As we drove to the Troyer farm, the countryside glistened in the setting sun. We turned onto the road to the farm, but within a few yards of the driveway, could go no farther. An enormous pine tree lay across the lane. I stopped the Prizm, the long branches scratching the hood of the car. I stared at the scene. “Wow.”
“The tornado passed through here,” Becky whispered. She jumped out of the car and ran through the wet grass and disappeared around the base of the tree.
“Becky!”
She didn’t even pause. I jumped out of the car and jogged after her. As I rounded the tree, I saw the Troyer house unharmed by the storm. The only other sign that bad weather had passed through was an overturned bench, the one I sat on with Grandfather Zook a few days earlier.
Becky froze in front of the house. Her chest heaved up and down.
The screen door opened, slamming against the house. Mr. Troyer stomped outside. Becky stepped toward him, but pulled up short. In three strides her father stood in front of her and pulled his eldest daughter into an embrace, the deacon’s warning unheeded. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried as any little girl who needed her father would.
Naomi, Ruth, and Thomas ran from the house and wrapped their small arms around their sister and father. Even Naomi’s faceless doll was squashed in the embrace. Grandfather Zook followed them at a much slower pace, the old man grinning from ear to ear. Mrs. Troyer stood in the doorway, watching her husband and Becky holding each other, a hand to her mouth.
Grandfather Zook hobbled in my direction. “Timothy is okay too,” I said. “Becky and I saw him after the tornado.” I decided not to mention the trip to Columbus or about my being trapped in a drainage ditch with his grandson and Mabel. Grandfather Zook may be more lax than his brethren, but he was still Amish.
“Gut.” The old man’s eyes twinkled as if he knew there was more to the story. He leaned heavily on his crutches and seemed more stooped over than usual. His crutches left deep indentations in the saturated earth. He smiled. “Don’t give me that worried look. I’ll be fine. The change in weather always affects my old bones, and crawling in and out of the root cellar to avoid a tornado is more activity than I’m used to.” He examined the overturned bench, pointing a crutch at it. “Can you pick up the bench so we can sit?”
I did as asked.
Grandfather Zook settled onto the bench with a sigh. “Much better.” He exhaled a deep breath and looked to me. “Thank you for bringing Becky here. Her mother was beside herself. This was the first tornado we’ve had since both Timothy and Becky left home. It’s hard on my Martha.”
“How did you know it was tornado?” I asked. “You don’t have TV or a radio. Can you hear the sirens all the way out here?”
He laughed a deep belly laugh. “What do you think people did before all those gadgets? Long before television and radio, farmers learned to read the sky.” He pointed at Becky with his crutch. “I see Becky went shopping.”
I glanced at Becky in her T-shirt and jeans. “Maybe she should have changed before we stopped by.”
He laughed again. “I know her father doesn’t approve, but right now, he is happy she is alive. He will grumble about it later.”
I twisted a determined glance in his direction. “Grandfather Zook, have you ever heard of Grayson Mathews?”
He squinted at me. “Grayson Mathews? Why would you ask about that fool?”
“You know him?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but he’s been by the farm a few times. I wouldn’t mention his name to my son-in-law if I were you.” He smoothed his beard over his shirt front. “How do you know his name?”
“Hettie Glick said he offered to buy several farms in the district. He wants to build Englischer houses.”
Grandfather Zook nodded. “I’m surprised Hettie spoke to you. She doesn’t think much of the outside world.”
“Timothy and I both spoke to her.”
Grandfather Zook rooted around in the hip pocket of his trousers and pulled out a gray linen paper business card. “This is the man you mean?” He handed the card to me. “You can keep that.”
Grayson’s name and company information was embossed on the card in black lettering. “Yes, this is it.”
“He gave me that card the last time he stopped at the house. Happily, it was a time when Martha, Simon, and the children were away. He wanted me to talk my son-in-law into selling to give us all a good retirement. I’m in retirement.” He waved his hands around. “How can it be better than this?”
“When was this?”
He thought for a moment. “It was the day the company comes and picks up our milk, so it must have been last Thursday.”
“Before Becky’s accident?”
“Yes, I’m positive it was before the accident.” He watched me. “You’ve spent a lot of time with my grandson.”
My cheeks grew hot.
He grinned. “Ah!”
“He told me about Aaron’s fall.” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them. My face grew even hotter. It must be the same color as my hair now.
“That’s a start,” he said.
What did that mean? “Could Deacon Sutter still be angry enough over Aaron’s accident to have something to do with the buggy?”
