“The older a man gets, the farther he had to walk to school as a child.”
AARON SCHROCK
After only the briefest knocks, Jacob’s dad opened his bedroom door. “Jacob, I’m afraid you are going to have even less free time now,” he said in a rush.
Jacob scrambled to a sitting position on his bed. “And why is that?”
“I just spoke with Walker. He’s quitting.”
“What? I just saw him. He didn’t say a word about it.” When he saw his father’s gaze had centered on his Sports Illustrated magazine . . . and his cell phone, he hastily pushed both under his pillow. It wouldn’t change what his father had seen, but maybe it would prevent a lecture.
“I guess it’s a sudden thing,” his dad replied as he walked across the room and sat on the old recliner in the corner. “He’s got a good reason, though. He’s going to live on his grandparents’ farm and help out there for a time.”
“He mentioned that his grandfather was sick. Is he worse?”
“I don’t think so.” He frowned. “Your mother heard that he’s going to have to have a procedure done on his heart, but he’s out of the danger zone, praise God.”
“I wonder what Walker’s family thinks about him going out to help on an Amish farm.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re proud of him . . . and maybe worried a bit, too.” He raised his brows. “Something tells me that the Planks might not be losing a daughter as much as gaining a son.”
Thinking about Walker, with his city ways and the truck he loved so much, Jacob felt his lips curve into a smile. “I think you may be right,” he mused. “Daed, do you think Walker knows anything about plowing?”
“Jacob, I’d be surprised if he knew which end of the horse to hook the plow up to! I’d have a difficult time plowing, and I did it when I was a boy. It ain’t an easy thing to get used to.” With a chuckle, he added, “Walker Anderson has a great many skills. Farming ain’t one of them.”
“That is one thing I think we can agree on.”
They chuckled, making Jacob happy that for once he and his father were on common ground. The warm atmosphere seemed to affect his father as well. Before Jacob’s eyes, his father’s shoulders and back relaxed and he sank farther into the old brown recliner.
“I’ve always liked this chair. Don’t know why your mother put it in here.”
“She didn’t,” Jacob corrected. “Mamm was going to give it to charity because it was so worn out and ugly. I decided to rescue it and bring it into my room.”
His daed patted the armrest. “It may be big and weathered-looking, but it’s still in good shape. Why, it’s far more comfortable than my new chair.”
“Oh, I bet you’ll get used to the new one soon, Daed,” Jacob replied dryly. “After all, it’s only been two years.”
“Time does heal all wounds.” He paused, his eyes on the pillow. “So, you got yourself a cell phone, do ya?”
There was no point in lying. “I do.”
“You know I can’t bless that.”
“I don’t expect you to approve, Daed. But I haven’t joined the church yet.”
“I wish you would. So . . . who do you call on this phone of yours?”
“If I told you, then I’d be giving away other names. I can’t do that.”
His brows rose. “Other Amish kids have cell phones?”
“I’m hardly a kid, Daed. I’m twenty years old. And yes, other people my age have them.” He waved a hand. “You know, even some members of our church have them.”
“They use those phones strictly for work. The bishop ain’t too happy about it, neither.”
Jacob didn’t want to talk about the rules of their Ordnung. The only thing to come out of that would be an argument about what was right and what was wrong.
The conversation would be a little pointless, anyway. He’d already done so much that was wrong. Scooting to the side of the bed, he sat on the edge and faced his father. “I’ll work at the store whenever you need me to. You know I will.”
“I was hoping you’d tell me that. You are a gut boy, Jacob.” He squirmed. “Jah, a fine man. But maybe I won’t need you as much as I fear I will. After all, Deborah seems to be getting the hang of things. She likes working, too.”
Thinking about how natural it was starting to feel to be working by her side, Jacob nodded. “She does like being at the store.”
“The detective sure talked to her for a while. Do you think Luke suspects she had something to do with Perry’s death?” His father sounded perturbed.
“I certainly hope not.” The strain in his daed’s voice didn’t come near to matching how he felt. He would never forgive himself if Deborah was blamed unjustly for Perry’s death.
“He’s questioned a lot of people, Daed. But that doesn’t mean that everyone he’s been talking to is guilty.” Sounding more confident than he felt, he added, “I bet he’s merely trying to get more information.”
