Look who’s come to visit!”
Ruth turned her head toward the door and saw Grace enter her room carrying Daniel. She knew she should say something, but she couldn’t seem to find the words. She could only stare in silence at the opposite wall.
“I’m surprised to see you still in bed. It’s almost ten o’clock,” Grace said as she took a seat in the chair beside Ruth’s bed. “It’s been three weeks since you came home from the hospital. You should be getting some fresh air and a bit of exercise, don’t you think?”
“I don’t care about fresh air or exercise. I want to be left alone.”
“Why don’t you sit on the edge of your bed? You can hold Daniel while I brush your hair.”
Ruth’s temples throbbed, and her spine went rigid. She couldn’t hold Daniel without being reminded that she could never have children of her own.
“Ruth, did you hear what I said?”
Ruth jerked her head and turned her face into the pillow. “I don’t want to have my hair brushed.”
Grace didn’t say anything, but Ruth could hear her sister’s heavy breathing. Several minutes went by, then the chair squeaked and the door clicked shut.
A few weeks ago, Ruth would have welcomed a visit from her sister. Holding baby Daniel would have been a delight. Not now. Ruth knew that whenever she looked at a baby, she would think about her loss. She remembered how desperate Martin had been to marry her, saying he was worried that something bad might happen and he wanted to protect her. It was Martin who needed protection—only there was nothing Ruth could have done to save him.
Ruth squeezed the edge of the pillow. Last night as she lay in her rumpled, damp sheets, she had stared into the darkness, imagining that she could see Martin’s face. He was gone. She had to accept it as fact.
She thought about his funeral and how empty she had felt when she’d looked at his face for the very last time. She couldn’t accept his death as God’s will. All these months since Alma’s death, Ruth had tried to reach out to Abe and his family, wanting to help heal their pain but never really understanding it until now.
Ruth had said nothing about her suspicions concerning Luke. She’d allowed her anger and resentment to fester like a bad splinter left unattended. Maybe she should have told the sheriff. Maybe she still could. She wasn’t well enough to drive to town in order to speak with him, but she could use the phone shed near her father’s shop.
Abe had just begun to look at some paperwork on his desk when Ivan Schrock entered the harness shop. “Are you busy?” he asked, moving toward Abe’s desk.
Abe nodded. “Been even busier now that Martin’s not here to help.”
Ivan leaned on the corner of Abe’s desk. “That’s why I came by.”
“To see if I’m busy?”
“To see if you could use some help.”
“I suppose I could.” Abe had almost forgotten that Ivan had asked about working in the harness shop awhile back. Abe hadn’t needed him then. Besides, Ivan knew nothing about harness making.
“If you’re willing to train me, I’d like to come work for you,” Ivan said with an enthusiastic nod.
Abe chewed on the end of his pencil as he mulled things over. With all of the jobs he had to finish, he knew he couldn’t keep working by himself. It would be better if he could find someone who knew the trade. But there were advantages to training someone, he supposed.
“I’ll give you an honest day’s work,” Ivan said. “Always did for my daed; you can ask him if you like.”
Abe shook his head. “No need for that.”
“Then you’ll consider hiring me?”
“I guess we can give it a try.”
Ivan smiled. “You won’t be sorry.”
“When can you begin work?”
“Right now if you like.”
“Jah, sure, you can begin today.” Abe nodded toward the back room. “Put on a leather apron, and I’ll show you what needs to be done.”
Ivan rubbed his hands together. “Okay!”
The first job Abe put Ivan on was cleaning and oiling a bunch of dirty harnesses.
“How often do most folks bring in their harnesses for cleaning?” Ivan asked as Abe filled a tub with warm water and saddle soap.
“About once a year, though some folks wait much longer.” Abe pointed to another metal tub, filled with pale yellow neat’s-foot oil. “That’s for oiling the straps so they’ll be nice and soft after they dry.”
“You want me to get some harnesses washed first, or should I work on oiling those up there?” Ivan asked, pointing to some straps and buckles from an old harness that hung on a giant hook.
“Those have been done already,” Abe said. “Take a feel of how smooth and oily the straps feel.”
Ivan reached up and ran his fingers over the leather straps. “I see what you mean. They feel soft as a cow’s ear.”
“You can work on cleaning those straps now, and I’ll go back to my desk to get my paperwork done.” Abe wandered back to his desk, and as he took a seat, his gaze came to rest on an old saddle lying on the floor across the room. It had been one of the last things Martin had worked on before his death, and there it lay, still needing to be cleaned and repaired.
Thinking about Martin made Abe wonder how Ruth was getting along. When she’d collapsed in her wheelchair at the close of Martin’s graveside service, Abe had been concerned. Later when he’d attended the meal held at the Hostettlers’ home, he’d been told that Ruth was resting in bed.
Might be good if I take Esta over to visit Ruth this Saturday, he decided. Good for Ruth and good for Esta.
