Still Life in Shadows (9 page)

As he ate the moist piece of pie, he pretended to read the newspaper but spent more time peering over it in the hopes of seeing Mari. How long did she need to stay in the office in the back? Trying to make his lunch last longer, he’d purposely eaten the pie slowly, chewing each
bite more times than necessary. He accepted a refill of tea, taking small sips. Lifting the last forkful of pie to his mouth, he felt his heart sink. Perhaps today would not be the day after all. He’d have to pick up his newspaper and head back to the shop, seeking out another time to ask her for a date.

Suddenly, she emerged from the kitchen’s double doors. His heart pounded as she walked over to him, greeted him with a smile, and asked how he was.

He wiped his mouth with the napkin he’d laid across his lap. How embarrassing it would be if later he realized he’d been talking with pie smudged across his mouth. But the napkin picked up no blackberry stains from his lips. He wiped again, just to make sure. “I’m doing well. Um … Yeah. How are you?”

“Better than I was. We had a bit of a problem this morning with our water heater, but it’s fixed now.”

“That’s good.” He clenched the napkin in his hand, wondered where to put it. “I mean … that’s too bad the heater caused a problem.”

“But good that it’s okay now?” She asked it like a question, like she was helping with what he meant to say.

He smiled. “Yes, exactly.” He found a spot for the napkin by his empty plate.

“The repair cost me over two hundred dollars. With this tourist season nearly over, I hope I can recoup that.” She seemed sad, and he so wanted to see her smile.

So he smiled again, watching for her reaction.

“I suppose it could be worse. You know, it could always be worse. That’s what I tell myself.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “That’s a good thing to remember.” Then he decided he must do what he came to do. After a sip of tea to clear his throat, he looked at her. “Would you like to go out with me to the Bavarian festival in Gatlinburg this weekend?”

At first there was a smile. Then the smile faded as she said, “No, I don’t think so.”

He forced the lump down his throat. “No?” The word sounded hollow.

“I can’t leave Kiki alone on a Saturday for very long.”

He wondered why she couldn’t leave her. She was thirteen, quite capable of being on her own, wasn’t she? Yes, the child was a bit slow, but couldn’t Mari just give her a DVD to watch and pop her some popcorn? He watched Mari move from him, and when her back was to him, taking orders for a couple at the opposite end of the counter, Gideon decided that the conversation between her and him had ended.

After that, he opened his paper and read until he realized that each headline was running into the next. He couldn’t concentrate on what the governor was proposing for the state of North Carolina or about how a man was arrested at Chimney Rock for desecrating the tourist spot with a can of lavender paint.

As he left the tearoom, defeat clouded his mind. With each step back to his workplace, he heard her reply, “No, I don’t think so.” How could she say no to him? How could she steal his hope from yesterday? He’d planned out what to say and how to ask her out so carefully. And now—dashed. No more. The pie soured as it mixed with the sandwich inside his stomach. The day seemed darker, gone was the autumn luster it had held earlier.

What was the matter with him? Why did he take life so hard? Ormond often reminded him that he needed to laugh more, fret less, and certainly not let his past continue to eat away at him.

About a year after Gideon had obtained his GED, Ormond commented that Gideon could benefit from a creative writing class. Judith Lane Russell, Ormond’s sister-in-law, taught at the community college and just like Ormond, she encouraged Gideon to attend. Gideon figured he’d write about lush fields and horse-drawn carriages, the natural and typical aspects of an Amish life. How surprised he was when his notebook filled with descriptions and anecdotes about his remote and unrelenting father instead.

My father is an angry and bitter man, dressing in those emotions each
day. They are part of his attire, like the suspenders he’s worn since he was a boy.

“You write well,” Judith observed after reading a few paragraphs. “Writing like this serves as therapy, too, you know.”

Therapy? What did she mean? All he knew of therapy was from TV shows where the psychiatrist sat in a chair with a pen and notebook while his patient lay on a couch, confessing he was not going to let his life be ruined any longer. Yet the more Gideon wrote during that continuing education creative writing course, the more he’d vowed not to let his father destroy any more of his life.

“He’s not going to control me from here,” Gideon muttered aloud as he took his last heavy strides toward the shop.

T
he first person he saw when he stepped into the garage was Amos—Amos seated on an overturned paint bucket as though he had nothing to do, no place to go. Gideon bit back the urge to give him a piece of his mind. He waited until Luke received payment from a customer and she drove off in her minivan, pleased that Luke had done such a fine job.

Then he called Amos into his office. The boy slithered in as though he were some sort of reptile.

Gideon wasn’t sure where to start, so he just took a stab at it and hoped his words came out gentle but firm. “You aren’t happy here. You need to look for another job.”

Amos nodded and then seemed to be deep in thought.

Gideon was about to repeat himself when Amos interjected, “I have.”

“You have what?”

“Looked for another place to work. Cars just aren’t my thing. I realize that.”

“You do?” Perhaps the kid had more going on upstairs than he let on. But who would hire him? “So you have looked elsewhere?”

“Yes.” Amos’s face shone.

“Where?”

“The tearoom up the street. The woman there said I could have an interview.”

“Which woman?”

“Kiki’s sister. What’s her name?”

“Mari?”

Amos nodded. “I call her Miss Yanagi.”

“When’s your interview?”

“Friday.” Amos looked at his feet. When he made eye contact, he muttered, “I guess I should have told you before now.”

Gideon wanted to say that he doubted he’d get the job if he didn’t look more awake or comb his hair or act enthusiastic. But he recalled how excited the boy had been when he first jumped off Bruce’s truck. Perhaps that spark was like an ember inside him that would come to full flame during his interview. Gideon started to say something, but the phone rang and he went to answer it instead, motioning for Amos to get back to work. Or whatever it was that he was doing before Gideon had called him into his office.