His father looked startled, though he tried to cover it up quickly. “I bet you’re right. I, ah, feel certain that Deborah had nothing to do with her brother’s death.”
“I know she wasn’t involved.”
“She’s turned into a pretty woman, don’tcha think? She was always such a tiny thing, like a doll.”
Jacob liked how delicate Deborah had felt in his arms by the creek. He’d wanted to hold her close and protect her from everything bad in the world. He nodded in agreement.
“I always thought her eyes were pretty.”
Deborah had hazel eyes, the exact shade as Perry’s. Until lately, her eyes had only served to remind him of how much he’d disliked the guy.
But lately he’d been thinking about her eyes, about all her features. And realizing that she was more than simply pretty. She was beautiful.
However, these new feelings were not anything he was anxious to share with his father. “We all grew up,” he said. “I suppose we all look better than we did at fourteen.”
His dad’s smile widened. “Indeed. And hopefully you’re smarter, too.”
As he thought of his recent actions, Jacob felt his smile fade. He was struggling to think of something to say to explain his mood swing when his mother’s voice floated up the stairs.
“Aaron? Jacob? Are you two in Jacob’s room?”
“We are.” His father hopped to his feet. “Gloria, what is it you need?”
Instead of hearing her answering yell, they heard the pounding of rushed footsteps on the wooden stairs.
Jacob stood up and opened his door just as his mother approached. “Mamm? Is everything okay?”
Her face was flushed, full of anxiety. “I’m not sure. Detective Reynolds and Sheriff Kramer are here.”
His father gripped the edge of his bed. “Both of them?”
Her gaze still on Jacob, his mother nodded. “They came to talk to Jacob.”
“Only Jacob?”
She nodded. “Shall I send them up?”
“There’s no need, Gloria,” Mose said from the doorway. “If you don’t mind, we’ll be speaking to Jacob in here. This is as good a place as any, I think.”
“All right,” his father said. “The room is crowded, but we can make room—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Schrock,” Detective Reynolds said. “But we’ll be speaking to Jacob alone.”
His father’s expression fell. “Alone? Are you sure you—”
Jacob interrupted. “It’s all right, Daed. I’ll be fine.”
“Does he need a lawyer, Mose?”
Mose turned to Jacob. “We’re merely going to ask you questions. But you’re welcome to get a lawyer if you want.”
“It’s your right,” Detective Reynolds added.
The last thing in the world Jacob wanted was a lawyer. “I don’t want a lawyer, Daed. I’m fine.”
“Goodness, Jacob,” his mother wrung her hands. “Maybe your father is right?”
Before his parents could prolong things further, Jacob hardened his voice. “Daed, take Mamm out of here. Please.”
Grudgingly, his daed ushered his mother out of the room. When only the three of them were left, Mose closed the door, and leaned against it.
His heart racing, Jacob clasped his hands behind his back with a sense of doom.
“Jacob, it is like this, I’m afraid,” Mose said. “Detective Reynolds and I believe you were the very last person to ever see Perry Borntrager alive.” He paused, took a breath, then plunged in. “Furthermore, we believe you were with Perry on the Millers’ farm on the evening of December thirty-first.”
The words were so damning, Jacob felt himself sway. His whole life seemed to flash before his eyes. All his good decisions. And the bad ones, too. His struggles with his parents. The good times with his friends.
The walks to school with Deborah and Perry. The kisses he and Deborah had just shared.
The pain he felt whenever he thought of the moment his whole life had changed. When he and Perry had been together for the very last time.
He contemplated lying. Considered trying to cover his tracks. Thought about blaming what he did on somebody else.
But he had already evaded the truth for long enough.
And there was no way he was ever going to let Deborah, or anyone else, get blamed for what he’d done.
“Why did you really go to Lexington as soon as Abby Anderson found Perry’s body, Jacob?” Luke said from his position by his desk.
The relief he felt about admitting the truth was almost overwhelming. “My father sent me. So I wouldn’t have to be questioned.”
“And why didn’t he want you questioned?”
Jacob shrugged. “Probably because he knew I disliked Perry.” He paused, debated about revealing too much, then decided to go ahead and tell all. “I think he suspected I killed Perry.”
There, he’d said it. He half expected the ceiling to come tumbling down, now that he’d admitted his worse fears. But all he felt was relief from finally voicing his secrets, and a deep sense of finality.
