The three youngest Troyer children wandered aimlessly around the front yard. When my car shuddered to a stop on the Troyers’ frozen drive, Thomas and Naomi came running. Thomas opened his grandfather’s car door as I slipped out of the driver seat.
Naomi hugged my legs, and I squeezed her back.
Grandfather Zook adjusted his braces above his elbows while Thomas steadied him. “What are you all doing outside in the cold?”
“Becky is here,” Thomas said in an unusually hushed voice. “Ellie Young dropped her off a little while ago.”
Grandfather Zook cocked his head. “I’ll bet Ellie was disappointed that I wasn’t here.”
Naomi giggled.
Her grandfather’s grin turned to a frown. “That was nice of Ellie to give Becky a ride to the farm, but it still doesn’t answer my question as to why you are moping outside.”
Ruth joined us and kicked off snow that gathered on the toe of her boot. “Daed said we had to go outside so he and Maam could talk to her.”
My stomach clenched. I knew why.
“Hair,” Naomi whispered.
Grandfather’s bushy eyebrows fused together. “Hair?”
“Becky cut her hair,” Thomas whispered. “Like an Englischer.”
Grandfather Zook sighed. “I see.” He hobbled toward the house.
The children and I followed. Even before we reached the screened-in front porch, we heard the angry timbre of raised voices. Grandfather Zook didn’t hesitate and went inside. Through the opening, I saw Becky and her parents in the living room. Mrs. Troyer sat on the couch. Her hands covered her face and her body shook as silent sobs rolled through her.
Mr. Troyer stood across from his eldest daughter, his face bright red as if he had scrubbed it hard with a bristle brush. Becky stood defiantly across from him with her arms folded across her chest. “I told you that I wasn’t coming back. You knew that. I don’t know why cutting my hair makes any difference.”
Mr. Troyer responded in Pennsylvania Dutch. Even though I couldn’t understand the words, I knew by the way Becky sucked in air that his comments bit. “So you care what Deacon Sutter says now?” Becky asked.
Mr. Troyer opened his mouth again, but Grandfather Zook stamped one of his braces on one of the wide floor boards. “What is going on?”
I hovered in the doorway, but the three younger Troyer children dashed back into the yard. Should I run too?
Mr. Troyer spun around and faced his father-in-law. He said something in their language.
“Ya, I see that she has cut her hair.”
Mr. Troyer responded again in their language.
Grandfather Zook sniffed. “Speak Englisch. Chloe is here.”
Duly outed, I stepped forward.
Mrs. Troyer dropped her hands from her face and stared at me through her tears. Her expression was pointed, accusatory. I glanced at Mr. Troyer and saw the same look on his face. Behind me, cold wind sliced into my back through the open door. Did I leave it open as a means of escape?
Mr. Troyer’s eyes narrowed. “You did this to her.”
“I—I didn’t.”
“Your Englisch friend did.”
I licked my lips. “Becky asked her to.”
Becky took a step closer to her father. “Daed, Chloe had nothing to do with this. Cutting my hair was my decision.”
I stepped forward. “Becky didn’t take the decision lightly. I know she’s thought about it for a long time.”
Mr. Troyer turned to me as if seeing me for the first time and he did not like what he found. “You knew she would do this?”
“I . . .”
Mrs. Troyer covered her face again as if she couldn’t look at me.
Mr. Troyer pointed at the open door. “Chloe, please leave. This is a conversation for the family.”
His words cut, but they were true. I shouldn’t be there. I wasn’t family, and if Mr. Troyer’s thunderous expression was any indication, they didn’t want me to be.
I stumbled back. “Oh, right, I’m so sorry.”
“Close the door when you leave,” Becky’s father added.
“Chloe, wait,” Grandfather Zook said.
I shook my head. “I should go.” I backed out onto the front porch and shut the door behind me. I hurried down the steps, waving at the children, but avoiding eye contact because more than anything I didn’t want them to see me cry. Naomi and Thomas were making snow angels. “Bye,” I choked out. “Gotta run.”
My hands shook as I opened my car door.
“Chloe,” Ruth called from behind me.
I closed my eyes for a moment because I didn’t want her to see how much her father’s words affected me. I inhaled slowly and turned.
“What’s happened? Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine.” I gave her a weak smile. “I have to go to work and check on some things.”
She placed a hand on my sleeve. “You will come back later, won’t you? To come with me to see Anna? We have to go. She will be waiting for us.”
I blew out a breath, and a white cloud blurred my sight. “I’ll come back. Can you meet me here? In the driveway?”
Confusion crossed over her expression. “Ya, if that’s what you want.”
“See you then,” I said and jumped into the car.
The Harshberger College campus was like a graveyard, which wasn’t the best analogy to think of while still reeling from the morning’s events. I parked as close to the front entrance as possible and made sure I had my keys to the Dennis academic building where the computer service department was located. Inside, the building was still and quiet. It was hard to believe that in a few short weeks, the campus would be buzzing again with students and faculty.
I hurried to the server room and unlocked the doors to the racks. All of the machines blinked happy green lights at me. I fired up the laptop and ran a few small tests on the system. Everything pinged back with no complaints. My shoulders sagged with relief as I turned the laptop off again and locked the door.
I ran up the stairs and was outside of the building on the way to my car within five minutes. I cleared my throat and felt the scratchiness from Brock’s attack. I wished for some of Mrs. Troyer’s honey lemon tea, but considering what had just happened, would I ever be invited to drink it again?
