CHAPTER THREE

 

 

Martha stood in the second-level living room window and eyed the busy seven o’clock traffic that ran up and down busy US 127.  The lazy sun was tossing light hues from the west, trying to penetrate through the overcast clouds.  A lighter baby blue ran on the east, merging with the horizon.  The window felt cold against her hot face, but she enjoyed it.  She yawned, reached up and unlocked the window latches, and put the window up.  The cool breeze, with a hint of winter, pierced her skin, reviving her from a sleepless night of worry.  I’m going to put all the windows up like we do at home. “Alice, are you dressed yet?  Martha called, and she heard Alice gurgle from the bathroom.  The medical smell of mouthwash entered the long hallway as she turned into the bathroom.  Martha giggled. “You just love my mouthwash, girl!”

Alice’s cheeks bulged like a chipmunk, her blue eyes widened as she tried to laugh at her mother. Martha giggled, her hands on her hips, and both enjoyed a good laugh after Alice spit out the mouthwash. Alice’s baby blue eyes sparkled with the zest and excitement of an eight year old that loved school.  Her bright red hair was French braided, and the child had done it herself, all in a record time of ten minutes.

Alice looked down at the white, cracked sink basin as she ran water to wash the residue of the mouthwash away. Turning, Alice placed her small hands firmly on her denim jeans. A pink ribbon, matching her glittered pink shirt, found at a yard sale but adored, doubled as a stylish belt.  The pink bow buckle was perfectly tied; she was ready for school.  She threw herself into her mother’s loving arms and laughed as they played tickle monster. Both giggled, enjoying mother-daughter bonding. 

“Tie your bow back, Alice; it is slightly to the right!  Martha chirped as she grabbed her left side, feeling the sudden tightness and pain that only a good, healthy bout of laughter could cause.  “I can’t talk without my side hurting.  I love you so much.” Martha guarded her side and cocked an eye. “The bow could be a bit fluffier. You’re getting lazy on me, Girl!”

“I love…” Alice’s words were interrupted by gunshots in the parking lot.  Quickly Martha grabbed Alice into her arms and dove into the back bedroom.  As usual, when gunshots would ring out, Alice was scared but quiet, depending on her mother for protection. 

“It’s okay.” Martha rocked her daughter, gripping her close.”  The officers are getting the bad guys; probably the new gangsters that moved into the next complex. They thought this was like Lexington or Louisville, where they can stay in the projects and sell; Harrodsburg Narcotics didn’t play games.”

Alice’s face nestled against her mother’s warm breast, just like when she was a toddler. Alice slowly whispered, ‘What about the bow?”

“I’m sure it’s crinkled, but don’t worry, we can iron it.” Martha assured as she gently rocked her daughter.

“Martha! Martha!  Open up.  Quick, open up!” Laura’s voice rang through the front door, down the hallway, and into the open bedroom where Martha was holding Alice. 

She sat Alice down on the bed and instructed, “Stay here, Alice.  I am going to let Laura in.”

“Mommy, I’m scared,” Alice began to cry.  She had only been through four shoot-outs, and her mother had never left her during any of them.  Would the bad guys find her and shoot her?

“I’m just letting Laura in.”  Martha smiled and then ran quickly to the front door. As she opened the door, Laura stood, wild-eyed, with scratches on her face, gun pointed at her chest. 

“You’re the only innocent person in the whole complex; the good Amish girl; the one that sins not.” Laura’s words were rushed, her face tight in anger as she pushed the trigger back, but the gun jammed.

“Drop the gun, Laura; what are you doing?” Ray L. yelled as he willed his long legs up the steps.  He upped his voice, the wind shifting his open black jacket, “She’s a good friend, don’t shoot her.”

Martha froze solid; her whole body in fear as she saw Ray L. draw his gun. The only thing that she knew to do was to shut the door and lock it, and then run into the bedroom and grab Alice. She had a rope and two blankets: their fire escape plan, and unknown to apartment management, she and Alice had gotten pretty good at anchoring the rope onto the iron bed leg, which sat next to the second-level bedroom window, and scaling the outside to the ground. 

Alice was weeping uncontrollably, not able to talk as Martha yelled.  “Fire plan, Alice!” Alice grabbed the rope and the sheets, and Martha tied it securely onto the bed leg; her muscles had become quite strong since slinging 50 pound bags of oats at the feed store. 

“Me first, Momma!”  Alice squared her shoulders like a big girl and hastily waited for her mother to tie the sheets onto the rope. 

Martha was relieved that Alice was in fire plan mode. The many times that they’d practiced the escape had paid off. Why weren’t there anymore gun shots? Where was Laura?  Had Ray L. mellowed her anger round out?

