We left Young’s after three. My furniture was then loaded into the back of Timothy’s pickup and tied down with neon green bungee cords. Timothy helped Grandfather Zook into the buggy, and the three younger Troyer children climbed into the back.
Grandfather Zook winked. “I must get the grandkinner back to the farm to their mamm. She’s going to be mad at me already for having them home late for supper.”
Ruth, who seemed to have perked up while eating her chocolate silk pie, frowned.
Becky squeezed her little sister’s hand and whispered in her ear. But Ruth shook her head, and Becky stepped back from the buggy with tears in her eyes.
Grandfather Zook flicked the reins, and Sparky pulled the buggy away from the hitching post. Timothy, Becky, and I waited until the buggy rounded the corner before climbing into the truck.
Becky rode in silence, wedged between Timothy and me. The ride, which had taken thirty minutes by buggy, took only ten by car.
At the house, Becky and I each carried in an end table, while Timothy set the coffee table in the middle of the room. Then with Becky holding open the door, Timothy and I carried in the couch and set it in the middle of the room. Becky flopped onto it. “I might sleep here tonight.”
I leaned my head to one side. “You can if you want to.”
Gig jumped onto the back of the sofa, walking its length until he found a comfortable place to curl up.
Timothy laughed. “I think your cat likes it.”
I nodded. “I think so.”
Timothy moved toward the door. “I’d better get going. I have a job I promised to finish today.” He glanced at his sister. “Are you coming to church tomorrow, Becky?”
Becky’s nose wrinkled. “I can’t, Timothy. Everyone will be talking about me. You saw what happened between Anna and Ruth. I can’t take more of that. I hope Ruth will speak to me again.”
He furrowed his brow. “Who said she wasn’t speaking to you?”
Becky eyed him. “She didn’t say good-bye at Young’s.”
“She was upset.”
Becky flung her good arm over her face. “For good reason.”
“So are you coming to church tomorrow? People are more likely to talk if you aren’t there. Maybe if they see you, they will think twice.”
Becky sat up. “I’ll go if Chloe goes.”
“I . . .” Since I’d moved to Appleseed Creek, I had every intention of finding a new church to attend, but the previous Sunday I’d found an excuse to avoid it. I would never admit it to anyone but myself, but I was afraid. Entering a new church where everyone already knew each other and had a history was a terrifying prospect. In Cleveland, I’d attended the same church with the Green family since Tanisha invited me to Sunday school in the second grade.
Timothy was probably right. If Becky didn’t go to church tomorrow, tongues would be wagging. I knew how gossip spread through a church. I remembered how people had talked after my mother’s accident. Not all the talk had been malicious, but even well-intentioned gossip hurt.
I shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Sure, I can go.”
Becky gave me one of her dazzling smiles and flopped back down on the couch.
I followed Timothy to his truck. “Can I talk to you a minute?”
He slammed the tailgate of his pickup, and I jumped.
“Are you nervous?” Timothy asked.
“Me? Nervous? No.”
“You seem to be jumpy every time I see you.”
I shrugged. He was the one who made me nervous, but should I tell him that? “I’m worried about Becky.”
Timothy followed me, his brows knitted in concern. “How is my sister?”
I turned to face him. “Much better than I would be, but I have a feeling it might get worse for her before it gets better.” I told him about my encounter with the women at the farmers’ market and outside the restroom at Young’s.
Timothy let out a long, slow sigh. “That’s what I was afraid of. Bishop Glick was a favorite. Many are devastated at the news. Not just for him and his family, but for themselves. The district will have to choose a new bishop, and he might not be as popular as Bishop Glick.”
“Does the district elect the new bishop?”
He shook his head. “It’s not like running for president, if that’s what you think. The preachers from the area churches will be held up as possible bishops, and God chooses the leader from them. I’ve never actually seen a bishop being chosen since I didn’t join the church.”
It sounded like an odd way to choose a leader to me. “Did everyone like the bishop?”
“No one is universally liked.”
“I’m worried about this thing with Anna, too.” I hugged myself about the waist. “This doesn’t just affect Becky. Your whole family is involved.”
“I know that.” His blue eyes scanned my face. “How are you?”
“Afraid. I thought a lot about what you said last night”—I gazed into his concerned eyes—“that I could have been killed.”
“Because your car was in disrepair.” He shook the tailgate as if to make sure it was latched properly.
“No, it’s worse than that. Chief Rose was here this morning.”
His forehead wrinkled. “She was? Why didn’t you or Becky say anything?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it in front of the kids.”
“What did she say?”
I took a deep breath. “That my car was fine. Someone cut the brake line.”
Timothy’s eyes grew wide, and he pounded his fist on the gate of his truck. “What?”
I took a step back, and then told him what the police chief said about the condition of the car.
He wagged his head back and forth. Slowly. “She thinks someone tried to kill you and Becky?”
“Or hurt us. Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but it could be two men in town named Curt and Brock. They were harassing Becky when I met her. ”
His eyes flashed angrily. “Greta thinks these men cut the brake line?”
“They are one possibility. She was going to question them. I imagine she already has by now.”
His eyes bored into me, his jaw set. “Both of you need to be careful.”
“I know.” The nauseous feeling from that morning washed over me again. I needed to think about something other than my fear. Becky. Think about Becky. “Becky’s still in trouble too. Even though the brake line was cut and the accident wasn’t completely her fault, she will always be blamed for what happened.” I paused, allowing my eyes to meet his. “Unless we do something.”
“Like what?” He folded up the neon green bungee cords and dropped them in a white bucket in the bed of his truck.
“Maybe the police are wrong. Maybe the bishop was the intended victim all along.”
Timothy frowned. “What are you saying?”
“We need to find out what really happened.”
“We?”
“I need your help, Timothy. I could never find out everything I need from the Amish. You can.”
He shook his head, his lips pressed into a grim line. “Chloe, you don’t understand. I grew up Amish, but I’m not Amish anymore. There’s a difference. A big difference. Deacon Sutter made that clear today.”
“You are still closer than I could ever be.” I placed my hand on the edge of the tailgate.
He sighed.
I held my gaze on him. “Will you help me?”
“I will do whatever I can to protect my sister”—he paused—“and you.” He covered my hand with his own and squeezed it for a fraction of a second. His motion was so quick, I wondered if it really happened.
My stomach did a flip, but not from fear.
Timothy walked toward the driver’s side of his truck and stopped, his gaze fixed on me again. “Do you need a ride to church tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “It’s not far. We can walk.”
He nodded, hopped into his truck, and drove away.