The parking lot outside of Dennis overlooked a small pond on the campus, and I made the mistake of glancing in its direction as I made my way to my car. A figure sat on one of the park benches beside the pond. Curt Fanning. He sat bent at the waist with his face buried in his hands. I hesitated. Even though I was over a hundred feet away, he must have sensed me because he lifted his head in my direction. His sad expression didn’t change when he saw that it was me.
I bit my lip. I should leave. Something told me that I needed to see if Curt was okay.
Was he okay? That wasn’t my problem. How many times over the last few months had he and Brock gone out of their way to make the Troyers’ lives and mine miserable? Too many to count. Yet again, I felt the nudge toward him. He looked like he needed someone to talk to. I glanced around the campus grounds. I was the only one there. Despite everything, how could I ignore him now?
I groaned. I would check to see if he needed any help, but then I was out of there. I wasn’t going to be stupid about it though. I unlocked my car and tucked my purse under the passenger seat after slipping my cell phone into my coat pocket. I pushed the front seat forward and grabbed my ice scraper from the back. If Curt tried anything, I’d whack him one. I relocked the car and put the key into my other pocket. Slowly I made my way down the icy steps that led to the pond.
Curt was alone. The geese and ducks that called the pond home during the warm months had gone for the winter to points south. A fresh pile of snow lay on the ground next to Curt’s feet. He held his father’s army dog tags in his hands and caressed them with his thumbs as if they were some type of talisman.
I held my snow scraper in front of me.
“Is this how you’re going to approach me from now on?” Curt asked hoarsely. When I had seen him on campus earlier in the week, I had been brandishing the same scraper. It almost came as a relief to hear some of the characteristic sarcasm in his voice.
“Better safe than sorry,” I replied and lowered the scraper just a hair.
His eyes grew sad. “I don’t blame you. I would be nervous around me too, if I were you.”
I took another step forward, but still left over twenty feet between us, having no desire to move any closer than that.
“I heard what Brock did.” Curt’s voice sounded gravelly. “Are you all right?”
Reflexively, my free hand went to my throat and touched the sore spot. “I will be okay. Brock is a strong guy and he was very angry at me.”
Curt turned his gaze back to the frozen pond. “Because of me.”
“That’s what he said.”
He made eye contact with me again. “He doesn’t like how I have changed since meeting you.”
“How is that?”
He sighed. “I’ve started asking questions, wondering if there is something more to life than causing trouble and just getting by.”
“Is there?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“In your life there is. In my own life, I wasn’t so sure. Over the last couple of weeks I’ve been thinking how you saved Brock last month. You could have left him to die in that freezing pond and gotten away from us, but you stayed and helped.” Curt’s shoulders rolled forward. “I would have never done it. I wanted to know what could possibly make you do that. Brock wasn’t curious about it at all.”
I took two small steps forward. “What did you do?”
“I knew you were a Christian, so I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I found my dad’s old Bible in his knapsack from the war. Mom never even bothered to unpack the bag when the army sent it home. The Bible was dog-eared and written all over, like my dad spent hours and hours studying it.” His eyes glistened as he looked at me. “Do you think that means he was a Christian when he was killed?”
My heart thundered in my chest. How could I possibly answer that? How could I answer that question for anyone other than myself? And yet, for some reason, I believed I knew the answer. “I do,” I said.
His shoulders relaxed. “I read the part my dad underlined and that made sense when I thought of you and how you react to things like people being hurt or when Brock was in trouble.”
“Then what happened?”
He laughed softly. “You saw me at the Christmas Eve service. I have to say the look on your face when I sat next to you was priceless.” His tone became serious. “But you didn’t run away when I sat down. It meant a lot to me.”
He had no idea how close I had been to bolting out of that pew.
“I went back to the church the day after Christmas and spoke to the pastor. I asked him what I had to do to be like you. He told me, and we prayed together.”
“And then?” I asked, choking back the emotion bubbling in my throat.
“I waited and nothing happened. I thought it might feel like being struck by lightning or being filled with the force. I thought something big would happen, but nothing did.”
I smiled. “I don’t think believing is like being struck by lightning. And having the force would certainly be nice sometimes, but that’s only a George Lucas fairy tale. Faith is a choice, and making that choice is more powerful than lightning. In your case, it is your choice to change your life.” I touched my throat again. “Considering how upset Brock was about it, I’d say that you changed a lot.”
“I’m not like you, though. You would never turn your back on someone. You always reach out to help.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I want to be the same way.”
The truth was—I wasn’t as perfect as Curt made me out to be. I didn’t always reach out to help. I did turn my back on others. My father’s face dominated my mind. When he rejected me, I rejected him right back. I never gave my best effort to fix our relationship. My father wasn’t the only one. Even Billy had reached out to me to make peace, but I hadn’t been able to trust him again completely.
Curt’s face flushed red. “Will you pray with me again? I know that I already prayed with the pastor, but I want to make sure it sticks.”
“You don’t have to keep praying the sinner’s prayer over and over again. When you do it once, it sticks, but I’m happy to pray with you if it will bring you comfort.”
He gave me a crooked grin. “I just think that considering my checkered past, better safe than sorry, you know?”
I smiled. “Okay.” I sat on the bench next to him and bowed my head, gripping the snow scraper the entire time.