Halfway through the night I lay awake going over in my mind everything that I had learned. How could all the people from the victims of the haircutting be related? Grandfather Zook, Leah and her two friends, Sadie, and Ezekiel. The only things that they all had in common was they were Amish and had their hair or beard cut by some unknown assailant. Other than that there wasn’t any known connection. However, I was able to group them.
Sadie and Ezekiel were together because of their secret, possibly not so secret, engagement.
Abby and Ezekiel were family.
The three Amish best friends were together.
Then there was Grandfather Zook. He didn’t fit into any group. Perhaps because he was the one who stuck out, then he was the key to the case. If I fit Grandfather Zook’s puzzle piece into place, maybe the rest would fall in line too.
I sighed. To see Grandfather Zook I would have to visit the Troyer’s farm. I didn’t want to get the Troyers in any more trouble with the bishop than they already were. Thinking of the bishop turned my thoughts to the deacon. What was he doing talking to Collette today? He didn’t seem to be enjoying the conversation, but they were an odd pair. Curt and Brock standing a few feet away making catcalls to the cheerleaders made the scene even more peculiar.
Of all the people Dylan could hire to work on the house, why Curt and Brock? Was he really going to knock down that wall in the living room? I pulled the covers up over my head as when I was frightened at night as a child. Timothy and I agreed not to tell Becky that Curt and Brock were inside the house. She was making great progress getting over the trauma of the summer, and we didn’t want anything or anyone to upset that.
Dylan’s charm came off phony to me. I didn’t trust him. I thought a distant landlord was bad, but I have since discovered that one living down the street was much worse. I needed to get out of this rental, which was a shame because I loved the house. It had so much character.
My thoughts were muddled. Silently, I prayed for clarity and for sleep.
A scream from the next bedroom shook me from my thoughts. Fully awake, the sound was even more eerie than when it woke me from a deep sleep. Becky’s nightmares were back. Gigabyte slipped under the blanket as I found my slippers. He wasn’t going to risk me stomping on his tail again.
I stepped into Becky’s room. Outside the window, the streetlight reflected off the falling snowflakes. We’d wake up to several inches of snow the next morning.
“Ah!” Becky sat up straight in bed, her eye clenched shut and fists shaped into tiny, pale balls.
Remembering my chin knock the last time, I touched her shoulder from an arm’s length away. “Becky? Becky! Wake up!”
Her eyes snapped open, and she panted, holding her chest.
I took a step closer. “Lay back down.” I pressed down on her shoulder until she reclined. “You had another nightmare.” I patted her hand.
“I-I’m . . . sorry.” Her breathing was heavy.
“It’s fine. Take a deep breath.”
She lay there just breathing for a full minute. Then, she said, “I’m better.”
“Maybe we should talk to someone about your nightmares.”
She blinked at me. “Who?” Her eyes reflected the ambient night-light, like Gigabyte’s.
“A counselor. A pastor. This is a deeper problem and these episodes are happening more often.” I almost added “psychiatrist,” but thought that would be pushing it.
“I don’t want anyone to know. They will tell.”
“A counselor or pastor can’t tell anyone anything you say in confidence. It’s part of their job.”
She licked her chapped lips. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it.” I tucked the sheet and blankets over her again and started to leave.
She grabbed my arm. “Chloe, wait.”
I sat back down on the bed.
“I’ve been thinking about something.”
“What is it?”
“I do want to go to college. Will you help me study for the GED?”
I smiled. “Of course. I’ll help you any way I can.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad.”
I started to stand, and she grabbed my arm again. “And I want to cut my hair.”
“Your hair?”
“I’m not Amish anymore. It’s a heavy weight pulling on the back of my head. It gives me headaches. I think if I cut it, the nightmares will stop.”
“Becky, your nightmares aren’t related to the length of your hair.”
“I know that, but then, they kind of are.”
Her parents wouldn’t like this. I knew it. Her jeans and makeup were one thing: the jeans could be replaced by plain clothes, and the makeup could be washed away by soap. Her uncut hair would never be uncut again. Even if it grew back to its impressive length, it had still been cut.
I thought of Sadie and the other girls. Their hair had been cut when they didn’t want it to be. Someone else made the choice for them in a brutal fashion. I winced. Maybe I had been pressuring the girls too much. I was engrossed in the facts instead of considering their loss.
Becky cutting her hair would be the final statement that she was no longer Amish and wouldn’t be going back. Aaron came to mind. I knew Becky cared for him, but he was baptized. If he left the Amish to be with her, he would be shunned. It would not be the awkward tightrope Becky and Timothy walk. For Aaron, it would be complete exile, as if he never existed. The Troyers would have to shun him too.
Would she be Amish again for Aaron?
I sighed. Becky’s hair wasn’t my decision. I squeezed her hand. “Whatever you decide about your hair is fine with me. Long, short, buzz cut—it doesn’t matter.”
“Thank you, Chloe.”
“Promise me something. Before you cut it off, pray about it.”
“I promise.”
I finished tucking her in and left the room.