Still Life in Shadows (16 page)

“The beginning?” Ormond asked.

“Yeah. To look at the bicycle, that costs eight. Then if you need new tires, then I add more to it.” From her pocket, she removed a folded slip of paper. “It’s here. Gideon wrote it all down for me. I look at this and I know what to charge.” Her smile evaporated to a frown. “It’s numbers which means math. I don’t have a mind for math, no mind for math.”

Ormond and Luke laughed, but Gideon’s somber thoughts kept him from joining in their amicable conversation. “Has anyone seen Moriah?”

“Not today,” said Luke. He dried his hands and sauntered back to his bay.

Ormond busied himself with today’s edition of the paper and said
that he had not. He turned back a page to show Gideon a story, claiming that Ashlyn had a rather controversial column in there about local ski resorts not updating their lifts and charging too much for ski passes. “The owners won’t be pleased,” he said. “Jack and Mary told me that they are already losing money this season and need to increase their fees.”

“Kiki, have you seen Moriah?” Gideon stood in front of her.

Kiki only moved her keepsake toolbox onto the center of the floor and sat beside it, her legs crossed. Her orange puppet friend lay beside her like a silent observer.

“Kiki?”

“What? I have to be ready. Kids are coming with their bicycles. Lots of kids.”

“Have you seen Moriah today?”

“No,” she said quickly and looked at her feet.

Gideon stepped closer to her. “You haven’t seen Moriah?”

“I said no! For Pete’s sake, I said no.” Grabbing the puppet, she clutched it with both hands and buried her nose in its fur.

Gideon knelt in front of her. “Do you know where he might be?”

She looked at him then. “I can’t lie. Lying is a sin. Did you know that?”

“So I have heard.”

“The Ten Commandments say not to tell a lie.”

Gently, he said, “Yes, I know.”

Her eyes darted to the front door, the bays, and then back at her feet. Flexing her toes inside her tennis shoes, she let out a long sigh. “Angie saw him.”

“Angie Smithfield? The tattletale?”

Kiki raised her voice. “She can be nice, too.”

“I’m sure she can be. No one is all bad.”

Kiki ran her nose over her puppet like a puppy sniffing a new toy.

“What did Angie tell you?”

“That she saw him last night.”

“Angie saw Moriah?”

“She told me that today in math class. Moriah was walking down the street with Tamara, and then they got into her car.”

Gideon tried to place who Tamara was. When it dawned on him, he asked, “Tamara McAlister?”

Kiki would not meet his eyes. “Reginald’s girlfriend.”

Gideon stood. “Thanks, Kiki.” He wasn’t sure how this would help him know where his brother was right now, but at least he could put two and two together. Last night when Moriah slipped out, he must have met up with Tamara. Gideon knew that his brother frequented the local pub. Perhaps he’d run into Tamara there and gone off with her. Perhaps he was still with her. Gideon wished Moriah would choose another woman. Not only was Tamara already Reginald’s girlfriend, but it was common knowledge that Reginald despised minorities, including all Asians, Jews, Native Americans, blacks—and ex-Amish. When Gideon first started working for Ormond, Reginald had thrown dozens of eggs at the walls and windows of the shop. After three days of that, Ormond had called the sheriff. Henry promised to pay the man a visit. “Twin Branches is a peaceful town,” Henry had emphasized over Reginald’s callous injections that minorities needed to stay out of the region. “And you better not be doing anything more to show your ill feelings, or I will arrest you.” The egg-depositing had stopped.

“I need a keepsake box at home for my collection!” Kiki bellowed when Gideon walked toward his office.

“I know. I know.”

“I told the truth.”

“And I thank you for that.” He was about to say more, something his father might have said about not being rewarded every time you did the right thing, but he hesitated as a young boy with a green Schwinn bicycle walked into the shop through the front door.

When the boy saw Kiki, he said, “I brought my bike. Can you fix it?”

Kiki smiled like she’d just won an award at the state fair. Jumping
to her feet, she said, “I can do it. Do you have eight dollars?”

Gideon heard Ormond laugh and felt that if there was one thing she did right, it was to bring some humor and warmth into the shop.

A
s usual, that evening after closing up the shop, Gideon walked home. But instead of going inside when he reached the apartment complex’s parking lot, he got into his truck. With one eye on the road and the other scanning the sidewalks, he drove up and down the streets of Twin Branches. He slowed when he saw a tall blond-headed figure walking along in front of the ice cream shop. But as the man turned, he realized it was not Moriah.

Parking across from the Rusty Saddle Bar and Grille, he watched men and women enter and exit. When it grew dark and cold, the streetlights flickered on. He buttoned his jacket up to his neck and wished he was holding a hot cup of green tea.
Where could Moriah be?
He didn’t know if he’d made new friends or if he already had another local hangout besides the pub.

Restless and impatient, Gideon left and drove the mile to the Piggly Wiggly. Inside he bought a pound of ground beef, a pack of hamburger buns, and some mustard. He searched for Moriah, scanning the beer aisle, but didn’t see him. Remembering that he was low on bread, he added a loaf of whole wheat to his cart. He hoped his recent order of six jars of apple butter would arrive this week from the Pennsylvania Country Shoppe because he was down to his last jar at home.

At his apartment, he formed the beef into patties and fried one for himself. Placing it on a bun, he added generous squirts of mustard and ketchup, and two Mount Olive pickle slices. He would have put some Hellman’s on his meal, but he was out of mayonnaise. He poured himself a glass of sweet tea and sat down to eat in front of the TV. His mind wandered as the local news played before him. He considered praying, asking God to keep Moriah safe. As he put his plate into the dishwasher, he decided that asking God for help was not a bad idea.

