A Plain Disappearance (3 page)

Timothy nodded. “They are my parents’ close neighbors. My sister Ruth is good friends with the youngest daughter in the family.”

She cocked her head. “What can you tell me about the family?”

“There are four children, Katie and Anna—Ruth’s friend and the youngest—and two much older stepbrothers. The girls’ mother died six years ago. A year after her death, Jeb Lambright married his new wife, Sally, who was a widow and had the two boys.”

My brow shot up. I didn’t know this about the family. In fact, the only thing I knew about them was Ruth’s friendship with Anna, who I had met a few times while visiting the Troyer farm.

The chief noted everything Timothy said, her expression tense, sobering. “I’d like you to come with me to notify the family. I think it would be good if there was someone Amish—or with an Amish connection—along with me.” As if ten years passed in a breath, the police chief aged before our eyes, the heaviness of her duty weighing on her narrow shoulders. “I never know if an Amish family will be willing to talk to me. Perhaps they will be more likely with you along.”

Timothy nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

Was this the right decision? The Lambright family would associate him with Katie’s death. They would associate the Troyers with Katie’s death, which meant they would associate Ruth with the death. But I held my tongue.

“We should arrive there about the same time, so I’ll meet you at your family farm. I need to take the snowmobile back to my cruiser.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Timothy promised.

The snowmobiles fired up as Timothy helped me into the sleigh. Hours had passed since he had given me the necklace. The sun hung high in the sky, and rays made the surface of the snow sparkle like the ground was covered by a blanket of diamonds. My breath caught by the beauty of it. How could such a tragic place also be so beautiful at the same time? It wasn’t fair or right.

Timothy took my hand. “Beauty lives on.”

I stared at him in surprise. How did he know what I was thinking?

He smiled. “Every thought travels across your face just like those cute freckles across your nose.”

Mabel whimpered from her place under the seat. I knew how she felt. The ride back to the Troyer farm was somber, each of us lost in our own thoughts. As much as I wanted to tell Timothy it wasn’t a good idea for him to deliver the terrible news to Katie’s parents, I knew it was no use talking him out of it. In some way he felt responsible for Katie now, just like I did.

As promised, Chief Rose waited for Timothy at the end of the family’s driveway. She nodded to us from the warmth of her cruiser. Seven-year-old Thomas ran to meet us as Timothy parked the sleigh behind the barn, his bright blue mittens tethered to his black wool coat with a piece of yarn flying behind him like wings. I couldn’t help but smile at the image. Thomas was a mini replica of his older brother with silky white-blond hair and bright blue eyes. All five of the Troyer children had the same light coloring like their mother.

Thomas’s eyes were the size of tennis balls. “Timothy, why are the police here? Are you going to the pokey?”

I covered my mouth, knowing that Thomas must have learned this new English slang word from his grandfather. Ever since he learned the word “perp” from Chief Rose in November, Grandfather Zook had peppered me for similar English vernacular. He thought such words were a riot. His son-in-law didn’t find them nearly as amusing.

Timothy hopped out of the sleigh and tweaked his younger brother on the nose. “I will tell you when I get home. I need to go with Chief Rose for a bit.” He handed Thomas the reins. “Drive Sparky into the barn.”

“But—”

“Go on now. Chloe doesn’t know how to drive the horse. She needs your help.”

The seven-year-old cocked his head. “I’ve been driving Sparky since I was six,” he said proudly. “Chloe, you should really know how to drive a horse by your age.”

I patted the wooden bench. “Then, why don’t you teach me?”

He puffed out his chest, scrambled up into the sleigh, and took the reins.

I placed a hand over his to stop him from flicking the reins, and glanced at Timothy. No doubt, worry etched across my face. “Timothy?”

He gave me a reassuring nod. “I’ll be fine.” He smacked the side of the sleigh. “Teach her everything I taught you,
kinner
.” He turned and walked back down the long driveway to Chief Rose and the waiting cruiser.

I released my hold on Thomas’s hands, and he urged Sparky on. The horse headed straight for the barn.

Thomas pulled back on the reins, hard. “Sparky,
nee
. We have to give Chloe a driving lesson.”