It seemed now his future was out of his hands. It was now in God’s hands, and these men’s, too.
Mose walked to Luke’s side. Now the three of them were facing each other, the sheriff and detective standing side by side, Jacob smack in front of them. He shifted uncomfortably, wanting to look them both in the eye, but afraid, too.
He’d known Sheriff Kramer all his life. How could he bear to see the disappointment in his eyes?
“Did you hate Perry, Jacob?” Mose asked.
Time passing had served to let him remember those days with stark honesty. “I thought I did.”
The detective scowled. “Either you hated him or you didn’t.”
“It wasn’t that easy,” Jacob said. “I knew Perry my whole life. We used to all walk to school together, me, Perry, and Deborah. I loved him like a brother.”
Mose narrowed his eyes. “But?”
“But then we drifted apart. Perry started wanting different things. He wanted to jump the fence, he wanted more money than I could dream of. He wanted to get high . . .” Knowing he wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, Jacob swallowed. “After a time, I gave up hoping he’d change.”
When the two other men did nothing, just stared, Jacob took a deep breath and continued. “I’ve realized lately that I didn’t hate Perry. I had hated the things he did, and the things he had been making me feel.”
“Did you meet him at the Millers’ farm on the evening of December thirty-first?” Mose asked.
Jacob swallowed. Felt the rest of his life fade. He was going to go to jail. To prison. He was sure of it.
But perhaps going to jail with a clear conscience was better than lying to everyone he loved? Surely God would be glad about that?
“I did. But I didn’t go out there to kill him.”
Stark sympathy filled Mose’s expression. “Tell us what happened, Jacob.”
He closed his eyes, prayed for strength, then began. “Perry and I argued when he and Deborah came by the store on the thirtieth. He was acting so different. Like he was lost or something.” He frowned, remembering how his temper had flared. “To be honest, he asked if he could hang out with us. I told him he couldn’t.” Raising his chin, he looked at Mose. “It made me so mad, the way Perry had expected that we’d just take him back. After everything he’d done.”
“How did you end things that night?” Luke asked.
“I told him to go away. I told him that it was too late,” Jacob admitted with a wince. “I told him that a man couldn’t take back his sins, he could only live them.” Hearing his words now, Jacob felt his cheeks redden. He’d been so sanctimonious!
So mistaken, acting like he’d never done anything wrong.
“So how did you end up seeing him the next evening?”
“I was working late at the store. Actually, I was out on the front sidewalk sweeping when I saw Frannie Eicher running from the edge of the Millers’ farm. She was crying, said she’d just gotten in a fight with Perry. I tried to talk to her, but she pushed right by me. She was really upset. Actually, she looked terrified.”
Swallowing hard, he dared to look at Luke. He knew Luke and Frannie were practically engaged. Was Luke going to be upset with Jacob for not doing more for Frannie?
But instead of frowning, Luke’s face was a careful mask. “So what did you do?”
“I went to go talk to him.”
“But it weren’t your business, Jacob,” Mose said, his voice sounding frustrated. More like a father’s than a sheriff’s.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jacob nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have gotten involved, but I kind of already was. We’d all been friends for so long, and all of us had gotten hurt by Perry, one way or another. We felt helpless. Well, I did, at least,” he amended. “For weeks, I’d tried to stand up to him, but instead of getting involved, I looked the other way. When I saw Frannie crying, something inside me just snapped. It felt like the last straw.”
“What did you do?”
Remembering how he’d pushed by his father, only saying he was going to find out what happened, he said, “I went to go find Perry. I went to finally tell Perry what I thought of him, and about everything that he’d been putting us through.”
Luke leaned forward slightly. “Are you sure you didn’t go to the Millers’ farm to kill Perry?”
Jacob felt his mouth go slack.
“This is important, Jacob,” Mose warned.
“I didn’t! Oh my gosh, no.” Jacob shook his head for emphasis. “It was nothing like that. I looked for him so I could tell him to stop bothering Frannie. And Lydia. All of us.” Even though the truth hurt to tell, he continued. “I was such a jerk. I was sure someone had to tell him the truth, so I thought it should be me.”
“And did you find him?” Luke prompted.
