mess with Ariana's sense of peace the way Quill did. As hard as it was to believe that another Amish person or family wished to steal away like a thief in the night, it was even harder to believe that Quill had stepped out of the shadows to speak with Ariana. Hadn't he done enough damage already? And what did his cryptic message really mean?

“This is your stop.” The driver's announcement startled Abram from his thoughts.

He grabbed his tool belt from the floor, realizing items from it were strewn. His back was stiff as he bent to gather the stuff.

The driver pulled onto the shoulder of the road beside Abram's house. “Well?”

Apparently Abram was moving too slowly. He figured Mr. Carver was worn-out and grumpy from a week of working in ninety-something-degree weather. Abram had plenty of aches and irritability himself, and he wasn't pushing sixty years old. The hammer and the handful of nails he'd collected slipped from his hand and scattered across the floorboard again.

Mr. Carver looked over his shoulder. “Sometime today would be nice.”

Abram said nothing, and the other men chuckled. The words that fit Abram best were
quiet
and
socially awkward.
Ariana assured him he could will himself out of being so reclusive. Since he wanted to start dating, Ariana had spent a lot of time over the last few months trying to help him become more outspoken, but progress was slow—like trying to make an old, aloof cat behave like a friendly pup.

As he plucked the last few nails from the crevices of the rubber floor mats, thoughts of Barbie came to him again. He hoped his efforts with Ariana over the last few months would pay off while he was out with Barbie. He was making progress; otherwise, he wouldn't have managed to ask her out. She'd hardly left his mind for the past three months.

With everything back in his tool belt, he grabbed his lunchbox and got out of the vehicle. Heat bore down on him as he left the air-conditioned van. He meandered toward the house, hearing the many voices of his family floating on the air.

As he rounded the side of the house, he spotted Ariana. Despite her congenial demeanor as she served lemonade to their loved ones, he saw heaviness in her. The clear mark left by Quill. But she would bounce back. She had before.

She spotted him and waved. “You're home.”

A humorous retort came to mind, one that should make her smile, but he wouldn't broadcast it for all to hear. He kept most of his thoughts for Ariana. Talking to her was comfortable, like talking to himself, only with more thoughtful replies. But they'd had their share of arguments over the years. They were opposites, and at times they grated on each other's nerves. Still, they had that famed twin thing between them—an invisible bond that somehow strengthened both of them.

She passed a glass of lemonade to Salome, who'd given birth at 4:06 that morning. Then Ariana knelt in front of their niece Esther and tied her shoe. The scars on four-year-old Esther didn't seem to bother her, but Salome hadn't fared as well. Two and a half years ago Esther had fallen while playing near the firepit and had seriously burned her face. Salome continued to live in the nightmare that followed, and it pulled her into depression time and again.

Ariana had Esther in fits of laughter before she kissed her cheek and headed for Abram, but her usual smile was subdued.

Her white-blond hair reflected sunlight, as if she had shards of crystal in it. She stopped directly in front of him. “You're late.”

“So far you've stated that I'm here and I'm late. Should we change your name to Captain Obvious?” Abram fidgeted with the leather tool belt. “How you holding up?”

“We're not talking about it.” She placed her index finger to her lips. “Today I'm enjoying that everyone is here and safe.” She took his lunch pail. “Everyone else has eaten. I saved you plenty of grilled chicken legs, a large bowl of orange Jell-O, and five buttermilk biscuits.”

When his sister set her will, it was best to abide by that without challenging her. He was sure she needed a day or so simply to think before she sprang into action. “If you left the food unmanned, it's gone by now.”

“I hid it in the back of the fridge, and I put a threatening note on the plate, so if someone does find it, they've been warned what will happen if they eat it.”

“What was the threat?”

“If the food came up missing, I would go on strike for two days.”

“That would do it.” He glanced into her eyes, challenging her. “But could you make yourself follow through?”

His sister was better at talking a mean game than playing one.

She shrugged. “Don't know, but if someone challenges me on it, I'll pass out from the shock of it.” She motioned toward the picnic tables. “I'll get your plate from the fridge. Go, find a seat.”

He glanced at the beehive of family members. His exhaustion made his reclusive side tug on him more than usual. He just wanted peace and quiet.

A knowing look flickered in Ariana's eyes. “You're fine. Eat with the family, survive their intrusiveness, and then you can disappear to your room.”