The horse ignored his commands and continued plodding toward the barn. As we rounded the corner of the whitewashed building, a large wagon came into view. Two young Amish men I’d never seen before were loading the wagon with crates of wooden objects fitting them around pieces of Amish-made furniture. The young men looked to be somewhere in their twenties, and they were clean shaven, meaning unmarried. The blond draft horses in front of the wagon kicked the ground, creating a deep rut into the frozen earth.

Sparky blew hot air through his nose and pulled the sleigh farther away from the wagon as if he had no desire to approach horses twice his size. He stopped a few yards away and shook his bridle. Thomas grumbled at the animal in Pennsylvania Dutch, but the horse refused to take one more step.

The boy sighed. “Sparky never listens to me.”

I bumped his shoulder. “It’s not you. Sparky is tired. Timothy and I had him out a lot longer than planned.”

He examined my face with his sky blue eyes. “Why?”

Time to change the subject. I gestured toward the wagon. “Who are those two guys over there?”

Thomas cranked his neck. “Nathan Garner and Caleb King. They buy Amish stuff from
Grossdaddi
and sell it to
Englischers
.”

My eyebrows shot up. “They buy Amish stuff?”

“
Ya
.”

“What stuff?”

He stood and jumped from the sleigh without answering my question. I followed while Mabel opted to stay put.

As I approached the wagon, the two young men ignored me. The one on the ground said something to the other in Pennsylvania Dutch. I couldn’t understand the words, but I recognized the sharp, irritated tone. The young man on the wagon shot the other a dirty look. The air temperature dropped several degrees as they glared at each other.

A middle-aged Amish man with a dark brown beard slowed his pace to match Grandfather Zook, who shuffled forward on his metal braces. The man handed Grandfather Zook an envelope.

“
Danki
.” Grandfather Zook said. “
Frehlicher Grischtdaag
, Levi.” He had wished the man a Merry Christmas.

“
Danki
.” Levi replied and switched to English. “Your wares will bring a good price at the warehouse.”

Grandfather Zook grinned.

“Let’s go
buwe
,” he said to the young men, calling them
boys
. “We have one more stop before heading back to the warehouse.” He pulled up short when he saw me, and then tipped his felt hat. A dimple showed in his right cheek when he smiled. “
Gude Mariye
.”

“Good morning,” I replied. “I’m Chloe.”

His dimple grew. “
Ya
. I thought you might be. Joseph talks about you often.”

Grandfather Zook took a few more shaky steps onto the uneven frozen ground. I hurried to his side in case he stumbled. “’Course I talk about Chloe. She’s a
gut
girl.”

I blushed.

Nathan and Caleb, although I still didn’t know them apart, finished loading the wagon and secured the gate at the end. The young men climbed into the back and wedged themselves into uncomfortable-looking spots between the hard-edged furniture, but as far away from each other as possible.

“You will have to forgive my son Nathan and his friend Caleb,” Levi said. “They are in an awful fight over a girl.”

Grandfather Zook chuckled. “That’s what will always break a friendship in half. Best thing to happen would be for the girl to choose neither.”

I glanced back at Nathan and Caleb. They mutually scowled at Grandfather Zook’s idea. Now that I knew Nathan was Levi’s son, I could pick him out in the pair. Like his father, he had dark, wavy hair sticking out from under his black felt hat. I couldn’t see Caleb’s hair color under his black stocking cap, but the tightness of the hat made his sharp cheekbones even more pronounced.

Levi climbed into the driver seat of the wagon. Carefully he backed the blond team away from the barn. Thomas peeked out to watch as Levi masterfully turned the horses to face down the long driveway.

Thomas tugged on my sleeve and whispered, “I’m going to make Sparky listen to me like that someday.”

Levi waved as he drove the team away, but Nathan and Caleb ignored us and each other.

Grandfather Zook shook his head. “Boys are crazy when it comes to their young ladies.”

I arched an eyebrow at Grandfather Zook. He laughed, which morphed into a dry cough. I supported his elbow. “You shouldn’t be out here in this cold.”

“Fiddlesticks,” the elderly Amish man said. Yet he allowed me to lead him back into the barn.

The front corner served as Mr. Troyer’s workshop, and Grandfather Zook eased himself onto a stool. “Thomas, go unhitch Sparky and bring him into his stall.”

The boy ran out of the barn.