Sending Alice out first, she watched for her to reach the ground.  She then got into the sheet and scaled down the maroon brick building.  Twirling in the air, she heard Alice giggle, but with spinning vision, she couldn’t see her. 

As Martha’s toes touched the ground, she felt a firm adult hand on her shoulder. She jerked, twirling in the white sheet.  Laura is going to kill us.  Gott, please save Alice!

“You all aren’t outlaws, are you?”  A stern male voice asked.

Martha wiggled out of the sheet and turned.  A male Harrodsburg Police Officer was standing before her, looking her firmly in the eyes. 

Martha became defensive, her heart still throttling full-force, “My neighbor came over and had me at gunpoint.  The gun locked up twice, and I slammed the door and ran for cover.  I knew that the fire plan was the only way of getting out of the apartment.” She extended her arm out for Alice but continued direct eye contact with him.  A bundle of French-braided hair gushed under her arm.  Alice was safe.  Thank Gott!

“Elm Street?” The Police Officer asked with a grin, and Martha blushed, for she finally recognized him as living at the corner of Elm and Mulberry. He was the man that was always out shooting hoops with his two teenage sons.

Martha’s face drew a smile. “Yes, now you can see why I wanted to move there. I am former Amish and not used to violence.”

He smiled and gave a condolence, “I’m sorry about your friend, Mrs. Dailey.”

Martha nodded an acceptance as another officer walked behind the building, talking on a radio.

The second officer looked at him, “There’s two dead in front of the Amish girl’s apartment. That’s what Bray just said.  He’s over there now.” He ended with a sympathetic nod.

“That’s my apartment.  My daughter and I scaled down to safety,” Martha announced in a shaken tone.  “What do you mean two people? My boyfriend, Ray L. was coming to my defense when I shut the door in Laura’s face.”

The second officer shook his head, “They are both dead.  According to Bray, they fired shots at the same time and killed each other. We’ll need you down at the station; I’m sure.”

The First Officer extended his arm around Martha, “Do you know where the police station is located?” He knew that Ray L. had been an undercover FBI Agent, working to find a pair of fugitives that had killed six people in Dallas.  He’d been hot on their trials as they lived in apartment three hundred seven. 

She hesitated. “Yes, I know where it is, but I don’t want to take my daughter down there. Do I have to go down there?”

The First Officer clarified, “Yes, Ma’am, you’ve witnessed the steps right up before a possible murder. Two are dead. We had a children’s room; she will be safe down there. What apartment do you live in?”

Martha trembled, her skin cold, as she responded, “That will work.  I live in apartment three hundred nine.  Laura, my friend that went crazy lives in apartment three hundred and seven.”

The First Officer looked alarmed. “Interesting, where is her boyfriend?” He was hoping that he hadn’t escaped.

Martha replied, “He is at work on a farm down Oregon Trail Road; the one that has the large dairy operation.”

The First Officer extended his arm, “You may go now. The front lot is clear, but you can’t go back up to your apartment. It’s taped off until the crime scene unit gets here.”

Martha was grateful for the officers, but she was longing for the strong, comforting arms of Ray L. “Thank you.  Ray L. should be waiting for me.”

Tears filled the second officer’s eyes, his tone hesitant as it always was when he’d have to inform someone that a loved one had passed on, “Ma’am, I was friends with him.  He was the other one shot. He has passed on. I am sorry.”  She fainted into his arms.

******

 

Naomi Yoder paced the kitchen floor, looking down at its worn wood.  She crisscrossed the kitchen floor, opened the back door, and stepped outside.  Holding on to the white-glazed railing, one that her husband, Paul, had made for her due to her sporadic unsteady gait, she walked down the steps.  Her grip increased as she got down to the wobbly stones.

A light mist of raindrops had moistened the cold, wet green grass beneath her feet.  A quick snap of autumn air swayed her navy cape dress, leaving her bracing her back with her left hand; her arthritis was still there, just as it had been since the last terrible tumble that she’d taken down the front concrete steps. 

The pain lessened and then faded away.  Their dairy barn nestled atop a green, lush peak in the farm, surrounded by dips of green rolling hills, layered with patches of heavy trees that, within a month’s time, would shed their maple, hickory, and oak leaves.  The merry fragrance of soft lavender roses married the next strong wave of air, and she dug her bare feet into the ground, smiled, and walked forward.  More air flowed, and the rolling hills provided a sprawling picture, being kissed by the morning ray of sunshine.  The lines of sunflowers, which lined each side of the white-painted backyard work shed, planted by her dochder, April, blew lightly, standing tall to the bright blue horizon.