“I did. I found him standing by the well, staring off into the woods.” Remembering Perry’s posture, the way his expression was so sad, Jacob lowered his voice. “Perry looked as bad as I’d ever seen him. And . . . and it was obvious that he wasn’t himself.”
Mose’s voice hardened. “Stop glossing over things, Jacob. What do you mean when you said Perry wasn’t himself?”
It hurt to say the worst. It felt like the worst sort of betrayal. But Jacob forced himself to give the details Mose seemed to need. “Okay, it was obvious he was on drugs. His eyes were glazed, his attention was scattered, and he was really keyed up. Nervous. When he saw me he got angry.”
“What did you do?”
Suddenly, it was very easy to recount what had happened. It still felt so real to him. As if it had only happened a few days ago, not months. “I did what I set out to do. I told Perry that he should leave the girls alone. I told him that we were all tired of the way he was ruining himself, and trying to ruin our lives along with him. I told him that he was being selfish again, only thinking about himself.”
Mose nodded. “And how did Perry react to that?”
“About how you’d think,” he said, unable to ignore the smile in his voice. It wasn’t funny, of course, but the question hit him in a funny way. To anyone who had been around Perry his last few weeks, they would have known how he would have reacted to Jacob’s accusations. “Perry freaked out and said I should mind my own business.” Remembering the hurtful things they’d said to each other—things that could never be taken back—Jacob struggled for control. “We argued.”
“And then?” Mose asked.
“After that, after I told him that he’d never be good enough for Lydia, that he wasn’t fit to even be in the same room with Frannie . . . he hit me.”
Luke exchanged a glance with Mose. “Where did he hit you?”
Remembering, Jacob pressed his fingers to his chin. “On my jaw.” The force of Perry’s fist had made him see stars, and had spurred his anger. Swallowing, he confessed the rest of it. “So I pushed him back. Hard.”
“And then what happened?”
“And then we started fighting.” Everything became a blur, the way his fist had felt against Perry’s body, the pain that had shot through his shoulder when Perry had pulled him hard. The sweat that had run down his back and brow. “We ended up half wrestling on the ground . . . and then Perry fell backward and hit his head.”
Luke held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Perry hit his head on one of the rocks?”
“Yeah.” Remembering it as clearly as if it was happening right in front of him, Jacob said, “He fell back, and then . . . his head hit one of the rocks that lined the old well.”
“And?”
“And he started bleeding.” Jacob looked at Detective Reynolds curiously. He would have thought it was obvious.
“I mean, was he dead?” Mose asked impatiently. “Is that how Perry died, Jacob?”
Jacob jumped to his feet. “Nee! Perry was bleeding, and we were both banged up and bruised. But he wasn’t dead.”
“Was he passed out? Was he conscious?”
“He was awake.” Remembering exactly how Perry was sitting, Jacob said, “Actually, Perry was more than that. He was yelling at me.”
Luke looked incredulous. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, that’s how it was. Perry sat there against the rocks and yelled at me something fierce.”
Mose lifted up his glasses. “What did he say, Jacob?”
“He called me a coward, called me worse than that. He called me names, said how I’d only become a weakling, still waiting for my father to tell me what to do.”
“What about you? How badly were you hurt?”
Jacob held up a hand. “My hands were bruised and cut. My jaw was swollen. And my shirt was torn. I had a couple of cuts on my arms. But nothing too bad.”
“Then?” Mose asked.
Jacob swallowed and confessed the last of it. “And then I ran back home.”
The other men exchanged glances again. “Wait a minute. You left him on the ground?”
“Of course. I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, it weren’t like I could have made him leave or he would have let me help him walk home. Sheriff Kramer, you know how big Perry was—he outweighed me by at least thirty pounds.”
“You didn’t shove him in the well?”
“No! I don’t know how he got in there.”
“You sound so sure of yourself.”
“That’s because I am sure of myself. I don’t know what happened to Perry after I left, but I can promise you this. The last time I saw Perry Borntrager, he was lying in the Millers’ field bleeding and cursing at me.”
Taking a deep breath, Jacob added, “I know what I did was wrong. I know I should have gotten him help. I should have called for an ambulance or something. And I know you’re probably going to arrest me. But I swear to you, I left him lying there on the ground. He was alive and yelling at me. I never put him in a well. If you believe anything I’ve said, please believe that.”