“Along the creek is a wide bridge with hardly any sides. If you fell off the bridge in the spring, when the water is high and the current is strong, why it would be quite some time before anyone found you. You could be lost forever.”
DEBORAH BORNTRAGER
Jacob couldn’t help it. Every couple of minutes he found himself looking out the window, watching the conversation between Deborah and Luke Reynolds. The detective was sitting with his elbows balanced on his knees. Deborah sat beside him, straight and prim.
Looking pained.
They’d been out there for a while. Long after Frannie and Beth had gone, and after Mrs. Miller had come in for a dozen eggs, peeked at the hissing kittens, then scurried off.
Long after another delivery truck had come to the back door and he’d helped unload a dozen boxes.
Glancing out the window again, Jacob noticed Deborah was talking and talking. Luke was writing down notes.
What was she telling him? he wondered. And why was she so upset?
“Jacob, if you wipe the counter any harder, you’re going to make a hole in the wood,” his father said.
Abruptly, he straightened. “I don’t think we’re in danger of that, Daed. All I’m doing is polishing it.”
“I polished it this morning.” Carefully taking the rag from his hands, his father said, “Care to tell me why you’re so concerned about what Deborah and the detective have to say to each other?”
“I’m not concerned.”
“Sure you are. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, you know. And I think you are mighty concerned about what Deborah and that policeman are saying to each other.”
“I’m not concerned. Only curious.” And relieved that the detective wasn’t speaking with him.
His father lumbered over to the window and peered out, his face so close to the pane that his nose was surely making a mark on the glass. “Well, for what it’s worth, they seem to be done talking now, son.”
Not even trying to hide his relief, Jacob straightened. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.” Still with his nose next to the window, his father continued the report. “Let’s see. Luke just went to his truck and our Deborah is right . . . here.” He turned to Jacob and grinned.
“She’s not ‘our Deborah’,” he snapped. “She’s not anything to us.”
“No. I’m just an employee, right?” Deborah asked from the doorway.
“I told you she was here, son,” his father chided.
Turning her way, seeing the look of disappointment in her eyes, Jacob winced. For some reason, he always managed to sound rude and abrasive around her. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded, Deb,” he said quickly, his insides falling to mush when he saw that she’d been crying. “My father was teasing me about you and I was getting tired of it. It was nothing personal.”
“I’m afraid that’s a fact,” his father added, sounding contrite. “I joke around far too much. It gets me heaps of trouble all the time,” his father added, sounding inordinately contrite. “Why sometimes, I hardly know when to stop. Just like Jacob here hardly knows when to stop polishing wood.”
As a look of puzzlement stole over her features, Jacob mentally rolled his eyes. He loved his father dearly.
But sometimes? . . . Sometimes, he seemed intent on driving him crazy.
Seeing that something had happened with the detective to shake her up, he pointed to the store’s clock. “It’s one, Father. Actually, it’s almost ten after.”
“And?”
“Deborah’s shift ended ten minutes ago. You should let her get on her way.”
“Oh, I don’t have to leave yet,” Deborah protested. “I haven’t worked my whole shift yet. I spent the last thirty minutes talking to Detective Reynolds.”
It had been forty-five minutes. But who was counting besides him?
“Being asked questions isn’t easy,” his father said. “Jacob is right. You should get on your way. Besides, the store’s fairly quiet now.”
“Oh. Well, all right, then. I’ll go get my purse and cloak from the back.”
“Hold on, child. Deborah, did you walk here today?”
“Yes, Mr. Schrock.” Pointing toward the back door, she said, “I went the back way.”
“You’ve been through quite a time of it. I don’t like to think of you walking through the woods by your lonesome.” As if he’d suddenly had a very bright idea, his father snapped his fingers. “Jacob, why don’t you accompany Deborah?”
There was no easy way to refuse the request. “All right.”
Deborah held up a hand. “I’m fine. Really . . .”
“Let him walk by your side now. Go get your cloak and enjoy the rest of your day.” Making a shooing motion with his hands, his father said, “You two, get along now.”
Jacob smiled wryly. “If we refuse, he’ll only get worse. Come on.”
“I suppose I canna argue with that.” Without another word, she walked to the back, and returned with her cloak. After he watched her fasten it, he followed her out of the store.
They walked side-by-side down the steps and along the sidewalk.
When they approached the narrow trail leading toward the back of the store and to his house, he motioned her forward. Walking single file, they marched on until the grass rose and brushed their calves, the trees grew thicker, and they were completely out of sight of the back windows of his home.
Just as the path grew wider and he stepped to her side, Deborah turned to him. “You don’t need to walk with me any farther, Jacob. I am perfectly fine.”
He didn’t want to leave. “Are you? You seem kind of shaken up. Did . . . did talking to the detective make you upset? Have you been crying?”
She swiped her cheeks. “Maybe. Being questioned scares me. Detective Reynolds waits so long in between his questions that I’m never sure if I’m supposed to keep talking or that I’ve said too much.”
“I’ve had that feeling, too. I think he does it on purpose.” Clasping her elbow, he murmured, “But just because he has questions for you, it doesn’t mean he should make you upset.”
“It’s not all his fault, Jacob. The whole situation makes me cry. Losing my brother makes me cry.” Valiantly, she tried for a watery smile, but failed miserably. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you with my waterworks.”
