Like a Bee to Honey (23 page)

Thanks to Rose, he was mostly healed, but singing made him cough, so he would sing a song, take a break to cough, and then sing another one.

Because she had the kindest heart in the world, Rose had organized Bitsy and her sisters and Dan and Luke to help on Josiah's farm while he recovered. She hadn't allowed him to lift a finger for four whole days, even when he had started feeling better. He hated being down in bed like that, but Rose had cooked him dinner every night and made him a cake or a pie or some other delectable dessert to help him feel better. He'd probably gained ten pounds lying around.

Suvie, who usually took very
gute
care of him, had been noticeably absent since he'd gotten sick. He was grateful he got to spend time with Rose instead, which was probably the reason Suvie had stayed away. He'd have to thank her for her neglect.

Even Ashley and Griff had come to help with chores on Saturday. How Rose had gone from being terrified of Griff to teaching him how to weed pumpkins was a miracle.
Gotte
always knew that Griff could change. Maybe everybody else just needed to see it to believe it.

The best news of all was that Josiah had been able to track down the phone number for La Wayne's exwife today. She lived in Shawano, not ten miles from Bienenstock with her younger children and her new husband. Josiah planned on calling her tomorrow. Maybe this whole thing could be settled before the next
gmay
.

A thrill of anticipation traveled up his spine. He had it all planned out. As soon as Rose was out of danger, he'd buy a case of duct tape and come over every week to fix something for Bitsy. Then, after three or four months, he would ask Rose if he could court her. Then three or four months later, he'd start bringing over tubes of paint. A few months after that, he'd beg her to marry him, and Lord willing, she'd say yes. He'd be the happiest boy in the world.

It would just about kill him to go so slow—he was passionately in love, after all—but he wouldn't do anything that might jeopardize his chances with her. He loved her. Waiting another year or two would be a small price to pay if he could be with Rose forever.

Lily and Dan sat on the porch holding hands under the light of a lantern. A pang of jealousy hit him like a snowball to the chest. He wanted to sit out on the porch and hold hands with Rose something wonderful, but that wasn't in his plan until month six.
Oy
, anyhow, how could he bear to wait?

He tamped down his longing and tried to be grateful for what he did have. Rose had allowed him back onto the farm, and he would see her tonight. He was blessed indeed.

He jumped from his buggy and strode across the flagstones. “Is Rose inside?”

“
Gute
evening to you too,” Dan said, looking genuinely happy to see him. He and Dan had gotten closer in the last few months, painting barn doors in the middle of the night together, keeping an eye out for troublemakers, and courting Christner
schwesters
.

“Sorry,” Josiah said. “Good evening to you. Is Rose inside?”

Dan laughed. “Why waste time with your best friend when you can be with a pretty girl?”

Josiah nodded. “
Jah.
That's what I'm thinking.”

Lily's eyes sparkled with amusement. “You just missed her. She went to the honey house to find Leonard Nimoy.”

“By herself?”

“Jah,”
Lily said. “She's getting braver all the time.”

Wonderful-
gute
. Maybe he could move his schedule up a little. If Rose was willing to walk to the honey house by herself in the gathering darkness, maybe she'd soon be accepting tubes of paint without reservation. “I'll go get her,” he said, already halfway down the lane.

“If she's not there, she was going to look behind the barn,” Dan called.

Josiah frowned. The honey house was one thing. Behind the barn was quite another. It was out of sight of the house, and too many bad things had happened there. He didn't want Rose behind the barn by herself, whether she was brave enough or not.

He jogged to the honey house and opened the door. “Rose?” It was too dark to see much, but she obviously wasn't there. A twinge of urgency stuck him like a pin. She'd gone behind the barn. Picking up his pace, he covered the distance between the honey house and the barn in a matter of seconds. The chickens had already gone to roost in the coop, and Rose wasn't there. Neither was Leonard Nimoy.

His heart skipped a beat.
Don't panic. Maybe he missed her on her way back to the house.
He ran to the front of the barn and called to Dan as he crossed the flagstones. “Did she come back? Did you see her?”