  She wobbled to the large circle of peach and baby blue mums, and she thought that they were growing at a fast pace.  Their fluffy light blueness and soft green mint were lighter than her watered-up baby blue eyes or April’s deep green eyes.

The sweet smells of lavender and citrus mixed before her eyes calming her busy mind. Why wasn’t her dochder, Martha, growing up to be a sweet young lady? She should be back at home where she belonged until she got married.  They not only needed her on the sprawling farm, they needed her to be a part of the family like she once was many years ago. 

Almost nine years. Naomi stared at the empty chair that sat by the rose garden: Martha’s chair, left abandoned almost nine long years ago, and her heart left still left tattered, just like the day that Martha had left her faith.

The orange, crimson red and lemon yellow mums snuggled together, leaning on each other, forming a complete circle.  The Old Order Amish community did such, protecting one another from harm, especially that of the outside world. 

Where had she failed as a mamm? Naomi looked down at a stray purple flower pedal, which nestled outside the circle of colorful flowers, and saw that it was all alone like Martha would have become the day that she left the community.  That was it; the day that she fell off and left the haus, she had been forgotten. 

Naomi reached down, wiped the light coat of water off the chair, and gripping her hands against the chair arms, she turned and sat down.  She had to tell what she knew, now that her name would be on one of those cards, and even the bishop would be stunned.

 

 

Six conservative Old Order Amish ladies, quilting one day, playing bishop by handing down a sentence for a Rumspringa crime; it would shake the whole community if anyone ever found out. 

Mrs. Daily was once known as Mrs. Miller, hadn’t taken her secrets with her to the grave

Breathing in a welcoming bout of fresh air, Naomi closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and stayed still.  Blanks.  She needed to shut everything out, even the fight that she’d had with her husband Paul.  She needed to rejoice quietly, silently, all by herself, for the homecoming of a lost dochder was only welcomed and anticipated by her mother; nobody else.

 

******

 

“Let’s cruise down Elm, Alice!”  Martha enthusiastically announced as she made a sharp turn off Main Street onto Mulberry Street.  “It will cheer us up before the visitation for the family.”  She fibbed, for nothing would cheer her up to be at a visitation that had all been planned by a woman who had come to town to yank her back into a strict Amish community. 

“Okay, Mommy, but I am getting tired of being your daughter,” Alice explained as she scooted back, pushing herself up in the seat, ready for the view as she had always done when they’d cruise down Elm Street.  The freckle-speckled eight-year-old’s nostrils flared as she crossed her arms across her pink, glittery shirt and frowned. Redness shone beneath the gentle dots of pigment along her face. “I told my friends at school that we were finally moving to Elm Street. Don’t lie again, Mommy!”

Martha wiggled her nose to check to see that she truly wasn’t fibbing, yet again, before she answered, “We are sweetheart; pack your bags. Mommy won’t let you down this time. Mommy really has the money in the bank to move.”  Martha wiggled her nose and glance down to see if it had grown. She knew that her bank account had less than enough to put down a down payment for any house.

But in the back of her mind, Martha had been talking about Alice packing her bags to go to Walnut Creek, not Elm Street.  She’d lied again, but not fully; she had told a harmless ‘white’ lie.

Martha bit her bottom lip and pushed her black leather boot against the brake for the four-way stop at Elm and Mulberry.  Her left boot tapped against the floorboard of her silver Toyota Corolla as she gazed through the four-way stop, scanning the lovely homes, all out of her price reach.  What could she do?  It would be heartless to lead an eight year-old on about a three story brick home that will never be her own? 

The car turned right onto Elm.  “You still have mommy’s phone, Alice?  Mommy needs to call the realtor so that we can get ready to buy our new home.”  There was nothing stopping them from looking in the home.

Martha pulled over to the side of the road, put the car in park, and grabbed her handbag to look for the realtor’s business card. She made a mental note to clean her handbag out as soon as Alice went to sleep tonight.

Alice was quiet for a moment before she unsnapped her seatbelt. “Mommy! Stop!! Stranger!!!”

Martha turned back into the seat and saw Jeremiah nibbling on beef jerky in the backseat.  “Alice, that man is mommy’s friend! He held you when you were little.  He will not hurt you!” She would not volunteer the fact that Jeremiah was Alice’s father.  She wouldn’t give him that credit or benefit of such status.  He simply didn’t deserve it.

Alice jumped the seat, snapped the front seat belt, and cautiously looked back at him.  “I don’t know him.  He’s a stranger!” She pointed to him, and Martha jerked her hand down.