She was right, and he sighed. “Fine, but I need a few minutes first.” He reached into his pocket and felt the folded money. “I hate to reward bossiness, but…” He took the cash from his pocket, kept enough money to pay his bills and a twenty for his date tomorrow night—because hamburgers and fries would do just fine—and held out the rest to her. “For you.”

Ariana's brow creased, a mixture of doubt and hope on her face. “The whole wad?”

“Ya.”

“Denki.” As she leafed through it, her eyes lit up. “Five hundred dollars. No way!” She tucked it into her apron pocket. “Overtime pay is quite profitable.” She punched his arm. “Look at you!”

“Ouch! No beating me up over it.” He laughed. “You'll get that café yet, Ari.”

She nodded, but he saw uncertainty in her eyes. The window of time for her option to buy was closing. Even if they could get enough money to go to closing, she would need at least $4,000 to $5,000 more to get the café operational.

He decided to change the subject. “So what are you doing home on a Saturday night?”

“Seriously? Did you miss the announcement that we have a new niece?”

“Oh, I heard it loud and clear. Daed bellowed it to the household around four forty-five this morning—Katie Ann Glick. My response was to cover my head with a pillow while mumbling that babies should arrive only during the day.”

“You're about as much fun to talk to about the new baby as Susie is.”

“I'm not that bad.” No one had mastered the art of being smart mouthed and difficult quite as well as their eighteen-year-old sister.

Ariana smacked him while laughing. “Abram, be nice.”

He rubbed his arm, laughing. “You're the one who's hitting, and I'm not being nice?”

A rig pulled onto the semicircle driveway. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see who it was, and when he did, his thoughts scattered.

Barbie.

His heart raced at the sight of her. Unfortunately, he looked like a man who'd spent twelve hours doing manual labor. He and his clothes were filthy and disheveled, but it was really cool that she'd stopped by. Since his home had a fairly long driveway, he had a minute to gather himself before she would reach him and Ariana.

“Ah. A visitor.” Ariana smiled as Barbie drove the rig toward them. “I'll let you two be alone, but don't hesitate to invite her in.”

“What?” he whispered. “You're going to leave me here?”

“I don't have to, but…”

“Good. Stay.”

“Why do I feel as if you should pat me on the head now?”

“Because you know that good sisters and dogs both deserve a pat every now and then?” he mumbled and nodded a hello at Barbie.

Barbie pulled on the reins and set the brake.

Ariana nudged Abram with her elbow, but he couldn't make himself speak. At least he'd smiled and nodded a hello.

“Hi, Barbie. This is a pleasant surprise.” Ariana motioned for her to get down. “Would you like to sit under a shade tree for a spell?”

Barbie's face seemed taut and stressed. “Denki, Ariana. Maybe another time.”

A wave of nervousness ran through Abram as he sensed this wasn't a friendly visit. For months he'd gone against his reclusive nature and attended every youth event—volleyball, softball, hayrides, potlucks, and singings—in order to get time around Barbie. Had all that effort been for nothing? “Ari…” He nodded toward the house, and his sister waved and hurried away. He turned to Barbie. “What's up?” He saw no reason to beat around the bush.

She clenched her lips, shaking her head. “I'm sorry, but I…I've changed my mind about Sunday night.”

Disappointment seemed to flood him, quickly carrying him downstream, moving him rapidly from the shores of hope to the unknown. “Just Sunday night?”

She shook her head. “I shouldn't have agreed to go out, but I…I…”

The rest of that sentence was
felt sorry for you.
He wouldn't make her spell it out. “Okay, I get it.” One thing about living in a small, rural community is that everyone knew he'd never gone out before…just as everyone would know Barbie broke off the date the day before he was to take her home from the singing.

He looked to the ground before shifting and taking in the house. He stifled a sigh while studying a scratch on her rig. He kept his eyes anywhere but directly focused on her. Maybe the saddest part was that he'd liked her for years. He'd made himself learn how to speak up so he could ask her out.

While standing there, he wasn't sure what he had feared so badly about asking her out, because this current situation was much worse. And since she'd said what she came to say, why was she studying him? His face had to have humiliation written all over it.

He looked at her, feeling the rush of hurt pulling him under. Just how old would he be before he went on a first date? Thirty? “It was good of you to come by, Barbie.”

She nodded, released the brake, and slowly maneuvered the rig to complete the semicircle and then pulled onto the paved road.