Dan and Lily both stood up. “What do you mean?” Lily said.

“I can't find her.”

Lily marched down the steps. “What do you mean, you can't find her? She went to the honey house not five minutes ago.”

Dan grabbed the lantern from the hook on the porch, and without another word, the three of them raced to the honey house. Josiah outstripped Lily and Dan by several yards. Maybe she was in the honey house after all, and he'd somehow missed her.

He opened the door. “Rose?” Nothing but darkness and silence replied.

Dan finally caught up with the lantern and held it aloft so they could get a better look. Broken glass on the floor sparkled in the lamplight like so many fallen stars. A table had been moved to beneath the wide-open window to their left, and a small flashlight sat on it, still glowing.

Lily gasped. “That's Rose's flashlight. I don't understand. She was just here.”

Josiah's heart skipped a beat when he heard a faint squeak to his left. Leonard Nimoy sat on one of the shelves shivering like the last leaf on the tree. “Leonard Nimoy!” Josiah picked up the kitten and cradled her in his arms. “Leonard Nimoy, do you know what happened to Rose?”

Leonard mewed mournfully and buried her head against Josiah's shirt.

Josiah handed the kitten to Lily and took the lantern from Dan. He shined it in the direction of the window. There was a smear of blood on the edge of the table and one on the windowsill.

Sharp, hard, icy fear stabbed Josiah in the chest. He thought he might be sick.

Dan leaned his head out the window. “They must have climbed out this way.”

Dan didn't need to explain who “they” were. They wanted revenge on Rose, and now they had her.

“They can't have been gone long,” Josiah said, willing his shaking legs to move. With the lantern still grasped tightly in his fist, he ran out of the honey house and tore across the fields behind it. He didn't have time to wait for Lily and Dan. Hadn't Jack Willis told him that he'd seen the troublemakers' car parked behind the Christners' property a few weeks ago?

“Dear Heavenly
Fater
,” he prayed. “I'll do anything. I'll give anything. Please don't let them hurt my Rose.”

He felt like he was in one of his dreams where he ran and ran and never got anywhere. The field seemed a hundred miles long with no end in sight. He heard Dan's heavy footsteps behind him, but couldn't begin to guess if Lily had followed.

He leaped over the pasture fence, sprinted through the stand of trees that marked the edge of the Christners' property, and came to a paved road where he could see four or five houses in the gathering darkness. There were no rusty brown cars parked on the road. There were no cars at all. A hundred yards ahead, he could see taillights of a car, but he had no way to know if that was the car he was looking for or if Rose was inside.

Completely spent, he fell to his knees on the pavement and yelled his frustration to the sky. His voice echoed off the house across the street and came back to him.

Dan emerged from the trees and gazed down the road. “Oh no,” he said, swiping his hand across his mouth.

Josiah clawed his way out of the depths and got to his feet. He'd be no good to Rose if he couldn't keep himself together.

“What do we do now?” Dan said.

“Where's Lily?”

“She ran to the house to tell Bitsy and Poppy.”

A dark figure appeared from behind a tree across the road. Josiah held his breath and lifted the lantern higher. Whoever it was turned on his phone flashlight and shined it in Josiah's face. “Is that you, Joe?”

Josiah recognized the sticky-outy ears and the shaggy black hair before the light fell on Jack Willis's face and his wild, frightened expression.

“It's me,” Josiah said. “Can you help us, Jack? They've kidnapped Rose.”

Jack nodded. “I know. I saw them.”

“You did? Which way?”

Jack pointed south. “But you won't catch them. They drove out of here like the police were chasing 'em.”

Josiah tried to keep his head. “Did you get a license plate number or anything?”

“Remember how you told me to keep an eye out for that car?”

“I came outside like ten minutes ago and there it was, parked right here, right where I saw it before. It wasn't locked, so I climbed in and opened the glove box.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crinkled piece of paper. “I copied down the registration information. I know where they live.”

Josiah could have given Jack a hug.
“Ach, du lieva.”

“I got out of the car and was walking across the street when they came running through the trees. It was two of them, and the one guy was dragging an Amish girl. I could tell she didn't want to go with them, but I didn't know what to do to stop them. I was afraid they'd run me over. I'm sorry.”

