Jesse’s Friday was turning into a disaster. In fact, it was shaping up to be worse than his Thursday had been. The evening before weighed on his mind, followed him through the day, and set his mood to foul.
All four of his sisters, ages nine to sixteen, had been ecstatic to find Andrew home once again. The youngest hadn’t been born the first time Andrew left. Of course, Teresa had met Andrew. He’d managed to show up intermittently through the years. He’d managed to disrupt their lives before.
Susan, Ruth, and Roseann waited on Andrew as his mother had, as if he might disappear before their eyes. And Teresa, the youngest, refused to budge from his side.
Jesse had been sent over to Linda Rainey’s with the cinnamon flop cake his mother had made that afternoon, to replace the pineapple cake they’d eaten. It was nearly dark when he crossed the pasture to her house, and he wasn’t in much of a mood for visiting. Though it wasn’t her fault that his life had taken a curve, Jesse felt his impatience grow as he trudged toward the sprawling one-story house next door.
He remembered Linda’s husband, an elderly Englisch man named Douglas who drove an old Ford truck. He’d died only two years earlier. Linda could have moved to Indianapolis to live with one of her children, but she insisted that she intended to spend her last days on the farm where she’d lived since she married.
As soon as he spied her sitting on her front porch, his irritation melted away. She’d always been a kind woman, even when he and Andrew were boys and constantly cut across her fields because it was a faster route home. Back in those days, before the lupus had crippled her hands, she’d been the one to bake and offer cookies, brownies, and oat bars to the boys. Now his mother was returning the favor. It was what neighbors did.
“Good evening, Linda.” He climbed the porch steps and stopped.
Linda sat in one of her two oak rockers, her hands curled around a lap quilt. Jesse knew she’d probably used it all afternoon, though the day had been warm.
“Jesse, it’s good to see you. I do enjoy visitors so much.” She motioned to the empty rocker. “Sit and tell me what you’ve brought today.”
Still standing, Jesse replied, “Cinnamon flop cake.”
“Your mamm knows I won’t be eating an entire cake myself.”
“She thought you could share it with the nurse who visits.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. Also, my grandchildren will be here this weekend. It will be nice to have something sweet to offer them.”
“Would you like me to take it inside?”
“Yes, I would appreciate that. I’ve left the dish from last week near the sink drain. It’s washed and ready to go back. And perhaps you could bring us both a glass of lemonade. The pitcher is in the refrigerator.” He started inside and she called after him, “Place that cake on the kitchen counter for me and set it well back. Though your mamm has wrapped it up nicely, Socks might be tempted to knock it off onto the floor.”
Socks was an old, gray tomcat with white feet. Linda had adopted him years ago, and occasionally Jesse spied the cat prowling through the high grass or, more often, lying in the sun, dozing. As far as Jesse knew, he’d never done a thing to earn his keep. He definitely wasn’t a mouser; a few weeks before Jesse had set traps behind the stove for a mouse Linda had seen. As he’d baited the traps with cheese and peanut butter, Socks had lain there in the middle of the kitchen floor, methodically grooming himself with a purr that rattled like an old-time coffeemaker. The cat was useless.
There was no sign of him in the house.
Jesse had been in Linda’s home many times. It looked no different than it ever had, down to the checkerboard sitting on the table by the window. He knew Linda didn’t play checkers, but Douglas had. She kept the board there for the grandchildren. If he remembered right, she had three—two girls and a boy.
He walked back out onto the porch, carrying the empty baking pan under his arm and a glass of lemonade in each hand. He gave one to Linda and drank his in a long gulp. The cold, tart sweetness slid down his throat, easing an ache he didn’t realize was there. After finishing the drink, he wavered between the rocking chair and the steps.
“Go ahead and sit. You know you want to.”
“Ya. It’s a nice evening for sitting outside, but I should probably be going.”
“Because your brother’s home?”
Jesse squinted at her in surprise.
“I saw him walking down the lane toward your house. Near lunchtime, wasn’t it?”