“You’re not upsetting me.” Instead of going directly toward her house, he took a different fork in the trail. The one that led to the bridge that spanned one of the widest parts of Crooked Creek. “I’m just not used to girls crying.”
His quip got what he wanted: a giggle. “I’m not much of a crier. But talking about Perry . . . and his last days on earth, it makes me terribly sad. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I truly had thought Perry had gone off and left us, Jacob. Back in January, I missed him, but I didn’t mourn him. I really did imagine that he was in St. Louis.”
Jacob was torn between the need to comfort her and the desire to know what Luke had asked her. After weighing the two, his need for the information won out. If Luke was talking to her about Perry’s last day, Jacob was sure he would be interviewed next. Why else had the detective and sheriff showed up at his house last night?
And he needed to be ready. “What did Luke ask you? What sort of things did he want to know about Perry?”
She swung her head his way as they walked deeper into the dense foliage. In the distance, they could hear the faint sounds of water rushing. “Why?”
“No reason. I just was curious.” Glancing at her, he noticed most of the light from the late afternoon sun was getting blocked as it shone through the leafy trees. Shadows formed around her face.
“I mainly talked about New Year’s Eve.”
“Not when you two came to the store?”
“I talked about that some. But he wanted to know what Perry’s last day had been like.” Her boots crunched on the broken branches, old leaves, and pinecones underfoot. She ducked once, dodging a leafy tree branch.
“Really?” Worry gnawed at his insides as he attempted to sound aloof. “He doesn’t think you’re a suspect, does he?”
“I certainly hope not! Perry was my brother.”
“Yeah. Sorry. Of course he’d never think that. Did he ask about me?”
She looked at him curiously, then blinked. Her voice growing deeper, she said, “Not so much. Are you worried that he would?”
“It’s no secret that I was mad at him.”
“I know you were.”
They were next to the creek now. With the recent rains, it was fuller than usual. The current ran fast, and the water level was so high that it covered all the rocks that were usually visible. “Look how deep the water is,” he said, trying to calm them both down.
“It is. If someone didn’t know rocks were under the surface, they might be tempted to jump in. It would be so easy to get hurt.”
The water did look deep and luminous. Deceiving.
“I bet one day something like that will happen,” she mused. “It seems we’re all susceptible to accidents. To things we never counted on.”
He knew that was true from his own experiences. “We have to be vigilant.”
“Yes . . . or grateful.” Softly, she added, “We mustn’t forget that every day could be our last.”
He was a little taken aback by her train of thoughts. “That’s mighty morbid, Deb.”
“But true. Most of the time I don’t even appreciate my days. Sometimes I don’t even appreciate the people I see, or even the people I know and love.”
“I’m sure you do—”
“Not always. On December thirty-first? I was too busy thinking about my own selfish wants. And focused on wishing Perry would finally do something he promised to do. I was too busy holding on to hurts to really enjoy his company.” Looking up at him, she whispered, “I’ll always regret that.”
“You shouldn’t. You don’t owe Perry anything, Deb.” Before he knew it, he was gripping both her shoulders, holding her tightly. Not letting her go. “Deborah, what happened to Perry wasn’t your fault. If you can’t make yourself believe anything else, believe that.”
Ignoring his words, oblivious to his grip, she shook her head. “That’s almost impossible to do. He was my brother.”
“You were his younger sister. Of all people, I know how he treated you. At best, you were his sweet pet, the girl he tried to protect and shield. At worst? At worst, he only saw you as one more person who could betray him. Perry wasn’t a saint, Deborah.”
She shrugged. “So what if he wasn’t?”
Remembering . . . remembering more than he wanted to, more than he ever wanted her to know, he grasped at what to say. Trying to figure out how to get her to trust him. To listen to him forever. To know that, he, too, wished he had done things differently. “You’re right. It doesn’t really matter,” he finally replied.
Stepping closer, still holding her shoulders, dipping his head so that they were standing eye to eye, so close that their lips were mere inches apart, he murmured, “You have to learn to forget about the things you can’t change and move forward.”
“Where is forward?”
Her voice was raspy. He heard a note of tension in her voice, the same one that had been drumming inside of him.
There was something new between them . . . Something dark and strong and slightly dangerous.
Whatever it was, he was tired of denying it. “It’s here,” he said before he closed the gap between their lips and finally kissed her.
As their lips brushed again, learning each other, she stiffened in his arms. Immediately, he let go of her shoulders, freeing her. Allowing her to break away, to berate him for taking the liberty.
But instead of doing either, Deb tilted her head and slipped her hands around his neck. Her warm hands glided along his bare skin, making his flesh burn.
And then she kissed him again. Right there, deep in the darkened thicket next to the too-full river that covered up a multitude of sins. She tasted sweet. The moment was perfect, like everything he’d ever imagined.
But then he remembered what he had done. With a jerk, he lifted his head and pulled away. “We shouldn’t have done that. I mean, I shouldn’t have done that. I . . . I’m sorry.”
Deborah looked anything but apologetic. “I’m not. I’ve wanted to kiss you for most of my life.”
Then to his shock, she turned and walked back to the path, toward her home.
He lengthened his stride to keep up, but inside himself, Jacob knew he had far longer to go than just a few steps. His world had just turned on its side. And in this new place, Deborah seemed to have all the answers, while he had only one.
After what he’d done, he would never deserve her, and one day soon, she would think that, too.