“You wouldn't have been able to stop them,” Josiah said, his gut a pit of rocks. “And you might have gotten hurt.”

“I got their address,” Jack said, handing Josiah the paper. “They live in Shawano, but I don't have a car to take you there.”

“Can I borrow your phone?” Josiah asked. Jack handed his phone to Josiah, who handed it to Dan. “Do you remember that number?”

Dan's face briefly clouded with confusion before he caught his breath and nodded. He pressed the numbers on the screen and handed the phone to Josiah, who prayed with all his might. If she didn't answer, he didn't know what he'd do.

Finally, thankfully, a voice on the other end. “Hello?”

“Hello, Ashley?” Josiah said. “I need your help.”

Chapter Seventeen

Foam rubber protruded from several cracks in the vinyl in the backseat of Buddy's filthy car. Rose sat on one side of the backseat with her back pressed against the door, her arms clamped tightly around her waist and her feet tucked underneath her in as small a ball as possible. Jethro sat in back with her, probably to be sure she didn't decide to open the door and hurl herself out of the moving car. At this point, she was almost desperate enough to do it.

She had never in her life been able to keep herself from crying when she was upset. And even though she yearned with all her heart that she could stop, the tears slid down her cheeks like rainwater against a window. She tried her best to cry silently, but an occasional whimper came out of her mouth that made Jethro all the angrier.

“Shut up,” he said, when an involuntary sob escaped her lips. “You're getting on my nerves.”

Rose pulled her arms tighter around herself and tried to shrink to nothing. What was going to happen to her? Did Jethro want her dead or in pain? Was he planning on doing something unspeakable to her in the dark of the night? She shuddered down to her toes as the tears dripped down her face.

How she wished Josiah were here. He would hold her close and make everything all better. She never felt so happy as when she was with him.

They'd been in the car for nearly a half an hour, and Rose had no idea where they were taking her. For the first ten minutes of the trip, Buddy and Jethro had yelled at each other because Buddy wanted to let Rose go and Jethro wouldn't hear it. Buddy was probably about Jethro's age, but he seemed younger, anxious and unsure about everything. He was beside himself, telling Jethro that they'd get arrested for kidnapping, while Jethro yelled at Buddy to shut up and drive the car. Buddy's phone wouldn't stop ringing, and over and over again, Jethro yelled at him to turn it off.

“I can't,” Buddy whined. “My mom gets really mad when I turn off my phone. She'll take it away.”

Jethro glanced out the back window, as if he was sure the police were right behind them. Then he closed his eyes and massaged his forehead.

Rose pressed her lips together. Jethro's hands shook, and beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. He was nervous.
Nae,
he was frightened. She furrowed her brow. At least as frightened as she was.

How could that be?

She studied his face and tried to remember the little boy she'd known thirteen years ago. Jethro's sister Mary Beth and Rose had been seven years old, and Jethro had been two years younger. He hadn't been one of those pesky little brothers who teased or pulled hair or called his sister names. He'd had a sweet, timid disposition and always asked very nicely if he could play house with them. Rose and Mary Beth would often call upon Jethro to kill spiders or get them drinks of water. He would happily do whatever they wanted just so he could be near them. When they played with their dolls, Jethro would make believe he was the
fater
with a stick for a hunting rifle. He liked to march around the barn and pretend to shoot wild animals that meant harm to the babies inside. Mary Beth had told Rose that their
dat
had a hunting rifle, and he sometimes took Jethro with him on the deer hunt.

How his heart must have broken when his
dat
went to prison! No matter how cruel or abusive his
dat
had been, Jethro would have remembered the
gute
times and been devastated when his
dat
was ripped from the family.

Guilt slammed into Rose and made her cry all the harder. If it hadn't been for her, Jethro would have grown up with a
fater.