“You didn’t see us back at the four-way, did you?”  Jeremiah asked.

Martha sighed.  Her head hurt; actually, it throbbed.  “No, where’s your driver?”

Jeremiah exclaimed, “He’s in the black car with the black-painted bumper. He is New Order Amish.” He threw Alice a king size chocolate candy bar and lessened her fear of him.  “Let’s go to Burger Place and get some burgers and thick chocolate shakes; my treat!”

Martha agreed.  “Sure, let me look for somewhere to turn around the car.” She pulled into an arched driveway and then back onto Elm. 

Martha couldn’t help but notice that most of the homes, some having a Victorian-style feeling, had been decorated for fall, with large pumpkins, orange and yellow hardy mums, all  meticulously planted in patterns along the front of the house and on the sides of the double garages.  The lawns were well-mowed, leaving a fancy pattern behind for passersby to enjoy. Swaying trees of maple and oak dotted the sprawling yards, and an occasional willow reached down, kissing the ground. Autumn harvest wreathes, bubbled over with beautiful orange, silver, and sometimes gold ribbon, adored the front doors of each house.

Most of The Elm Street residents were professionals, some commuting from nearby Danville and metropolitan Lexington.  They entertained a lot, gave a lot to the community, and was the trick-or-treat favorites of Harrodsburg children. 

Martha shook her head, the wind blowing through her open window and dangling loose strands of her soft, blonde hair, and said, “It wasn’t safe to jump into a moving car. There are cops that live here.”  She angled her eyes in the rearview mirror to meet his carefree gaze. “Besides, you could have gotten a leg or two taken off if I’d hit the gas pedal before you made it into the car.” A firm smile washed over her face. “Think next time, Jeremiah!” She wouldn’t volunteer information that she was a little on edge because, the previous day, they’d scaled down two stories of the local projects to get to safety. “The cops have had incidents here, you know.” She shook he head before looking over her shoulder to pull out into the quaint, shaded street. “Amish Country is back home, not here!”

“They know I’m here.  I stopped and talked to them. I saw our buddy from back home.  He said that if I didn’t see your car at the projects, then you’d be joyriding down Elm Street.” He shook his head and continued, “I asked if Wal-Mart was down Elm, and he had told me that only houses were down Elm.”

Martha blushed and almost laughed at herself.  For four years, she and Alice had rolled upon the fancy black street marker that named the streets of Mulberry and Elm, braked for the four-way stop, turned right onto Elm, and lived a cold, hard lie…they would never live on Elm. What in the world was she thinking?  Get with it, Martha!

Martha ignored his comment as she braked for the four-way stop at Mulberry and Elm, making significant note of the black, decorated street sign that said, “Elm.” If I pull out of here this time, then we aren’t going to make it; we won’t be moving to Elm.”  She knew it.  She could feel it.  There was no more fibbing to Alice; she was out of lies. 

Martha rested her head atop the steering wheel and slightly closed her eyes, wondering what to do.  Returning her tanned eyelids to opening position, she got her answer: BINGO! A realtor’s car pulled up to the right of the four way stop, with the left blinker on her silver Lexus, aiming at Elm. Martha waved her on and motioned for her to stop.

“You can’t move here, Martha.  Mrs. Dailey left you a farm!”  Jeremiah yelled. 

“Does the farm have animals?”  Alice asked. “I want a zebra!” The child hopped up and down and clapped her hands. “And a giraffe!”

“Lots of them and you get to feed them!”  Jeremiah exclaimed as he tapped the seat. He reached up, and Alice turned and looked him in the face.

Martha’s face tensed as she finally found the business card. Jeremiah had no zebra and no giraffe. He hadn’t even paid any child support. Promising Alice a zoo-like farm was not right.

Martha’s face reddened, her brown eyes tinting to a deep bronze as she whispered to Jeremiah, “You're ready to be a daed?” Her brow narrowed, her rose-colored lips stern.  He needed to answer once and for all.

He needed to man up. To be a real daed.

Jeremiah snapped, “No, but I know that you have a home in Walnut Creek and an extremely busy apple orchard.   It’s time for picking!”

“Apples! I love apples! May I come too?  Alice pleaded, shaking her bright French-style hair, her eyes wide open.  She had been eavesdropping.

Martha stewed and eyed Jeremiah firmly. What was an eight year-old to do when a wild man jumped into the car, and then promises the moon?  If your poor and you had swung down the back of the Harrodsburg projects, cuddled in a bed sheet, feeding animals sounded like heaven.  Alice did not know her father.

Martha did.

