Chapter Two

Beth Ann rubbed her hands against her lower back late the next afternoon as she straightened and looked around the room. She was in the next-to-last house the aid groups had been building in Evergreen Corners. She’d finished taping and mudding the bedroom ceiling. When Michael Miller, who oversaw the project house, had asked if she wanted to do the job, she’d agreed, but now she ached everywhere. She’d spent the whole day stretching to reach the ceiling. She’d been told Robert Yoder would help her, but he hadn’t shown up.

She didn’t want to think he was another man who’d cut and run after he noticed her brace. If he was, she should be glad she’d found out so quickly.

As she went into the main room to put away the tools she’d been using, she was shocked to discover the team members were talking quietly. Not quietly enough, because she could hear what they said.

“Robert Yoder reamed out the mayor this morning,” said a man who’d been working in the kitchen. “I was told you could hear his voice out on the street.”

“He said terrible things,” added a plain woman named Vera.

“Which is why he got kicked to the curb by the mayor.”

“No, that’s not what happened,” Vera said. “He was asked to leave, but when he didn’t, the mayor walked out herself.”

“To think an Amish man would...” The Englischer scowled. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Vera patted his arm. “It’s okay, Jim. We understand what you meant.”

“Good, because I don’t.” He gave them a wry grin. “I don’t understand any of this. I thought Robert was a good guy.”

Beth Ann wanted to assert that Robert had been kind when she’d spoken with him, but didn’t. Today was just her second day working with these volunteers. They knew Robert far better than she did. But she couldn’t envision him yelling at the mayor. As she listened, she sighed. The only way she was going to know the truth was to ask Robert.

The gossip made her uncomfortable, as it had the first time after her grandmother’s death when a baby hadn’t survived a birth she attended. The baby had been dead when it emerged, but that didn’t stop people from saying she’d dropped the baby or let it suffocate. She’d known the truth, and so had the child’s family. Still, the half-truths had hurt. Had that been when she started to question being a midwife? She couldn’t be sure.

After cleaning up, Beth Ann headed toward the community center on the other side of the village green. She ignored the snow falling onto the piles from an earlier storm. It was melting as soon as it struck the sidewalk, and the setting sun was trying to peek out from beneath gray banks of clouds.

She’d learned as a midwife not to heed secondhand information. Stories repeated often became rumors with little basis in fact. She’d ask Robert himself what had happened at the mayor’s office.

How?

Before she could answer that tough question, she saw a boy standing on the village green, holding his hand out to passersby. He was begging. She frowned as she changed her course to pass close to him.

“Hey, lady,” the redheaded boy called as she approached. “Got a buck to help a guy?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” she asked.

“School’s out. It’s after four. Almost five. Besides, I’m sixteen, so I don’t have to go to school anymore.”

Her gaze moving up and down the boy who couldn’t be more than twelve was meant to express her disbelief. He was as skinny as an abandoned pup, and his coat didn’t close because the zipper was broken. The holes in his jeans weren’t because of fashion but because of wear. The fronts of his shoes had been cut away, and his toes extended over the soles.

When she didn’t reply, he squirmed and started to walk away.

“If you’re hungry,” she said to his back, “there’s food at the community center.”

He looked at her. “That’s for the people fixing up the town.”

She suspected he’d been sent on his way when he’d gone inside before. The volunteers hadn’t recognized the boy was truly hungry. Boys his age were always ready to eat, but she wondered when he’d last had a real meal. Beneath his too-small coat, his collarbones jutted against his skin.

“It’s for anyone who needs food and doesn’t have a way to cook,” she replied.

“I can cook.”

“Can you? Maybe you could teach me, because I can’t.”

“Yeah, right,” he sneered. “You’re one of those Amish ladies, and you cook up a storm. That’s what everyone says.”

She didn’t argue that she wasn’t Amish. She doubted the boy cared. When his stomach growled, shame flashed on his face.

“Look,” she said, “it’s okay to let others help you.”

“I can take care of myself. I’m sixteen.”

“I see,” she said as he again raised his chin in a pose of defiance.

What she saw was a young boy trying to act as if he were old enough to be treated with the respect due to an adult. Arguing with him about anything would be silly when the child was starving.

“I’m Beth Ann Overholt,” she said.

“Douglas.”

“Just Douglas?”

“Ain’t it enough?”

She didn’t react to his attempt to infuriate her with his lack of manners. “I told you my whole name, so I assumed you’d tell me yours.”

“You shouldn’t assume anything, lady.”

“Beth Ann.”

“You want me to call you ‘Lady Beth Ann’?”

“Beth Ann will do, Douglas Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is.”

“It’s Henderson. Okay?” He ground the heel of his holey sneaker into the earth. Or tried to, because the soil was half frozen. “Will you leave me alone so I can get back to what I was doing?”

