17
Shootfire! When it came to Jake Hertzler, Bethany made mistake after mistake after mistake. She was the one who had introduced him to her father, years ago, on a Sunday morning at church. She mentioned to her father that Jake had accounting skills and was looking for a job. She had done it intentionally—she thought Jake was charming and handsome, and he was. But he was also crafty and cunning and shrewd . . . and now she had discovered that he could be threatening.
Her anger evaporated as she realized, It’s all my fault.
Why had she called Jake and left that message, tipping him off to Tobe’s whereabouts? She was ashamed of her action, embarrassed by it, unsure of what to do about the note from him. What had she done? What did Jake mean—warning Tobe to “leave it alone.” Leave what alone?
Why did she always seem to underestimate Jake?
She knew why. She was raised to believe the best in others—it was ingrained into her. How many times had she been told that if you search for the best in people you’re bound to find it?
But what about people in whom there was no best?
Chase had been following her from room to room as she paced through the farmhouse, never leaving her side for longer than he absolutely had to. She sat at the kitchen table and he slumped under her chair and gazed at her, a worried expression on his furry face. Then his tail began to wag. She bent down and stroked his ears. She knew she needed to start dinner soon, but her thoughts couldn’t leave that note.
She looked at it again. It was definitely Jake’s distinctive handwriting. Rusty must have some involvement with Jake—which made it all the more likely that she had played a role in trashing the garden. Bethany thought back to those three figures she had seen at the back of the garden. She didn’t think any was a man, but Jake had a slight build. Maybe one of those had been Jake, along with Rusty and one of her friends.
She wished she could talk to Rose. Or Galen. Geena? Should she call Allen Turner? Rose had left his business card on the kitchen countertop. But if Tobe heard about this, he would clam up and stop talking to Allen Turner. And then, without realizing the ramifications of clamming up, he would end up taking responsibility for the illegal things Jake had done to the business. She knew her brother’s nature. He would avoid conflict at all cost. Why else had he disappeared for nearly a year?
She folded up the note. She just didn’t know who to talk to or even how they could help. She tried to think straight and gather facts.
One fact in particular stared back at her: Jake was nearby.
Each afternoon, around five-ish, Mim waited at the phone shanty, hoping for a call from Danny Riehl to go stargazing. If he did happen to call, which wasn’t often, it would be around that time of day. He would have finished his evening chores and be checking phone messages for his father before he’d be expected back at the house. She didn’t really think he would call because there was a full moon tonight, round and creamy. Beautiful for the soft light it shed on the fields but too bright for stargazing. Those were the thoughts that were running through Mim’s mind as the phone rang. She took a startled step backward, then lunged for it, sure it was Danny.
Instead, it was Rose, Mim’s mother. “How’s everything going, Mim?”
“Everything’s fine. Well, at Eagle Hill, anyway. Bethany moved into my room so Geena Spencer could stay in her room. There’s a new couple staying in the guest flat. They seem nice, but they’re not around much. Turns out the lady is allergic to horses so she runs from the guest flat to her car with a pink handkerchief over her mouth.”
“I wonder why she came to an Amish farm if she’s allergic to horses.”
Mim had the same thought. “And she needs her food to be gluten free. We’ve been giving her scrambled eggs and applesauce for breakfast and told her they’re gluten free.”
“Mim—those things have always been gluten free.”
“We know. But the lady seemed impressed so we decided not to say anything more.”
“Do you think Geena will stay on for the rest of the week?”
“I hope so. She helped clean up the mess at the community garden.”
“Wait. What? Why was there a mess?”
“Someone trashed the gardens on Tuesday afternoon.”
“What? Why? What happened?”
“Nobody knows.”
Silence. “I’m sorry about that. You’ve all worked so hard on those gardens.”
“No kidding. But everybody has. And the same people helped clean it all up. It almost looks as good as it did on Saturday afternoon. Almost.”
“What else have you been doing?”
