Chapter Thirty-Nine

I unbuckled my seatbelt, but Becky didn’t move. “Becky?”

“Huh?” She clung to her hot pink cast as if it offered protection from the man sitting on the front porch. Was she afraid of Isaac or of what he might say?

“Are you going to get out of the car?”

“I don’t know.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Becky was honest to a fault.

“Don’t you think you should? Isaac is here for a reason. He wants to talk to you.”

“Why? Why would he talk to me after what I did to his family? He must hate me.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” I placed a hand on my door handle.

She shivered. “I’m afraid.”

“I know, but so is he.” I juggled my car keys in my hand.

She turned her chin in my direction. “He is?”

“I’m sure of it.” I tucked the keys into my purse.

She nodded and opened the door. Isaac stood up, and I followed Becky up the cracked walkway to the house. Isaac nodded at me. “I see you saw Uncle Billy about a new car.”

“You know Uncle Billy?”

“I did.” He frowned.

I hurried up the porch steps and unlocked the front door. “Becky, I’ll be in the house if you need me.” Gigabyte meowed at me from his perch on the back of the couch, his new favorite place. I ignored him and opened the front window a crack. I told myself I needed to hear their conversation for Becky’s sake, but deep down knew I wanted to hear it for myself, too.

“How did you know where I live?” Becky’s voice quavered.

“Everyone knows where you live. Appleseed Creek is too small to hide.”

“You think I’m hiding?”

Isaac didn’t reply.

“I’m happy to see you, Isaac. I know this must be hard for you.” She took a shuddered breath. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt your daed. I would never want to hurt you or anyone in your family. You know how I care about all of you.”

“What about your own family? They are hurt too.”

“I know.” Becky’s voice was low. “Can you forgive me?”

There was a pause. “How’s your arm?” Isaac asked.

“It’s better. The doctor said the cast can come off in six weeks. It doesn’t hurt much but itches like crazy.”

“You broke your right arm.” Isaac stepped out of my view. I heard his footsteps travel to the far side of porch.

“Yes,” Becky said. Through the curtain, I saw her cradle her arm to her chest.

“Don’t you think Gott wanted to tell you something?”

“Like what?” Becky sounded close to tears.

“Your art is wrong.” His voice cracked like a whip. “Since you chose it over obeying your parents, you have been punished.”

I shivered.

“Why are you here, Isaac?” I could hear tears in Becky’s voice. Her back was to me now. I wanted her to turn around so I could reassure her that Isaac was wrong. Should I go out there? Should I defend her? I was afraid my intervention would only make it worse for Becky. Surely Isaac blamed me to some extent too.

“You dress like an Englischer now.” Isaac sounded sad. “The woman who lives here gave you those clothes.”

“Chloe is my friend.”

“You hardly know her. We’ve known each other our entire lives. That meant nothing to you. You turned your back on me and ran away.”

“I couldn’t stay, Isaac. I know that’s difficult for you to understand, but I wanted to be my own person. I wanted to draw and not be judged for what I drew. How can my portraits be wrong—”

“Because they are!” His voice thundered. “Because the bishop said they were wrong. That should be enough reason for you. You should have accepted his decision.”

Becky stumbled back and almost collided with the window.

Gigabyte batted his paw at the glass and hissed. He wasn’t a fan of Isaac’s.

“You are your own person now.” Isaac voice was still sharp. “You were wrong to leave. Because you did, my father . . .” His voice caught.

I placed my face closer to the window. I wanted to see Becky’s face, but her back was still toward me.

Isaac added something in their language, and Becky gasped.

Gigabyte jumped off the sofa and leapt onto the windowsill. “Shh,” I warned him.

He yowled in return.

“I’m sorry.” Becky spoke in English.

“You made your choice, Becky. Now we both have to live with it.”

Isaac hurried down the rickety porch steps and along the walk.

The front door opened, and Gigabyte and I jumped away from the picture window. Becky ran across the room and fell onto the couch. Tears covered her face.

I took tentative steps toward her. “Are you all right?”

She cradled her broken arm, and I sat beside her. I pulled my knees up under my chin and rubbed her back just as Mrs. Green did when I had nightmares after my mother’s accident.

She gripped her cast with her left hand. “I can’t paint because of my arm. The reason I left everything behind is broken. Isaac is right, I have been punished.”

“Isaac is wrong. God loves you. He would never punish you like this.”

Her large blue eyes swam in tears. “Then why did this happen?”

I rubbed her back and thought. I wished Mrs. Green were here. She would know the right thing to say. I tried to remember what she said to me the many times I cried over my mother’s accident. “Because bad things happen. Bad things happen because there is sin in the world. Jesus saved us from sin when He died on the cross and rose again. Just because we’re Christians doesn’t mean bad things won’t happen to us while we are still on earth.” I fumbled over my words.

She looked unconvinced.

“I think—” The sound of my cell phone ringing interrupted me.

“Go ahead and answer, Chloe. I think I’d like to be alone for a little bit.”

“Okay.”

By the time I dug it out of my purse, the phone had stopped ringing. I checked the missed call. Sabrina. I grimaced and debated calling her back. Before I could make up my mind, the phone rang in my hand. I almost dropped it.

“Hello?”

“Chloe!” Sabrina’s voice snapped in my ear. “Why didn’t you answer my call?”

I slipped out the front door and onto the porch. “I—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. Your father is furious.”

I sat on the bench. “With me?”

“Of course with you! Who else would it be?”

I should have known that was a dumb question. “What did I do?”

“You are harboring a murderer.”

“What?” I stumbled into one of the porch posts. It shifted under my weight. Timothy hadn’t been able to mend it yet.

“We know about that girl killing the Amish judge or whatever he was.”

“He was a bishop, and it was a horrible accident.” I stepped away from the rickety post and sat on one of the brown folding chairs.

She huffed. “If it’s an accident, why are the police investigating it?”

“Becky’s part in it was an accident,” I said firmly.

“Is she still living with you?”

I bit my lip. “Yes. How do you know all this?”

“One of your coworkers e-mailed your father the newspaper story. You can imagine his surprise when he’s in a board meeting and reads a story about his daughter in the middle of a murder investigation.”

I shook my head. “All of that wasn’t covered in the paper.”

“Thank goodness it wasn’t. Your father e-mailed the man back and asked for more details.”

My mouth hung open, my forehead creased. “So instead of calling me, his daughter, he e-mails a perfect stranger to find out about my life.” The corners of my eyes itched, but I refused to cry. I had wasted too many tears over my father—a lifetime’s worth. “Who?” I demanded.

“Who? Your father, that’s who!”

“No. Who told you about the accident?”

“Does it matter?” she practically growled.

“It matters to me.” I scooted to the edge of the chair and tipped forward ever so slightly.

Her dramatic sigh sounded like an airplane landing. “It was something with a J, like John or Jason.”

I grew still. “Joel.”

“That’s it. He said he was looking out for you. As a friend, he was worried about you and wanted your father to know about it.”

I leaned back into the chair, and its back legs hit the porch’s warped wooden boards with a thud. “Looking out for me? A friend? Nothing could be farther from the truth.”

“The point is your father is upset, and rightly so; you never stop and think how your behavior will reflect on your family. Your father’s opponents would love news like this to use against him.”

I clenched my jaw. “My family? Is that what you are? You could have fooled me.”

“I will tell your father you spoke to me like that.”

“Go ahead. I’m not a child anymore.” I lowered my voice. “Have a nice time on your Thanksgiving cruise.” And then I hung up on her.