“Russell Brothers Auto Repair.” Gideon hoped the caller wouldn’t be long-winded—he wanted to get back to licking his wounds and wondering why Mari had refused him.

“Hey bro, how are you? Long time no see.”

Gideon felt his skin grow clammy. The voice held a distinctive lisp. Moriah? But why would Moriah be calling him? “Who is this?”

“It’s me.” Laughter followed. “Moriah.”

Gideon imagined him at a truck stop somewhere outside of Harrisburg, a duffel bag at his feet, eager to leave the farm. “Where are you?”

“Sunny Orlando.”

Orlando? Why did he choose Orlando? “As in Florida? You’ve traveled far.”

“Yeah, got here about three years ago.”

“You’ve been gone from home for three years?” Gideon felt his throat catch; he swallowed hard.

“I had to get out of there. He’s a beast.”

Gideon shivered as though cold water had been splashed against his face. He didn’t need any clarification when Moriah spoke of a beast.

“So I heard through the grapevine that you welcome anyone. Does that include me?” Moriah gave a light laugh.

As he spoke, Gideon made some mental calculations. The last time he’d heard his brother’s voice, Moriah had been five. That would make him twenty-one now. He had a lisp back then; it was a shame he still had it now. “Hey, I’d like to come for a visit.”

Gideon tried to clear his head. He still wasn’t sure this was his baby brother from their hometown outside of Carlisle. Except for the occasional mispronunciation of
th
, this boy sounded self-assured, bold, and friendly. He didn’t have a trace of an Amish accent. “Up to Twin Branches?”

“I found it on the map.” He laughed and said finding it wasn’t an easy thing to do. Twin Branches was smaller than Carlisle.

“How did you know I’m here?”

“Everyone knows, bro. They call you the Getaway Savior.” He laughed, bringing Gideon back to long days in the sun plowing the fields and milking the Jersey cows, watching the clothes drying on the expansive clothesline behind the old homestead.

“So if it’s okay with you, I’ll be stopping by to see you. One day you’ll hear the doorbell ring, and it’ll be me.”

“I look forward to that,” said Gideon and then felt his words sounded as though he was speaking to a stranger and not to someone he had carried on his back from the orchard. When he placed the phone back in the cradle, he sat at his desk, his mind racing. He hoped his brother would come to see him. Although Gideon had been in contact with a few relatives who were in Ohio, he hadn’t seen any family members since he’d been in these mountains. He wondered what Moriah looked like. He’d been a blond-haired kid with chubby cheeks, causing the older women to playfully tug at his face and kiss his forehead.

That’s two of us
, thought Gideon.
Two of us who have now left the
Beast.
He’d heard from his aunt Grace that his three older sisters were all married now, promising God to be good Amish women, create lavish quilts, and raise large families. Gideon knew that they’d never leave Pennsylvania; they’d never trade the familiar for the unknown. They would forever let
uffgevva
—submission—be their lifelong mantra.

His thoughts rushed to recollections of straw-brimmed hats, walks to the schoolhouse carrying lunch pails, and chatter among friends during a softball game at recess. He remembered the excitement in Moriah’s eyes that day when their cousin Sadie married Jacob Swartzendruber, the last event he had attended before running away from his home. He’d left the festivities early to pack his bag and then stowed it under his bed until his planned hour of escape. He’d not only packed his clothes, but apples and oranges, and even a few slices of ham for the road. He remembered the determination he’d felt then, fueled by the consuming desire to leave his home once and for all.
He’d show him.

Gideon got to his feet. If he busied himself, he could forget his father. On the way to the garage, he reminded Ormond to do the payroll for the two-week pay period. While Ormond had given Gideon co-ownership of the shop, he still had to cut and sign the checks. There were times he forgot, and Gideon had to gently remind him that it was time to get out his checkbook.

K
iki walked home from school slowly, her fleece jacket tied around her waist. She stopped and knotted the sleeves twice before nearing her driveway. School had seemed long and tedious today, and she had wanted to scream out many times, especially during math class, but held her breath instead. Her book bag, heavy against her shoulder, reminded her that she had lots of homework. She saw Angie in the front lawn of her grandma’s house, peering over a bicycle that lay by one of the bare dogwood trees.

Her first reaction was to suggest that she and Angie go on a bike ride together. Then she remembered. She had to go to the repair shop to work. “Hey,” she said. She saw that the bike’s back tire was as flat as one of the arrowheads she inherited from Grandpa. “How did that happen?”

Angie straightened. “We were racing on Saturday over behind the funeral home and I hit something.”

Kiki bent over to study the tire. “Glass, I bet. Yeah, glass.”

Angie scowled at her.

Come on
, Kiki thought,
why do you have to be so mean like that?
She pushed the expression aside and brought the bike to its upright position. “Take it to the shop,” she said.

“To the Russell Brothers’ place?” Angie shielded her eyes from the sun.

“Yeah, we fix bikes there.”

“We?”

“I work there now.” Kiki felt pride fill her heart with warmth at just hearing her own words. Angie might laugh at her and not want her company, but at least Kiki had a job.

A truck pulled up and parked by Angie’s grandma’s front lawn. Out stepped a large burly man in a pair of Levi’s with a tattoo of a coiled snake on his arm. “Angie, get in the truck.”

“Why?”

“Your mama wants you home now.” Kiki figured Angie’s uncle Reginald had to be one of the most despised men in all of Twin Branches. She recalled how when she and Mari had first moved into the house to rent, Reginald had glared at them from across the yard, muttering about how the neighborhood was going downhill fast due to the recent Chinese invasion. Kiki had wanted to glare back at him, but Mari gave her a stern look and told her to start unpacking.