“Panhandling?”

“What’s wrong with hoping folks get some early Christmas cheer by helping those less fortunate?”

“Everything, when you can get all the food you want right there.” She pointed across the green to the community center beside the Mennonite chapel.

All the food I want?” He squared his shoulders. “I don’t want to be preached at while I’m eating.”

“Nobody will preach at you, though you’ll see people thanking God for their food. It never hurts to say thank you, does it?”

“Guess not.”

“I’m headed that way. Come and see if what I’ve told you is true.”

“If it isn’t?”

She shrugged. “You get out of the cold for a few minutes. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Watching the boy’s face, she realized how torn he was between wanting to prove he could fend for himself and his hunger. The need to eat won out, and he went with her toward the community center. He bragged about two dollars an elderly woman had given him.

Inside, the community center was bustling. A few people were already gathered around the mismatched tables, and they were digging into chicken and biscuits. Robert sat alone at the far end, an untouched plate in front of him. He didn’t glance up as she and Douglas entered.

One problem at a time. She hung up her coat and waited for the boy to do the same. She didn’t have to urge Douglas to come with her to the kitchen’s pass-through window where chicken and gravy bubbled in a slow cooker next to piles of biscuits. Cranberry sauce added to the mouthwatering aroma.

She handed the boy a plate and took one for herself. Going first, because she didn’t want to have Douglas be unsure how much he could take, she opened a biscuit and put the two pieces on her plate.

As she spooned gravy and chicken onto the biscuits, she said, “The rule here is take all you want, but eat all you take.”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled as he grabbed four biscuits. He poured on so much gravy she thought it would spill off the plate. Somehow, he managed to drop a large blob of cranberry sauce into the middle of the gravy.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing at another tray.

“Bran muffins. The kitchen puts out extras so people can have one with a cup of coffee.”

His nose wrinkled. “Ugh! Bran muffins are nasty.”

“I think you’ve got enough food for now.” She arched her brows at Abby, the Amish volunteer in charge of the kitchen. Saying nothing, Abby gave her an encouraging smile. Beth Ann was relieved. She’d known the community kitchen wouldn’t begrudge a kid a meal, but it was nice nobody was making a big deal of his presence in the community center.

Leading the way to where Robert sat, Beth Ann put down her plate. He frowned, appearing as if the world’s weight was upon his shoulders. She wanted to ask him if there were any truth to the rumors about what had happened earlier, but was aware of other ears listening. Most especially, the boy’s.

Later, she promised herself.


Robert struggled to hide his curiosity as he looked from Beth Ann to the boy. The rest of the volunteers had avoided him tonight as if he were a leper. Had Beth Ann failed to hear the rumors flying through town as fast as debris from the hurricanes? Another flash of dismay erupted through him. He’d nearly lost his temper that morning.

Hoping his expression didn’t reveal his thoughts, he asked, “Who’s your friend, Beth Ann?”

She smiled, and he was fascinated by her bright pink cheeks that had been burnished by the wind. Her green eyes didn’t match her smile, and he wondered what was bothering her. The boy? No, it must be the tales of Robert’s visit with the mayor earlier. Another wave of shame flooded him.

“This is Douglas Henderson,” Beth Ann replied with what he could tell was feigned cheerfulness. “Douglas, this is Robert Yoder. He’s working in town.”

“Nice to meet you, Bob,” Douglas said, holding out a small, bony hand.

When Robert took it, the boy shook it hard. Robert arched his brows.

She gave another shrug in answer.

“I go by Robert,” he said to the boy.

“La-di-da!”

“Is Robert any fancier than Douglas?” asked Robert.

For once, the boy was shocked into silence. Beth Ann had to look away before Douglas saw her smile. Not that she needed to worry. As she bowed her head to say grace, Douglas dug into his food as if he hadn’t eaten in a year.

Robert frowned. The kind’s gaunt appearance and ragged clothes shocked him.

He and Beth Ann had finished only half of their meals when the boy bounced to his feet and asked, “Can I have more?”

“Remember what I told you?” she asked.

“Take all you want, but eat all you take.” He hesitated before blurting, “I wasn’t sure you meant that.”

“I try to say what I mean. God asks us to be honest with one another.”

“You Amish are so, so weird.” He grabbed his plate and rushed to the pass-through window.

Robert shook his head. “Out of the mouths of bopplin...”

“Don’t let him hear you call him a baby.” Pushing aside her half-eaten meal, she asked, “Where were you this afternoon?”

“I’d planned to be there.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her how his worst nightmare had come to life when he’d fought to hold on to his temper while in the mayor’s office. He might have to explain the rest, including the reason why he couldn’t let himself get angry.