She clamped her eyes shut and heard Josiah's voice in her head. He would not let her blame herself for La Wayne's drinking or Martha's choice to leave her husband. Because of Josiah, Rose had begun to see things differently. Maybe she wasn't responsible for the broken arm or La Wayne's uncontrollable temper or the broken family. Whatever part she had played, Josiah said
Gotte
had forgiven her. And maybe, just maybe, in a small way, she had helped save La Wayne's children from suffering at the hand of one who was supposed to love them.

She looked at Jethro again and saw that little boy, so sad, so wounded, unable to understand the consequences of his
dat
's choices. Of course he would look for someone to blame. Of course Rose was a likely choice.

Rose wiped the tears from her face. She couldn't be brave like Poppy or clever like Lily, but she could be kind, like her
mater
had been. Maybe she didn't want to be anyone else.

Buddy turned off the highway onto a little country road that looked as if it led to a cornfield. The road curved sharply to the left, then to the right. After a few hundred feet, Buddy stopped the car. Rose couldn't see much out the window, but she knew exactly where they were.

Buddy picked up his phone. “We can't stay here very long. My mom has called me like eight times. She's already gonna be mad.”

“All right,” Jethro growled. “Just give me a few minutes.” With a flashlight in one hand, he got out of the car and reached in to pull Rose out his side. He grabbed her wrist and yanked hard.

“Please don't pull me,” she said, in a voice of perfect calm. “I can walk. I want you to show me.”

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but he let go of her hand and let her slide out of the car without touching her. “We'll be back soon,” Jethro told Buddy, and Rose felt a small sense of relief.

He'd said “we,” which meant that he probably didn't mean to murder her and leave her body in the Amish cemetery. She said a silent prayer of thanks. Bitsy and her sisters would be very sad if she died. And maybe Josiah would too. Maybe he'd miss her quite a bit. She'd miss him more than words could express.

Jethro clamped his fingers around Rose's arm and pulled her up a gentle hill to a small gravestone in the middle of the cemetery. He yanked her to a stop and shoved her to kneel on the ground in front of it. “You killed him,” he said.

A few weeks ago, Rose might have agreed with him, but she didn't believe it anymore. Josiah was the best soul she had ever known, and he said she wasn't responsible.

“I'm sorry,” she said. And she was. Sorry for a confused little boy. Sorry for a terrified
mater
. Sorry for a
fater
who couldn't control his temper or his addictions and left destruction in his wake.

“He was in prison for three years. Three years and my
mamm
didn't want to wait. As soon as the police took him away, she packed up our things and moved us out. She filed for divorce. She got herself excommunicated, all because you wanted revenge.”

Did he really think a seven-year-old could comprehend revenge?

Jethro paced back and forth behind Rose, his voice rising in agitation with every word. “When he got out of prison, Mamm wouldn't take him back. I wanted my
dat
, and Mamm locked him out of the house. She filed a protective order against him. A protective order! Against her own husband.”

“I'm sorry,” was all Rose could say.

Jethro quit pacing and stationed himself to Rose's right. He folded his arms and glared at her. “Mary Beth didn't want our way of life. She's going to college. My
mamm
doesn't live Plain anymore either. I wanted to be Amish. Mamm couldn't see that salvation comes only in living a Plain life. She's going to hell. They're all going to hell.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Dat returned to Wallsby after prison, but the community never really accepted him because Mamm had divorced him. They couldn't understand that it was her fault. And yours. All yours, Rose Christner. The courts forced Mamm to let us visit Dat, but it wasn't the same.”

He knelt down next to her and yelled in her face. “You stole my
dat
from me. He and Mamm would still be together if you hadn't testified. He would have stopped drinking. I know he would have.”

Rose held her breath, expecting him to strike her or shove her or slap her face. He didn't even touch her. She turned to face him, unable to hear anything else but her heart pounding in her ears. If Jethro wanted to punish someone for his
dat
's death, could she muster the courage to offer herself?

“You brought me here to see your
fater
's grave, to make me feel sorry. I am sorry. Very sorry,” she said, sounding as weak as she felt.

He stood up and kicked the grass at his feet. “You should be.”

“If . . . if you think it will make things right, I want you to take your revenge out on me.” With trembling limbs, she stood, bowed her head, and laced her fingers together. “Strike me as many times as you think will make up for what you lost.”