“Does he need help?” I asked.

The elderly man shook his head. “
Nee
, and he will likely be offended if you offer it. He wants to do everything Timothy can.”

I bit my lip. Did that mean Thomas would leave the Amish like Timothy had?

Grandfather Zook pointed one of his braces at me. “I know what you are thinking. Thomas will make his choice when it is his time. He will follow
Gotte
’s way for his life, whatever that might be.” He then picked up a hand chisel and a rectangular block of wood from the workbench.

Thomas led Sparky into the barn and opened his stall door. The horse walked right in. “Sparky, I’m very disappointed in you.”

I covered my mouth. Thomas sounded so much like his mother when she was reprimanding him.

Grandfather Zook began to whittle at the piece of wood. “What is wrong, Thomas?”

A tear rolled down Thomas’s cheek, and his forehead bunched in frustration. “I’m supposed to give Chloe a driving lesson, and Sparky won’t listen.”

Grandfather Zook snorted. “You can’t tell Old Spark anything when his mind is made up. That’s why he never made it very far as a racehorse. He wouldn’t listen to the trainer.”

Sparky lowered his ears as if he understood everything his master said.

Grandfather Zook struggled to his feet and adjusted his metal braces onto each arm. He suffered polio as a child, and the titanium braces helped support his crooked legs. “Don’t you make that face at me,” he told the horse. “You know it’s the truth.” He turned to Thomas. “
Grankinner
, Old Spark’s been out for a long time and he is cold and tired.” He shot a curious look at me, then, “You can give Chloe a driving lesson on another day.”

Thomas pouted.

I bumped his shoulder. “It’s lunchtime anyway, Thomas. You don’t want to miss your mom’s cooking because of me, do you?”

His face cleared. “
Nee
. She’s making meatloaf sandwiches.”

Grandfather Zook poked his young grandson with the end of one of his braces. “You’d better hurry up then, or your
daed
’s going to eat your portion. He’s been working hard since the sun was up and is mighty hungry.”

Thomas’s eyes went wide, and he dashed from the barn.

Grandfather Zook shook his head. “One of these days that
kinner
will learn to walk from place to place.”

I smiled, then glanced at the wood and chisel on Grandfather’s workbench. “What are you making?”

“Napkin holders.” He pointed to eight of them lined up on the workbench. Each completed napkin holder had an Amish scene chiseled into the front of it—a quilt, a horse and buggy, and a one-room schoolhouse.

I stepped closer to them and ran my fingers along their glossy surfaces. Grandfather Zook had sanded even the deepest crevice smooth. “I didn’t know that you made these.”

“From where do you think Timothy gets it?” He dug the chisel into the outline of a leaf. “Do you think I sit in my rocking chair all day and eat my daughter’s meatloaf sandwiches?” His mischievous grin took the bite out of his words.

“Kind of,” I teased back.

He snorted. “I make these and other small Amish kitchen utensils, like paper towel holders, wooden spoons, and letter holders to sell to Garner Dutch Furniture Warehouse. That’s Levi’s business. He is the man you just met. They come every two months or so to pick up more projects. They put them up for sale in their warehouse, and when they sell, we split the money. It helps the family and keeps my hands busy.”

“So you sell them on consignment.”

Grandfather Zook knit his bushy eyebrows together. “I don’t know that
Englischer
word.”

“It just means what you described.”

“Consignment,” he said, as if tasting the word. “I must use this in conversation with my son-in-law. It always riles him up when I add an
Englischer
word in my speech.” He began sanding the wood, which would be the front of another napkin holder. “When you two took Old Spark out this morning, Timothy said that you’d only be gone for an hour or two. That has long passed.”

I perched on an empty wooden stool. “I know. We were held up.”

His silver, bushy eyebrows shot up, and my face grew hot. I swallowed. “Timothy and I were, um, delayed. He took me to the Gundy barn.”

He nodded. “A nice spot.”

“Yes. It was nice until . . .”

He raised his chin and examined my face. “Something bad has happened.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “We found Katie Lambright there.”

“Katie? She’s a quiet girl. Was she there by herself?”

“Yes and she—she was dead.”

Grandfather Zook’s chisel clattered to the floor. He started to struggle out of his seat to reach it.