How could he explain the truth that shadowed his life? He hadn’t told his two sisters about his deepest fear: that Manassas Yoder’s volatile temper had been bequeathed to his son. His daed had used his hands and belt to punish them. If they’d tried to protect themselves, they were punished more, shut in dark cellars or denied food. The invisible beast within Robert waited, ready to pounce the moment he let his guard down.

It nearly had today.

As if he’d spoken aloud, Beth Ann asked, “What happened between you and the mayor?”

“I should have guessed you’d hear about me going to the mayor’s office.”

“I’ve heard several different versions.”

He snorted. “I’m not surprised. Folks like to gossip.”

“It sounds as if you gave them good reason to.” Folding her arms on the table, she watched Douglas take as big a serving as he had the first time. “Did you really yell at Mayor Whittaker?”

He found himself about to tell her everything about how his hopes had been so high when he’d climbed two steps to the town hall. Finding the room number for the mayor’s office, he’d known this might be his best—and possibly only—chance to save the covered bridge and his future.

The mayor’s office door, her name written in gold letters on the frosted glass, had been ajar. Had it been meant to be an invitation to walk in? Unsure, he’d rapped his knuckles against the wood before he opened it wider.

Gladys Whittaker was seldom seen without her phone pressed to her ear. Sometimes, she held two phones at the same time. However, she’d been focused on paperwork. She’d smiled as he entered, and everything had started out okay.

“I did raise my voice toward the end of our conversation about the covered bridge,” Robert admitted. “When I realized what I’d done, I apologized and left.” He put his hand on her arm, startling her as much as he did himself. His eyes sought hers across the table. “You believe me, ain’t so?”

He could tell his question had stunned her, and he had to wonder why it was so important for her to accept what he said as the truth.

“Of course I do,” she replied, and a knot released in the center of his gut. “I was sincere when I said Plain People prefer honesty.”

“Which makes us so, so weird.” He managed to put the same disdain on the words as Douglas had.

She laughed. “My advice is ignore the gossip. In a small community like this, there will soon be something new to talk about.”

Beth Ann added something more, but he didn’t hear as he caught sight of Douglas glancing around before reaching out for another handful of food.

When her gaze followed his toward the boy, she gasped. “Oh my! He’s stuffing food in his pockets.”

“Probably for later.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He took two bran muffins, and he said he hated bran muffins. I think he’s stealing for someone else.”

“That’s possible.”

Standing, she motioned for Robert to come with her. He didn’t move.

“We need to talk to him,” she insisted.

“You try. You’re better with kinder than I am.”

She gave him a puzzled glance. No doubt, she was wondering why he’d say such a thing, but he knew the truth. He was his daed’s son, and he shouldn’t be trusted around kinder. If he lost his temper as his daed had...

Douglas returned to the table. The boy started to sit but paused when she said, “Be careful. You’re going to crush those muffins in your pockets.”

“Muffins?” He laughed. “I got chicken and biscuits, Lady Beth Ann.”

“I saw what you did.” She plucked a crumbling muffin from his pocket. Sitting again, she asked, “You don’t like these muffins. Who does?”

“I don’t know. You want me to ask around?”

She ignored his flippant tone. “Douglas, tell me the truth.”

“The truth is it’s none of your business.”

“You can tell me, or you can explain to the ladies in the kitchen why you’re taking the food they made.”

He glanced at Robert as if he expected help, then sighed. “Okay. I know someone who’s hungry.”

“Who?”

“I don’t—”

“Give up, Douglas,” Robert said with a terse laugh. He shouldn’t have been getting involved, but he didn’t like watching Beth Ann’s attempts at kindness being thrown into her face by a pint-size thief. “You know you might as well tell her, because she’s not going to give up until you do.”

Panic twisted the child’s face. “I ain’t done nothing wrong. You said I could take as much as I wanted as long as it got eaten.”

“Don’t you think,” Beth Ann asked, “your friend would like chicken and biscuits and cranberry sauce more than an unbuttered bran muffin?”

“Yeah.” The single word was reluctant.

“Finish up your supper while I finish mine. Robert, will you get a take-out box and spoon up a serving of the chicken and biscuits?” She smiled at the boy. “And plenty of cranberry sauce.”

“Get two servings,” Douglas said in between hasty bites as if he feared she’d take his food off his plate.

Robert nodded and stood.

Beth Ann gave him a swift smile that danced through his center. He looked away. Leaving the two at the table, he went to ask one of the kitchen ladies for the food. He couldn’t stop himself from peeking at the table where Beth Ann watched the boy eat. When Douglas cleaned his plate again, she scraped her own meal onto his. He grunted what might have been gratitude and proceeded to make that food disappear, too.