“Ya.” Jesse sat down in the rocker. When he did, he had a clearer view of Linda. She’d been sitting in the darkened corner of the porch since even the fading sunlight irritated her lupus. Sinking farther back into the rocker, with the light from a living room lamp spilling through the window, he had a good look at her hands. They were swollen as usual, but they were also covered in an angry red rash that extended up her wrists and probably under the long sleeves of her cotton blouse.
Linda was in her late fifties, maybe even sixty now. Her hair was cut in a short, straight fashion and had turned mostly gray. It reminded him of the wool caps Amish boys and even men often wore. She always wore loose-fitting pants and large cotton shirts. Perhaps the baggy clothes irritated her skin less. As he studied her, she reached up, nudged her glasses aside, and rubbed at her right eye.
“The rash is worse today, but there’s no need to look so concerned, Jesse. The Lord won’t give me more than I can handle with his help.”
He nodded. The words were easy enough to believe when quoted at church meeting, but difficult when looking at Linda’s hands. How did she bear it? And what of all the idle time she had? He couldn’t think of many things he could do without the use of his hands.
As if reading his thoughts, Linda said, “I enjoy sitting here and watching the world, studying all of God’s creation. I decided after Douglas’s death that I could either spend my remaining years feeling sorry for myself or appreciating God’s handiwork. Appreciation is always the better choice. Now, tell me about your brother.”
“As you said, he’s home.”
“To stay?”
“Hasn’t said that.”
“I know how your mother worries over that boy. It would be good if he was done with his wandering.”
Jesse wondered about that. Would it be good? It had been so long—he had a hard time remembering what life was like with Andrew around on a daily basis. Though he’d resented his brother’s leaving, he couldn’t say he was thrilled about his return. How messed up was that?
“Seems like only yesterday when you two were dashing across the back of our property, hurrying home from school.”
“Do you remember the summer your husband kept a bull in that pasture? It’s the one time I can remember him being angry, when we climbed the fence and ran. We were convinced that we could outrun the bull. We did too, but not by much.”
Linda smiled, the years falling away. “He came home and told me that you boys were going to give him a heart attack. Douglas found a buyer for that bull the next week and put sheep back there instead.”
“Which were much easier to run through.”
The stars were beginning to make an appearance. Jesse knew he should head back home, but it was peaceful and quiet on the porch. Sitting there, he could forget about the questions swirling through his mind.
“Andrew must have missed his home.”
“I’m not sure that’s the reason he returned.”
“I say that because I saw him earlier today. First he carried that large pack into your barn, and then he made his way past it—to the creek, I imagine. You two boys used to fish there every chance you had.”
“Haven’t seen a fishing pole in Andrew’s hands in years.”
“Perhaps he was soaking up the memories rather than pining for fish.”
“Maybe so.”
When Jesse stood to go, Linda rose from the rocker, walked to his side, and reached up to place a swollen hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been a good son to your parents, Jesse. I know your mother and dad appreciate all that you’ve done, all that you’ve had to do since you’ve been the only boy around.”
Were his concerns so transparent?
Jesse didn’t know how to respond, so he thanked her for the lemonade and left.
The rest of the evening had passed quickly, and he’d gone to bed before Andrew. He wasn’t ready to have a private conversation with him. He didn’t understand the uneasiness and confusion he was feeling. Was it Andrew’s fault? Or his? And what was he going to do about it?
Now today, as he worked at the Village, he still couldn’t say what was causing his unease. Andrew had risen early and helped them in the barn. They’d had breakfast together, and then Andrew had walked to town, claiming he needed to meet someone.
Jesse saw him dart into the barn before he left.
No doubt to reclaim something he’d hidden there in his backpack. The pack had never come into their bedroom, and he had never brought it into the kitchen where Andrew had first appeared during lunch. So he must have stored it outside on the porch until he could take it to the barn, as Linda had seen.
What was in the pack?
Who was he meeting in town?
And why had he gone down to the pond the day before? Had he met someone there? Perhaps he had gone there to make some phone calls in private. Jesse had no doubt his brother had a cell phone. His father wouldn’t reprimand him about it unless Andrew brought it into the house.
What—exactly—was his brother involved in?
And did it have anything to do with Owen’s murder?