“Me? Um . . . I . . .” She’d been sifting through letters for Mrs. Miracle and hoping to go stargazing with Danny Riehl, but she couldn’t tell her mom any of that. “The usual. Chickens, horses, goat.”
“Are the boys behaving?”
“Same as usual. Galen keeps them so busy that they fall asleep early.”
Her mom laughed. “Good for him. That’s pretty smart.”
“How’s Mammi Vera holding up?”
“She’s sticking close to Tobe whenever we’re at Allen Turner’s office.”
“Mom, is everything going to turn out all right for Tobe?”
“I . . . don’t know yet. I hope so. He’s spending a lot of time in depositions.”
Mim knew all about those. She read up on depositions after a letter to Mrs. Miracle mentioned them. “But he’ll be coming home soon, won’t he? Won’t all of you be home soon?”
There was a long pause. “I’ll know more in a day or two. Are you managing by yourselves? Do you think Geena might stay until we return?”
“I can ask her. She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get home.”
“You can ask Galen for help too.”
“I know. He stops by each day.”
“She’s been awful quiet.” Mim wasn’t sure where Bethany had gone on Tuesday, but she had come home a different person. Quiet, defeated. Another reason she was glad Geena was staying.
“I guess we’re all shaken up by Tobe’s return. Give her time, Mim.” Mammi Vera’s voice was calling in the background. “Your grandmother needs some help. I’ll call again when there’s news. And feel free to call Delia’s house. The number is on the kitchen countertop. Bye, Mim.”
Mim hung up the receiver and walked to the house, up to her bedroom, and back to her secret role as Mrs. Miracle. She wished she could talk to her mom about a problem that was brewing for Mrs. Miracle. Bethany had brought over the mail from the Stoney Ridge Times office and the envelope was bursting at the seams. Nearly every letter was about Mrs. Miracle’s advice to “Wringing My Hands.” Readers had all kinds of opinions about whether it was right to meddle in marriages. Four to one ran against Wringing My Hands telling the truth to her friend, Nancy. But what distressed Mim was the actual response from Wringing My Hands. She had absolutely no idea how to respond back to her:
Dear Mrs. Miracle,
I took your advice and thought about whether I would want Nancy to tell me if my husband were having an affair. I would be grateful to my friend for the courage to tell me the truth and not let me remain a fool. So I told Nancy that her dentist husband was having an affair with his hygienist.
Nancy didn’t believe me and said she will never speak to me again.
Really Wringing My Hands
Mrs. Miracle’s sterling advice might not have been quite as wonderful as Mim had thought. Then another letter completely baffled Mim:
Dear Mrs. Miracle,
Have you ever noticed that you often answer a question with a question? Why is that? Are you trying to avoid giving an answer?
Cordially,
Wants an Answer
Oh, boy. What could she say to that? Then she realized she had just done the very thing Wants an Answer accused her of doing.
She pulled out the next letter.
Dear Mrs. Miracle,
I messed things up. And now I don’t know how to fix them.
Sincerely,
Stuck
Mim chewed on the inside of her cheek. Now this, she thought she knew how to answer. For years, her mom had disciplined her two little brothers in just this way and it always worked:
You can do two things:
1) Apologize (sincerely).
2) Do something that helps someone else.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Miracle
On Thursday, after Bethany and Mim had spent a few hours tackling another corner of the Sisters’ House, they walked into town to take care of a few errands. Chase had tagged along with them to the Sisters’ House, where the sisters kept slipping him snacks, and then trotted behind the girls as they walked to town. When they reached Main Street, Mim handed Bethany the envelope that contained next week’s Mrs. Miracle column. She was proud of herself for being ahead of her deadline.
“Be sure to ask for my paycheck,” Mim said.
“You mean, my paycheck,” Bethany said. “Don’t forget that it’s made out to me.”