Her words seemed to shock him to the core. The lines on his face became hard and sharp, as if someone had slashed at him with a pocketknife. “Strike you? What are you saying?” He wrapped his arms around his head as if he were trying to protect his face. “You think I would hit you? You think I would hurt anyone like that and send myself to hell?” He paced back and forth as if he were in a cage and jabbed his finger in her direction. “I'm not like that, Rose Christner. I would never be like that.”

Rose thought she might faint with relief. Did he really mean not to hurt her? She couldn't see his face well by the flashlight on the ground, but maybe there was more of that sweet little boy left than she had imagined.

She thought back to the fire behind the honey house. Aunt Bitsy had said whoever set the fire hadn't wanted to actually burn down the honey house. Why hadn't Jethro killed the chickens when he'd chopped up their chicken coop? Why had he merely cut off Queenie's tail instead of permanently docking it? She glanced at the eight scratches from Leonard Nimoy on his forearm. After the kitten had attacked him, Jethro had placed her on the ground as gently as a mother cat would have done.

Her heart started beating again for what felt like the first time in half an hour. Jethro Zook meant her no harm.

Jethro meant her no harm.

He wanted to scare her and make her sorry for what she'd done, but he didn't want to hurt her. Deep down, he had a
gute
heart. A broken, confused,
gute
heart.

Suddenly, she didn't feel frightened of him anymore, only profoundly sad for the little boy who had an image of a
fater
that had never been real—and for the
fater
who had wasted his life because he couldn't see past a bottle of alcohol.

She let the tears flow freely down her face. “
Nae.
I can see that you would never raise a hand to me. Or anyone.”

“I am not . . . I am not . . .”

“Like your
fater
,” she said.

Jethro moaned like a wounded animal. “He didn't know what he was doing. No one gave him a chance.”

She reached out and took his hand. “I'm so sorry.”

His eyes filled with confusion, and she thought he might yank his hand from her grasp. Instead, he studied her face for a minute and then seemed to surrender whatever resistance he had left. Keeping his hand in hers, they sat down together in front of his
fater
's gravestone, and wept.

She held on tight and let him cry. Everyone needed a chance to grieve.

Jethro pulled his hand away and clenched his fists. “He hit me, you know.”

“
Jah.
I know.”

“He hit all of us when he was drunk. But he could have changed if everyone had just given him a chance.”

“Jethro,” she whispered. “Do you think your
mater
was trying to protect you and Mary Beth and your other siblings when she left him?”

He lifted his chin and sniffed back the tears. “He would have changed. If she hadn't left, he would have changed.”

“But maybe your
mamm
couldn't bear to see one more of her precious children be hurt. Maybe if it had been only her life she was choosing for, she might have stayed. But what if she didn't think it was worth sacrificing her children to give your
dat
another chance? Would you have wanted to see him hit Mary Beth one more time?”

He turned his head and stared off into the night. “
Nae.
But if he'd had another chance, he wouldn't have gone to hell. I would have taken all the beatings in the world if it meant my
dat
didn't go to hell.”

“Jesus has already taken all the beatings so you don't have to.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Aunt Bitsy was an
Englischer
for many years. She says that addictions are very hard to overcome. Jesus paid a high price for your
dat
's soul. I don't think He would cast off something so precious without a second thought. There is hope for your
dat
as there is hope for all sinners—through Jesus.”

“At the hospital right before he died, he told me he was sorry for what he'd done, but the bishop says we don't believe in deathbed repentance.”

“I think
Gotte
is happy when the lost sheep come home, whether sooner or later,” Rose said. “Remember the parable of the laborers in
Gotte
's vineyard? No matter how late in the day, all laborers will receive the same reward.”

To her surprise, he laid his head on her shoulder like a child might do with his mother. “I am sorry, Rose. I have held so much anger in my heart for my
dat
and my
mamm
and even myself. I blamed you because it was easier to hate you than to hate my
dat.
It is wicked to hate your parents. When my
dat
died, I punished you and your beehives and your chicken coop. Poppy almost lost her hand.”