Robert moved to stand on the boy’s side opposite from where Beth Ann stood as they put on their coats, collected two bags of food and headed out into the night. If Douglas tried to run away, one of them was sure to catch him before he got too far. Robert couldn’t imagine racing around with such a full stomach, but the boy wasn’t happy to be taking them to his friends.

Through a thickening snowstorm, Douglas led them down a street Robert had never been on before. Most of the houses were neatly lit like the rest of the village, but he turned up the walk of the one that wasn’t. By the front door, an old claw-foot tub, minus three of its decorative feet, leaned against a stack of rusty metal chairs. An abandoned toilet sat on the other side of the porch next to a pair of refrigerators full of garbage. Even on the cold November night, the stench was appalling.

When the boy climbed the steps, skipping the broken or missing ones, and threaded his way through the junk on the porch, Douglas acted as if he didn’t notice the reek. Robert guessed he no longer did.

A curtain moved in the window set into the door, which didn’t seem to sit in its jamb. A faint light came from beyond it. When it flickered, Robert realized it must be a candle. Douglas made a quick motion he guessed they weren’t supposed to see. Was the kind warning someone he wasn’t alone?

“Supper’s here,” Beth Ann called. “Who wants chicken and biscuits?”

The door popped open. Two heads appeared in the light from a candle burning inside what had once been a kerosene lamp. Two redheads who were younger than Douglas. A thin girl and a tiny little boy who dragged his foot as he walked toward them.

“You brought us chicken and biscuits, Dougie?” asked the little boy. “It smells good!”

He hooked a thumb behind him. “They’ve got the food.” He aimed a frown at Beth Ann and Robert. “Guess they didn’t trust me to carry it.”

“We didn’t trust you not to eat it,” Robert said in a solemn tone that triggered giggles from the younger kinder.

Before Douglas could answer, Beth Ann asked, “Will you introduce us?”

Robert thought the boy would refuse, but fatigue was heavy in Douglas’s voice as he said, “These two nosy snoops are Robert—don’t call him Bob—and Lady Beth Ann. This is Crystal, and the runt is Tommy.”

“Ain’t a runt,” retorted the smaller boy.

“I would say not,” Beth Ann hurried to say before an argument could start. “You’re a big boy for someone who’s...”

“I’m five!” He jutted out his chin in a pose identical to his brother’s. “Well, almost five. I’m going to be five on Christmas. Me and Baby Jesus were born on the same day.” Without a break to take a breath, he added, “Crystal’s eight, and Dougie is twice my age. See? I can do big-boy numbers.”

“So I see.” Robert was astonished to discover the fast-talking boy was only ten years old.

Looking over their heads, Robert saw paint chipping off the walls and littering the floor in small piles. A single chair was visible, and the seat had half fallen out of it.

“Where do you want to eat?” he asked.

The little boy grasped Beth Ann’s hand. “I’ll show you!”

Robert tried not to stare at his right foot slapping the floor on every step. His rolling motion was similar to Beth Ann’s. Was the little boy supposed to be wearing a brace also?

His attention was pulled away when he heard a moan. Not from the kinder or Beth Ann. It came from the house. A warning, if he had to guess, that it needed more than a deep cleaning. The two windows in what he guessed was a dining room were cracked, and their moldings were several degrees off square.

Crystal set the lamp on a table covered with dirty dishes and what looked like rodent droppings.

Putting her hand to her mouth, Beth Ann retched. They couldn’t let the kinder eat in such conditions.

“Get your coats,” he said. “This food has gotten cold. Let’s go and get you some warm supper.” As the littler ones cheered and ran to get their coats farther in the unlit house, he asked their big brother, “Where are your parents?”

“Our dad is gone.” Douglas spoke the words without malice, stating what for him must have been a fact of life. “Mom is in rehab.” His mouth twisted. “Again.”

“So who lives here with you?”

“Aunt Sharon does.”

Robert warned himself to remain calm, but he wanted nothing more than to give the kinder’s aenti a very large, very angry piece of his mind. The kinder’s squalid house was falling down around them. There was no light other than a candle and, from what he could see, no running water. “Can you ask your aenti to come and speak to us?”

Crystal came in. “She’s not here.”

“Where did she go?” Beth Ann asked.

The girl grinned, showing gaps in her teeth where new ones hadn’t come in yet. “Las Vegas. She’s going to bring me some bling.” She paused, looked at her brothers and asked, “What’s bling?”

Beth Ann glanced at Robert, and he knew her thoughts matched his. The problem was far bigger than a boy begging and stealing. These youngsters needed an adult in their lives.

He was sure that adult must not be Robert Yoder. As much as he longed for a family of his own, the encounter with the mayor had been a warning. His temper was far from under control, and he didn’t want anyone else—not Beth Ann, not the kinder—to suffer the next time it overtook him.