Mim frowned. “I’m going to get something at Pearl’s Gift Store. Come on, Chase. We’ll meet you back at this end of Main Street in ten minutes.” Chase’s ears pricked up at the mention of his name. Tongue lolling, tail wagging, he trotted behind Mim.
Bethany went into the Stoney Ridge Times office and asked the woman at the receptionist’s desk for the envelopes for Mrs. Miracle. She wasn’t the usual receptionist and peered curiously at Bethany as she handed her the manila envelope. “I’m Penny Williams. I’m a new hire. Just started today. You can’t be . . . you aren’t . . . Mrs. Miracle?” Her voice was hushed in awe.
“No,” Bethany answered truthfully. “Her true identity is top secret.”
“Of course you couldn’t be Mrs. Miracle. She’s got to be an old woman! Please tell her I love the column. It’s getting a lot of buzz—everyone thinks Mrs. Miracle gives such comforting wisdom.”
Bethany had to bite hard on her lower lip to keep from bursting into laughter. What would Penny Williams say if she knew Mrs. Miracle was a fourteen-year-old!
As the receptionist went to get Mrs. Miracle’s paycheck, Bethany heard the sound of tires screeching, then a blood-chilling scream that sounded like Mim. Bethany dropped the column on the receptionist’s desk and bolted to the door. She ran all the way down Main Street. Her bonnet blew off and a car had to stop short to let her cross the street.
There, lying in the middle of the street, was Chase. Mim was beside herself, shrieking that he’d been hit by a car, tears running down her face as she hovered over the poor dog. Bethany lifted Chase’s head, and his eyes opened but he didn’t even whimper. Between Mim’s sobs she could hear him breathing hard. He was still alive. A crowd of people started to gather and suddenly beside her was Jimmy Fisher. He knelt down and put a hand on Chase’s chest. He looked up at Bethany. “Go get my buggy. It’s in front of the Hay & Grain.” She hesitated, not wanting to leave Chase. “Go now.”
She ran to it and drove the buggy over to where Chase lay. “Hurry, Jimmy. We can get him to the vet.”
But Jimmy didn’t hurry. His hand was still on Chase’s chest. A soft look passed over his face. “I’m sorry. He’s gone.”
Bethany looked at Chase, feeling utterly helpless. Sweet old Chase lay dead. She would not let herself cry, not now. She needed to be strong for her sister. Mim held her hands in tight fists against her mouth.
Jimmy took over and lifted Chase in his arms. “I’ll take him to Eagle Hill and bury him.” Bethany spread a buggy blanket on the floor of the buggy and gently laid Chase on top. As Jimmy guided a stricken Mim into the buggy, Bethany remembered her bonnet and walked down the block to look for it. She found it in the gutter and bent down to pick it up. When she looked up, she noticed Rusty from the Group Home, about one hundred yards away, standing against a tree, watching the whole thing with an unreadable look on her face. Bethany locked eyes with her, until Rusty did a sharp about-face and walked away.
Back at the buggy, Bethany asked Mim if she had seen who had hit Chase. “No. It happened so fast. I was crossing the street and Chase was behind me. The next thing I knew, I heard the sound of a big thump, then a car rushed off.”
“Did you recognize it?” Jimmy asked. “Or the driver?”
Mim shook her head, tears spilling. “I can’t remember the car at all. It happened too fast. All I could think about was Chase, lying there on the ground.” She put her face in her hands. “I should have been watching him more carefully.”
“It’s not your fault, Mim,” Jimmy said. “These things happen.”
“But Mim—”
“Bethany, not now,” Jimmy said sharply. “Hop in.” He helped Mim and Bethany into the buggy, then climbed in and drove them back to the house. He took the dog out, and Chase drooped in his arms, which started Mim sobbing all over again. “Bethany, where’s a shovel?”
“I’ll get it.” Bethany went to the barn and brought back a shovel. She would not cry. She would not.