H
e woke at two-fifteen to pots clanging in the kitchen. At first, he thought he was dreaming, but then he realized that none of his dreams ever came with surround-sound effects.

Stumbling out of bed, he entered the darkened living room and made his way into the kitchen. A light was on, allowing him to see Moriah shirtless in a pair of dirt-stained jeans, standing by an opened cupboard. “What’s going on?” Gideon asked, his voice raspy with sleep.

“Making some chow.” Moriah had a can opener in one hand and a can of Campbell’s chicken soup in the other.

“Where were you?” It was then that Gideon saw the gash above his brother’s right eye. Dried blood filled it. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” Moriah turned his back in search of a spoon.

“How did you get that cut?” Gideon skirted around him to get a better view. Not only was there a wound over his eye, but his cheek was cut, and blood was still oozing from it. Gideon grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser by the sink and reached up to wipe his brother’s cheek. “What happened?”

S
heepishly, Moriah grinned and then gave Gideon’s hand a push away from his face. Slurring his words, he said, “Some folks around here don’t like me, I guess.”

“Who?” He’d been here less than a month; could he really already have enemies?

“That bigot.”

Gideon spoke the name of the first person who came to mind. “Reginald?”

“Is that who that idiot is?”

Gideon stepped closer, feeling small next to his brother’s six-foot-two frame. “Be careful.” The warning came out stronger than he’d wanted it to.

Moriah waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about me.”

Gideon smelled the Jim Beam on Moriah’s breath, but there was something else that caused Gideon to worry. His brother’s pupils were larger than normal, and the rims of his eyes were red.

“I said don’t worry!” Moriah was yelling now.

“Shh. You’ll wake the neighbors.”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet!” With that, Moriah let out a stream of curses and pushed Gideon against the cabinets, knocking his head against the wooden frame. Stunned, Gideon bit back anger. Something told him to go now, and he listened to that something. Turning, he bolted from the kitchen. He would get out of the way, back to his room. It was clear that Moriah was in no mood to be confronted.

In his bedroom with the door shut, Gideon sat on the edge of his bed, fear rising in his chest. Rubbing the back of his head, he felt the knot under his hair. Closing his eyes, he wondered why he’d been so anxious for Moriah to get back here.

T
he next morning, he was glad to see his brother sprawled out on the couch, the blanket covering his bare legs. Not wanting to wake him, Gideon showered, dressed, neglected to eat breakfast, and left the apartment. Moriah did not stir once, even when the front door to the apartment stuck and Gideon had to forcibly pry it open.

Although the sun was just coming out over the horizon, Gideon’s walk to work was without its usual energetic strides. What a shame to not be able to enjoy the sound of birds and the way the clouds sprang to life as the sun lit them with its rays. It didn’t help that Gideon could not stop the memories of his father’s chastisement as they took over his thoughts.

G
ideon pushed the shed door open. He peered into the darkness to see a figure cowering over by the bags of fertilizer. “Are you all right?”

The instructor, Judith Lane Russell, had asked the class to tell their stories in third person and then in first, just for the sake of changing the point of view. When she read Gideon’s six pages told in first and then the same story recounted in third, she asked if Gideon could see it.

“See what?” he’d asked. He didn’t want to confess that he hadn’t had much education. He’d finished eighth grade at the Amish school
and was now enrolled in mechanics training at Ormond’s expense so that he could obtain his auto mechanic’s certification. But reading and writing English had never been his strong suit.

“You are more honest when you write about yourself in third person.”

“I am?”

She nodded. “It happens a lot. We seem to feel more freedom to write about those hard places when we write as though we are strangers looking in on the situation.”

Gideon had been only a young man of seventeen then, but her words stuck in him. He would carry them with him always.

H
e expected that Moriah might make it to work by the afternoon, but only Kiki showed up. Setting her bicycle in its usual spot, she began chattering about school and how it had been two weeks since she’d had to pay a visit to Principal Peppers’ office.

“Can you believe it, Gideon?” she asked a few times until he finally responded.

“No, I can’t.” He shoved Moriah’s grin from his mind and looked at her. Her short hair was in two barrettes today, one was a cat’s paw and the other was a cat’s tail. He wondered if the set came with a third, that of a cat’s face. “I bet the principal is getting bored without your visits.”

He waited for her retort—something fun and teasing, but she was silent. Bracing her hands against the storage room door, she gave out a light moan. Then, with no more warning, she fell against the door like a sack of cement and slid down to the floor.

“Kiki!” Gideon shouted.

Instantly, Ormond rose to his feet. Seeing Kiki on the floor, he turned to Gideon. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Gideon knelt beside the girl, noting her closed eyes and feeling the cool skin on her forehead. “Kiki,” he said. “Are you all right?”

Ormond was on the phone, and after a moment, Gideon realized
he’d called the tearoom. When he hung up, he said, “She’ll be right over. She said not to call 911, she knows what to do.”

“Kiki.” Gideon tried to rouse her. Her chalky complexion worried him, and wondering what one did in a situation like this, felt her pulse. Her eyelids fluttered when he asked, “Kiki, can you hear me?”

Minutes later, Mari was kneeling over Kiki. She’d brought a plastic cup of orange juice with a lid attached and a straw that bent like a wayward whisker. “Kiki,” she said, curving a hand around her shoulders. “Sit up.”

Gideon thought that making the girl sit up and drink was a bit odd, but he said nothing.

Mari must have noticed his puzzled expression. “Kiki has low blood sugar and needs the natural sugar from the juice.” She placed the cup of juice by her side, and again tried to raise her sister with one arm around her shoulders.