And he was selfish and self-absorbed.

Alice had no hesitation, “We will accept your offer.”

“Really Alice?”  Martha asked as the realtor pulled up and stopped, window to window. Martha rolled the window down and smiled.  What a coincidence to see the realtor pull up before Martha even dialed her number. Maybe someone with money is looking at the place today? 

Martha faked it. “Is the two-story mansion still for sale? Martha gave a cheerful glare through the rays of sunshine that poured down from the baby blue sky. We are interested. I’ve heard it is a wonderful place to raise a family!”

“I want animals and the farmer daddy, mommy!  I want to be a farmer now!!!” Alice kicked and screamed from the backseat; she’d finally gotten acquainted with Jeremiah and had jumped seats.  Alice wanted his attention because he was offering free burgers and shakes from Burger Place and promising them a farm. 

With a zebra. And a giraffe.

All the other kids at the projects had to stay put; none of their temporary daddies offered a whole farm, much less free animals to play with and feed.

Martha smiled, “Never mind.  It sounds like my daughter has voted for Walnut Creek. Thank you anyway.” 

The realtor’s tone was savvy, “Are you sure, Elm Street is the best place to raise your daughter. Our town pediatrician lives here as does the Mayor.”

Martha shook her head. “I’m former Amish, and my daughter wants to have farm chores.” Martha’s cocked a brow and smiled. “Her grandparents are there as are my siblings.” The majority ruled: they were moving home to Walnut Creek, with animals, a farm, and a basket full of secrets.

The realtor’s partum flowed through the car window, and Martha recognized it as Giorgio, one that she’d been eyeing for several months. Her matted mauve lipstick had the texture of Laura’s Clinique Chubby, and Martha wondered how much money a realtor made. Maybe she would take up that profession if the farm didn’t pan out.

The farm?  What on earth was happing? Jeremiah in the backseat promising a whole farm. Mrs. Dailey was dead. And she had resigned from the feed store. What else could happen today? Martha ran her right hand over her forehead and felt the sweaty warmth. I think I’m getting a fever.

 The realtor drove up the street and pulled into the mansion’s grand driveway. Within minutes, two black BMW SUVs pulled up behind the realtor’s sports car. Martha wiggled her nose and sighed. I knew it. They are loaded.

 “You wanted that house, didn’t you, Martha? Jeremiah asked as he craned his neck around the headrest. “Is it because of the gardens?”

Martha hadn’t really thought about why she was drawn so strongly to the dream of the house. Sure, there were many advantages to having it. But there were advantages to having any house on Elm. Tears welled in Martha’s eyes as she watched the slender blonde and her suit-dresses husband get out of the first BMW. Two bodyguard-looking men got out of the second one. Martha covered her mouth in dismay.

Jeremiah leaned over the seat as Alice chomped down on the chocolate bar. “What’s wrong? The couple looks like they can afford it. Can you?”

Can I? Is that what he just asked me? Martha flared her nose and clutched her toes under her feet as far as she could. Her shoes were five years old, and Alice needed new shoes. He hadn’t paid a penny in child support, and he whipped into the parked car, acting as if she was loaded enough to buy a house on Elm.

She was not, of course. He should know that.

Martha leaned her head against the headrest. “No, I don’t have the money.”

Jeremiah chuckled, “Well, I don’t either. Who would? Besides, you inherited a farm back home.”

A gentle smile ran over Martha’s face as she watched the bodyguards tour the side garden’s fence for adequate protection. She’d like to hire them to patrol the Rumspringa parties back home. It would make the Walnut Creek Police Department’s job easier. Finally, she answered, “It is too big. You say we have a farm for free?”

“Jah and that was why I came down here to talk with you about it, but I have to meet with the funeral home. I’m putting you all up in a hotel. The funeral home told me what happened. They have a live scanner in the office. The projects aren’t safe enough for you. Let’s go check you into the hotel, and I’m swing burgers, shakes, and fries by after I get done with business at the funeral home.”

She shouldn’t trust him, but she did. “Okay. Let’s go. Which hotel?”  Martha asked, her mood a bit relaxed, but her guard still up. Her gut told her to be careful trusting Jeremiah’s promises.  She hoped it proved otherwise as she looked in the rearview mirror to check traffic and then pulled out into the street. Doing a turn-about in a freshly-paved driveway big enough to park six cars, she made her way back toward town.

The fresh smell of fragrant mums filtered through the car, offering some serenity for her sore shoulders. Her middle back ached. The work at the feed store was hard, but so was running an Amish farm. For some reason, the later sounded like fuel for her soul.

She needed to go home.