Sammy and Luke bolted out of the house, Geena following behind. When they saw Chase in Jimmy’s arms, they stopped abruptly on the porch stairs. It was Luke who pierced Bethany’s heart. Understanding settled over him first, she saw his face go utterly stoic—a strange look on an eleven-year-old boy. His head was up and slightly tilted, his gaze focused on Jimmy, and something about him seemed like their father in every way.
“What’s wrong?” Sammy said, his forehead puckered with worry, his eyes too wide and bright. “What’s wrong with Chase?”
“He’s dead,” Luke said coldly. Sammy burst into sobs. His whole heart shone on his face.
Tears prickled Bethany’s eyes and she bit her lower lip to hold them back. Not now. Not now.
Geena joined them as they walked to the hill beside the house. Mim said Chase loved to sit on that hill and watch the sheep in their pen, so Jimmy chose a beautiful tree with a large canopy and started to dig. He laid Chase gently, ever so gently, in the hole, then put a big handful of dirt in the boys’ hands. Geena said a few reassuring words about what a good dog Chase was and sang a hymn that no one else recognized, but they liked it. Then they dropped their dirt on the little grave, and made a great ceremony of filling it and piling rocks. By the time the funeral was over, the afternoon was nearly past.
Geena and Mim walked down the hill with Jimmy and Bethany and the boys trailing behind. “I don’t know how I’ll tell Rose,” Bethany said, about halfway down the hill. “She adored Chase.”
Luke spun around and glared at Bethany. “It’s your fault!”
She stared at him, trying to understand him. “That’s not true, Luke. It’s not true and it’s not fair.”
“With Mom gone, you were supposed to take care of us!”
“Wait a minute!”
Luke’s eyes flashed, and he started to protest, but Bethany wouldn’t let him interrupt. He shook his head as she came up to him.
“Listen to me,” she said. “This was just a terrible accident. It was no one’s fault.”
“It’s your fault!” Luke shouted as he lifted his face. Angry tears filled his eyes. “You should have been watching out for him. You should have stopped this!”
“Luke, I—”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He lurched around and ran back up the hill, disappearing over the ridge.
Bethany worried so about Luke. She knew he was edging up to manhood, his heart sore and lonely with grieving for their father. He’d taken to doing and saying things he’d never have dared to try to get away with when their father was alive. She started to follow, but Jimmy grabbed her arm.
“Let him go. It wasn’t your fault.”
A wave of guilt crashed over Bethany. She was sinking beneath it. “Luke’s right. If I’d been paying attention . . .”
“Don’t think like that. It wasn’t your fault, understand?” He turned her so she had to look at him. “Bethany, did you happen to see that pickup truck that hit Chase?”
“No. I was in the newsp—I was in a store.” She looked up. “You must have, though, if you knew it was a pickup truck.”
“I can’t be sure . . . and I only saw it once before, at twilight. Months ago. It was at Windmill Farm, at Hank Lapp’s birthday party.”
Bethany stilled. Oh please, no.
“It looked like the same black pickup that Jake Hertzler drove.”
Another warning from Jake.
Later that night, Bethany tiptoed into Luke’s room and sat on his bed. She rubbed his shoulders to soften the ache she knew was there, and to comfort him. “I’m sorry about Chase, Luke. So very sorry.”
Luke wiped his eyes with his pajama sleeve. “There’ll never be another dog like Chase.”
“No. Chase will always be special. But there will be another dog to love. Chase wouldn’t want you to stop loving another dog just because you loved him so much. He’d want you to honor his memory by loving again. We’ll find you a special dog.”
“Chase came to us. We didn’t go to him. That’s the way it is with the best dogs. They find you.”
“Then we’ll be waiting.”
They stayed like that a long time, just listening to Pennsylvania night sounds through the open window—the soft hoot of a great horned owl and the harsh squawk of a Northern Mockingbird and, now and then, the steady clip-clop of a horse pulling a buggy—each of which had their own way of giving comfort.