Grandfather Zook examined my face. His white beard reminded me of Saint Nick’s, and his assessing expression made me wonder if he tried to determine if I was naughty or nice. “Deacon Sutter is a hard man, and he and I certainly don’t agree on most things. He already hurt Timothy as much as his power would allow.”
My brow wrinkled.
“Promise me you will remember that we’ve all made bad choices.”
“Are you talking about Timothy? Asking Aaron to jump on the roof was a bad choice. Is there something else?”
Grandfather Zook shook his head.
“Are you saying that leaving the Amish was a bad choice?”
Grandfather Zook adjusted his crutches on his arms. “You will have to ask him that for yourself. However, I think now he would say ‘no.’”
Across the lawn, Becky beamed at us. Grandfather Zook waved her over. “Come give your grossdaddi a hug too!” Becky hurried over and threw her arms around her grandfather. The business card felt heavy in my hand, and I stepped away so that the two could speak.
Ruth twirled Naomi, and the three-year-old squealed in delight. Her faceless doll peeked out of the pocket of her white apron. The sisters slipped on the wet grass in their bare feet and fell in a laughing heap. I helped them up. Naomi gave me a bright smile, and I could tell she would look just like Becky when she was older.
Seeing Ruth reminded me I needed to ask her a question. “Ruth, can I talk to you a minute?”
She cocked her head at me. “Okay.”
“Becky told you about her interview last Friday, the day of the accident, right?”
Ruth checked to make sure her parents were occupied. “Yes.”
“You called her on the telephone.”
She glanced around again. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Ruth, did you tell anyone about Becky’s interview?”
Ruth scrunched up her nose. She nodded and thought for moment. “I didn’t tell anyone at home because then they would know I’d been using the shed phone, and I would get in trouble.” She angled her head toward her father.
“Did you tell a friend?”
“Not a friend exactly.” She brushed wet grass from her skirt. “I told Esther Yoder.”
“Who is Esther Yoder?”
“She’s the girl Isaac’s going to marry because Becky’s not Amish anymore.”
I took a sharp breath. “Did you tell anyone else?”
“No.”
“Why’d you tell Esther?”
“I saw her in town when I made a delivery to the bakery. She asked me all these questions about Becky. She wanted me to say something bad about my sister, but I wouldn’t.” She rolled a blade a grass between her fingers. “Instead, I told her about the interview and that Becky was driving herself to it. I wanted to show her Becky was fine.”
“Did you tell anyone else this?”
“No.” She shot a nervous glance at her mother who strolled toward us. “Don’t tell her.”
I nodded.
Mrs. Troyer placed a gentle hand on my arm. “Chloe, would you and Becky come inside for a piece of peach pie?”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Troyer’s smile lit up her entire face.
An hour later, Becky finally said good-bye to her family, and we walked back to the Prizm. Becky carried an Amish woven basket full of home-canned pickles, jams, and Amish bread in her hand. I carried Grayson Mathews’s business card.
Inside the car, I stuck the card in my visor so that I would remember to take it in the house. I needed to talk to Timothy about this latest development—and about why he left the Amish. Was there more to it than Aaron’s accident? Grandfather Zook was confident Timothy would tell me, but I wasn’t.
I did a U-turn in front of the tree and headed back home. “Becky, who is Esther Yoder?”
My question woke Becky from her happy daze. “Esther Yoder?”
I glanced at her.
She folded her hands in her lap. “How do you know about her?”
“Ruth told her about your interview.”
She gave me a sideways glance. “Esther wouldn’t have messed with your car. She wouldn’t even know how to open the hood, much less cut the brake line.”
“You’re probably right, but she may have told someone that could. Who is she? Why are you avoiding my question?”
Becky wrinkled her nose, making her look just like her twelve-year-old sister. “Her family owns the bakery downtown.”
“The one where you couldn’t get a job?”
She nodded.
“Do you think Esther had anything to do with that?”
She leaned her head on the window, her eyes downcast.
“Ruth said Esther would marry Isaac if you didn’t.” I took my eyes off the road for just a second to look at her.
She sighed. “Isaac can marry whomever he likes. It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
I wasn’t so sure of that.
“Turn here,” Becky said when we approached an intersection. “This is a shortcut home.”
We drove onto another nameless county road with crop fields on either side. Half a mile ahead, we spotted a pickup truck on its side in the drainage ditch on the opposite side of the road.
Becky’s voice was distressed. “Chloe, the truck is green.”
I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached.