A Plain Disappearance (14 page)

She pushed her black bonnet back, revealing the white prayer cap underneath. “You think so?”

I nodded. “Is she afraid of her father?”

She played with the black ribbon of her bonnet. “Afraid? Her father is stern, but she never said she was afraid of him.”

“Maybe she didn’t say she was, but did she ever seem to be? How did she act when she talked about her father?”

“Sad,” was all Ruth would say.

I dropped my questions about Anna’s father for the time being and pulled my gloves farther up on my wrists. “Did Anna ever mention Katie having an English friend named Jason?”

Her head snapped in my direction. “How did you know about him?”

“Danny knows Jason from his delivery job.”

Ruth blushed. She had a terrible crush on Danny. It didn’t matter that he was ten years older and had left the Amish. “Is he Danny’s
freiden
?”

I shook my head. “Only an acquaintance, but Jason has spoken to him about Katie. Was Jason a boyfriend of Katie’s?”

Ruth wrinkled her nose. “
Nee
. He’s an
Englischer
, and Nathan Garner courted Katie. Anna and Katie’s
daed
would be furious.”

We were back to the dad again. “Why?”

She shivered. “Anna’s
daed
has a temper, and he doesn’t like
Englischers
. He thinks they are lazy.”

“Do you know why Caleb stopped courting Katie?”

She shook her head
no
. Abruptly, she stood. “Christmas dinner will be soon. I should go inside and help
Mamm
.” She left the barn without waiting for me to walk back with her.

I let Ruth go, knowing she wanted to be alone. All of the changes in her life—Becky leaving, Katie’s death, my arrival in Appleseed Creek—couldn’t be easy for the Amish teenager. She had always been told what to believe, and her brother and sister, whom she respected and loved, decided that they wanted to believe something else and have a different, non-Amish kind of life. Ruth told me once that she would never consider leaving the Amish, but her siblings choosing another path had to give her pause. My relationship with Timothy must make it that much more difficult.

I had only been a year older than Ruth when my mother died. I knew how a girl in her early teens wasn’t equipped for dramatic upheaval. Ruth was upset, and her friend, Anna, was mourning.

My cell phone was heavy in my coat pocket. It was after eleven in the morning in California. I could no longer argue with myself that it was too early to call.

I gritted my teeth and called my father.

“Yes?” Sabrina’s brisk voice snapped in my ear.

“Merry Christmas, Sabrina. This is Chloe.”

“I know it is you, Chloe. Your number came up on up on your father’s phone.”

I laughed hollowly. “Can I speak to Dad?”

“What about?” Her voice was sharp.

“I—I just want to wish him a Merry Christmas.”

“Your father’s not available right now. He’s with his children. He works so hard. I insisted that he spend the day with his children. No interruptions.”

And what was I? An interruption?
A stab of jealousy hit me in the gut. “Oh.”

“Did you receive the Christmas card I sent?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you,” I murmured.

“Good. I hoped you weren’t upset that we didn’t send you a check this year, but I told your father since you’re finally working—even if it is out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of cows and pioneer people—that you didn’t need the money.”

Did she consider Amish “pioneer people” or just anyone living sixty miles away from the closest shopping mall? I placed a finger over my left eye to hold back the twitch forming there.

She continued. “You should be able to take care of yourself from now on and are no longer our responsibility.”

Heat filled my face.
Their responsibility?
I hadn’t been
their
responsibility since they dropped me at the Greens’ doorstep on the way to California almost ten years ago.

“Chloe, about our gifts,” my stepmother went on, as if completely unaware of how hurtful her words were to me. “The gift cards were fine, but four different stores? Honestly, Chloe, it would be much easier for me if you got them all from the same place. I don’t have time to spend running all over the city, spending gift cards.” She gave a suffering sigh. “I suppose it’s too late to change anything for this Christmas, but do keep my convenience in mind for the future.”

“I will.”

“Good. Was that all?”

“Can you tell Dad that I called and said Merry Christmas?”

“I’ll do that,” she said and hung up.

I closed my eyes for a moment, vowing not to waste another tear on my father. Again. I stood and scratched Sparky along the bridge of his nose. He backed up and ran his big horsy lips along the palm of my hand. I held my hand flat with my fingers out of the way of his square teeth just as Grandfather Zook had taught me, then laughed to myself. I’d come a long way for a city girl.

Slam
. The door to the barn closed. I yelped, and Sparky whinnied and backed into the corner of his stall. The four other horses stamped the ground. A cacophony of moos came from the dairy cattle. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I said to myself as much as I said to the animals.

Slowly, Sparky returned to the gate. He rolled one large brown eye toward the swinging door.

“It’s okay, Sparky. It’s just the wind.”

Thwack, thwack.
The door slammed against its frame. Ruth must have forgotten to latch it when she left the barn. Sparky retreated to the corner of his stall again.

“I’ll bring you another nice big carrot before I go home today,” I told the retired racehorse before I left.

Outside the barn, I firmly latched the door, then watched my feet while I walked the icy path, trying not to trip over them. To my left, boot tracks headed away from the barn and across the snow-covered field. They weren’t Ruth’s. The track was too long, too wide, and the tread more closely matched the size of a man’s work boot. Had they been there when I walked to the barn to talk to Ruth? Maybe I had been too preoccupied on my way to the barn to notice them.

I shivered. Had the door slamming been from the wind or from someone peeking into the barn and watching me?

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and took several close shots of the tracks. After e-mailing them to myself, I ran the rest of the way back to the farmhouse.

W
hen we returned to the Quills’ home, Becky ran into the kitchen, muttering about a cheese ball she needed to finish before the party. Mabel trotted into the house. Gigabyte, lounging on the back of the couch, hissed at the affable dog before fleeing upstairs. It was for the best. Gig didn’t like crowds, and at last count, Becky’s party had grown to forty. I started to regret telling her it was a good idea to host a Christmas party.

I picked up my iPad from the coffee table and opened my e-mail, staring at the images of the boot prints on the screen.

Timothy walked up behind me. “What are you looking at so hard?”

I turned the iPad around so he could see.

His forehead wrinkled. “Footprints?”

“Boot prints actually. I found them outside the barn after Ruth and I went out to see Sparky.”

He handed the iPad back to me. “
Daed
’s boots?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. They were directed away from the house, across the field.” I swallowed. “I think they were fresh. And could have been made while Ruth and I were inside the barn.”

Timothy closed his eyes for a few seconds as if he didn’t like the thoughts flying through his head. He opened his eyes. “You think someone watched the two of you?”

“I—I don’t know. Maybe it was someone making a short cut through the farm who wanted to step out of the cold. When he heard our voices he decided to keep going.”

He cocked his head. “It’s ten degrees? You think someone was just out for a walk?”

“Maybe not,” I admitted. Was someone watching or listening to us? Curt immediately came to mind. Could he be watching me again? Was his claim that he was interested in church even true?

He scratched his head. “Why didn’t you tell me while we were still on the farm?”

“I didn’t want to ruin Christmas for your family.” I tapped the iPad screen. “In any case, I e-mailed the photographs to Chief Rose. We will have to see what she says.”

“You might hear today. Becky invited her to the Christmas party.”

My brow shot up. “Becky didn’t tell me that. Is the chief coming?”

He shrugged.

“Who else did she invite that I don’t know about?”

“Her probation officer and her lawyer.”

I snorted a laugh. “This will be the first Christmas I celebrate with a probation officer. What about you?”

Timothy grabbed both of my hands. “It’s the best Christmas ever.”

I tried to smile, but the memory of Ruth’s sad face stopped me.

“Would someone please help me?” Becky called from the kitchen. ”The turkey is stuck in the oven.”

“That’s because you bought a bird big enough to feed a marching band,” Timothy muttered as he headed into the kitchen.

An hour later, Timothy left to take Mabel home before the party, and I stepped into Becky’s room, which was much smaller than mine but had the benefit of being free of dolls. As soon as we moved into the house, Becky offered to take the smaller room. At the time, I thought it was out of the kindness of her heart, but now, I wondered if she had an ulterior motive—like staying away from those dozens of unseeing doll eyes.

Becky sat on the bed brushing her white-blonde hair. It was so long that when she wrapped it around the front of her, it resembled a horse’s tail. “I still want to cut it,” she said between strokes. Becky mentioned more than a month ago that she wished to cut her hair.

The first time she brought it up, I had been hesitant because this would be the final sign that she had no plans to the return to the Amish way of life. “Did you pray about it?”

“Yes, and I still want to do it.” She braided her hair. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“About something other than this party?” I teased.

She groaned. “Yes, well, sort of. I’ve had so much fun preparing for the party that I think this is what I want to do. I want to take the GRE, then go to culinary school, have my own bake shop, and maybe my own television show, just like Paula Deen.”

My brow shot up. This was new. “I thought you wanted to be an art teacher.”

“I did, but this is like art in a way. I can still use my creative side.”

I thought of the gingerbread mansion sitting downstairs. “That’s true.”

“Can you hand me a hair band from the dresser?”

As I chose a red one from the small dish, I wondered how Aaron fit into this plan. “Your parents won’t be happy.”

“I know that.” She sighed. “Chloe, you are always so concerned about what my parents will think, but what about your own? What do they think?”

I sat next to her on the bed and smoothed my skirt. “What do they think about what?”

“About your life? About you living here?”

I laughed off her questions. “We were talking about
your
family.”

“We always talk about my family, Chloe. What about yours?”

The doorbell rang. Saved by the bell.

I secured the end of her braid with a rubber band. “Time to start the party.”

She started to stand up, and I held her by the shoulder. “You’re the only one who can decide about your hair, Becky. Do whatever is best for you, okay?”

“Will you go with me to have it cut?”

“Of course. We can make a day of it.” I tugged on her braid. “You have more than enough to donate to charity.”

“To charity?”

“To donate to children who lost their hair to disease.”

Her face lit up. “I want to do that!” The doorbell rang again.

“You’d better get down there or your party will be over before it even starts.”

She turned her neck and smiled at me. “Thank you, Chloe.” She hopped off of the bed and ran down the stairs.

A half hour later Christmas carols rang through the Quills’ house as I moved around the room carrying a tray of miniature Amish whoopie pies that Becky had made. The tray was half full, and I think that I ate more than I handed out. Everyone gains weight during the holidays, right?

Timothy stood next to Aaron’s wheelchair by the grand piano tucked in the corner of the room. I popped another whoopie pie into my mouth. Hopefully, Aaron would not be in too much trouble with his father for attending the party.

I wove through the crowd to the pair.

“Merry Christmas, Aaron.”

His face broke into a grin. “Merry Christmas, Chloe. This is quite a party. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s all Becky. I only helped a little when she would let me.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m happy she invited me.” Aaron reached up from his wheelchair and grabbed one of the chocolate pies. “Why does everything taste better when it’s bite size?”

Timothy laughed. “Because you can pop it into your month before thinking about how bad it may be for you.”

Aaron swallowed his second pie, then poked the air with his forefinger. “That must be it.”

“You look very Christmas-y, Chloe.”

I looked down at my green-and-white snowflake sweater and corduroy skirt. “This is nothing. You should see my friend Tanisha. She takes Christmas clothing to a whole other level.” I chuckled remembering Tee’s red sweater with the grinning reindeer face in the middle of it. Did she take it to Italy with her?

“I’m sorry you and Timothy were the ones to find Katie.” His voice turned solemn. “She was a sweet girl. Everyone liked her. She was popular in the district.”

I set the tray on an end table. “How was she popular? Did she have a lot of friends?”

“
Ya
,
but she was more popular with the young men. Many wanted to court her.”

“Like who?”

He thought for a moment. “Oh, all of them.”

Timothy tapped the wheel of Aaron’s chair with his toe. “Even you?”