“I’m deeply concerned about Ruth,” Mom said as she and Martha rolled out some pie dough. “Whenever I try to coax her out of bed, she seems agitated and says she wants to be left alone.”
“I know,” Martha agreed. “Ruth’s physical injuries are beginning to heal, but she stays in bed most of the time and doesn’t want to be around anyone.”
Mom nodded. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to get her to talk about her feelings, but she refuses to discuss Martin or the accident.”
“You think we can talk her into helping us with these apple pies?”
Mom opened her mouth as if to respond, but Ruth walked into the kitchen just then.
“It’s good to see you up.” Mom pulled out a chair at the table. “Would you like to peel some apples for the pies Martha and I are making?”
“I’m not interested in making pies.” Ruth plucked her coat off the wall peg and slipped her arms into the sleeves.
She was about to head out the door when Martha called, “Where are you headed?”
“I’m going for a walk. I need some fresh air.”
“Would you like me to go along?”
“No thanks.” Ruth stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
Mom looked over at Martha and frowned. “It’s good to see her up and dressed, but I don’t like the way she’s acting. I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to be out walking in the cold by herself.”
“I’ll go with her, even if she doesn’t want the company.” Martha wiped her floury hands on a clean dish towel, grabbed her coat, and rushed out the door. She hurried down the stairs and spotted Ruth tromping through the snowy yard. “Ruth, wait up,” she called.
Ruth kept walking.
“Where are you going?”
No reply; just the crunch, crunch, crunch of Ruth’s footfalls in the snow.
Martha picked up speed. “It’s cold out here,” she said, taking hold of Ruth’s arm. “You should come back inside where it’s warm.”
Ruth halted. “I am not cold. I don’t want company.”
“What if you become weak and faint, like you did the day of the funeral?”
Ruth’s chin trembled, and her eyes glistened with tears.
“I know you’re hurting,” Martha said, carefully choosing her words, “but you can’t keep your feelings bottled up forever.”
“Thanks to the one who rammed our buggy, I’ll never have any children.” Ruth placed her hand against her belly, and Martha could see the anguish in her sister’s eyes.
“When I first realized that Flo couldn’t have any puppies, I was upset. But then I figured there were other things Flo could do, so—”
“Oh, please. I can’t believe you’re comparing me to a dog! Flo being unable to have puppies is nothing like my situation.”
“I just wanted you to see that your sense of self-worth shouldn’t be centered around whether or not you can have bopplin. God spared your life, and someday, when your pain has subsided, you’ll realize that God has a purpose for you.”
Ruth shrugged and started walking toward the phone shed near the end of their driveway.
“Are you planning to make a phone call?”
Ruth halted and whirled around. “If you must know, I’m going to phone Sheriff Osborn.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to tell him who I think rammed our buggy on Christmas Eve.”
“You saw who did it?”
“No, but I’ve figured it out.” Ruth clenched and unclenched her fingers, and she began to shiver.
“Who do you think rammed your buggy?”
“Luke. He has a truck he keeps hidden in the woods. I’m sure the vehicle that hit our buggy was a truck.”
Martha’s heart pounded. “Luke has a truck?”
Ruth nodded. “He confessed it to me shortly before we broke up, and I promised not to tell anyone.” She grunted. “I was stupid. I should have told Dad or the bishop right away. Dad thinks Luke’s the one responsible for the other things that have been done to us. I’m sure he’ll want to do something about it when I tell him I believe it was Luke who rammed our buggy.”
“Don’t you think you should talk to Luke first—find out what he has to say about it?”
“No. I want to tell the sheriff. I’m sure he …” Ruth’s voice faltered, and she swayed unsteadily on her feet.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Martha grabbed Ruth’s arm. “Please don’t tell Dad or the sheriff that you think it was Luke who rammed your buggy.”
“Why not?”
“Even if it was a truck that hit the buggy, you have no proof it belonged to Luke. Please don’t say anything to anyone about your suspicions until I’ve had a chance to speak with Luke.”
“I … I don’t know….” Ruth’s face had turned as pale as the snow. “Oh, I feel so light-headed.” She wobbled and sank to her knees.
“I’ll get Dad!” Martha raced to the woodworking shop and jerked open the door. “Ruth’s fallen in the snow!”
Dad dropped the hunk of wood he’d been holding, and Cleon left the cabinets he’d been sanding. They rushed out the door. A few seconds later, Cleon lifted Ruth into his arms and carried her toward the house.
“What were you two doing out here in the cold?” Dad asked, giving Martha a stern look. “Haven’t you got better sense than to go traipsing through the snow with a sister who’s only been out of the hospital a few weeks?”
Martha blew out her breath. “We weren’t traipsing, Dad. Ruth came down from her bedroom a while ago, and when she said she needed some fresh air, I went after her.” Martha thought it best not to mention the reason for her sister’s trek through the snow. If Dad had any idea Ruth thought Luke was responsible for their accident, he’d be all over the poor fellow, trying to get him to fess up.
Martha pursed her lips as she made a decision. The first chance she had, she would talk to Luke.