Taken for English (31 page)

Maura looked toward the church. “We should at least go in and have a cup of coffee.”

“Kaffi,” Joseph said. “I wonder if people of all churches soothe their difficult moments with a black bitter drink.”

A smile escaped her lips even on this somber day. “The truth is, I do not care for coffee. I drink it to be polite.”

“Perhaps they will have tea,” he said.

“Or church ladies’ punch.”

“Lemonade with too much sugar.”

She laughed, for one second, then sobered.

“I am sorry,” Joseph said. “I do not make light of the occasion.”

“No. Of course not.” She had no doubt of his sincerity.

“Please forgive me.”

“I am guilty as well. I laughed.” Maura’s forward motion did not display her reluctance. “Sheriff Byler was a man of good humor. He would have agreed with you about the lemonade.”

“I wish I had had the opportunity to know him better.”

“Even though he was an
English
lawman?”

“Even so.”

“I’m so worried about Belle.” Maura put one hand over her eyes for a few seconds. “I’ve offended her. She would not even ride to the funeral with me.”

“This is a difficult day for many people,” Joseph said. “You will speak again on another day.”

“I am not so sure. She has always been the more sensitive one, but she has turned a new corner in refusing my company. I cannot seem to say anything right.”

“Time heals many wounds.”

Maura stopped again and turned fully toward Joseph. “Suppose they have been looking in the wrong places.”

“For Roper?”

“Yes. I have seen an entire posse swayed by one man’s assumption or conclusion. What if that one man is wrong?”

Joseph tilted his head and met her gaze. “I do not know much about posses, but would not another man speak up?”

She shook her head. “That’s the point. They get something stuck in their heads and can’t see past it.”

“Miss Woodley, are you trying to tell me that you have an idea where the outlaw might be?”

“I might have an idea who would help a man like Roper,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Then perhaps you should speak to Deputy Combs. I would be happy to accompany you. He’s probably drinking coffee right now.”

With one hand, she unpinned her hat, removed it, flipped it over in her hands, and fleetingly wondered why the Amish men never took their hats off. “I don’t want to cause a stir on the day of the funeral if it turns out to be nothing. There is no point in disturbing Bess Byler on a day like today with talk of posses and criminals.”

“I suppose not. It is a day to remember the sheriff.”

“Besides, Thomas Combs has proven himself a coward. Nevertheless, he will insist that I should leave such thoughts to the menfolk.”

“Then another day?”

“No. Today.” She set her jaw and made up her mind. “We won’t talk to the deputy just yet. I’m going to take my cart and make some inquiries. I would very much like it if you would come with me.”

“Are you sure that would not be unseemly?”

“That I am going to investigate on my own, or that I invite an Amish man to be my companion in the endeavor?”

“Both. And I am quite sure it would be unseemly for an Amish man to involve himself in this manner.”

“Do as you wish. I am going with or without you.”

“Miss Woodley, I admire your spirit of independence, but—”

“Time is a-wastin’, Mr. Beiler. Are you coming?”

“Where is your cart?” Joseph asked. He could not bring himself to let her drive off alone without even knowing where she intended to go.

In the field across from the church, the small, light cart Joseph had seen Maura use around town was still hitched to the dark mare that pulled it. They sat beside each other on the narrow bench, and Maura picked up the reins. Joseph’s stomach tied itself into a tight knot as he wondered about the number of people who saw them leave together and how he would explain this to Zeke Berkey later. Maura urged the horse out of its malaise and turned the cart down a road Joseph and Zeke had not explored. Joseph’s eyes scanned for landmarks to remember. A fallen log. A small clearing. A shed.

Maura Woodley was as competent a driver as any man Joseph had ever met. A single animal pulled her cart, but he could easily imagine her handling a team of four horses. She was small beside him, well sized to her diminutive cart but eight feet tall in her determination.

“Would I be rude to ask a question?” Joseph held the edge of the bench with one hand.

“Depends on whether it is a rude question.” Maura turned, and her brown eyes danced.

He cleared his throat. “Are you certain that the deputy has not already spoken to the person you intend to interrogate?”

“Interrogate
is a strong word, Mr. Beiler.”

The road narrowed before them, yet she let the horse maintain pace with unwavering confidence.

Abruptly she pulled on the reins. “Did you see that?” She jumped out of the cart before the horse had come to a stop.

Joseph did not dare let her get out of sight. He lurched out of the cart and followed her stomping pace.

“There!” She pointed.

Joseph saw nothing.

“There! You must see it.” She kept walking.

Jesse Roper’s tall, broad, black hat sat on a fence post.

N
o more coffee.

Ruth was not sure she could ever drink coffee again without thinking about Elijah on the gurney, his mother on the rampage, and Bryan on the make.

The whole day would not have happened if Leah Deitwaller would just grow up. Coming home to find her asleep in the living room next to a low-glowing lamp and Annalise looking overly content with a cup of tea at the dining room table rattled Ruth. She went upstairs to bed as quickly and with as little conversation as possible.

In the morning Ruth waited until she was sure Annalise had left the house before she emerged from her bedroom. In the kitchen, she mixed up a pan of cinnamon rolls—Elijah’s favorite. She had first made them for him when they were sixteen years old. While they were in the oven, she dressed in a simple skirt and top of plain colors and sturdy fabric. When the rolls were done, she wrapped them between cotton dish towels and whispered thanks that she had a car. Steam would still be rising from the rolls when her tires crunched the gravel in the Capp driveway.

Ruth knew Elijah might not be awake, or not able to get out of bed to greet her without pain, but she refused to believe that his mother would be so inhospitable as to turn away the rolls she knew her son loved.

Steeling herself to be polite no matter what, Ruth pulled up to the Capp house and turned off the engine.

I just want to leave these for Elijah
, she would say.

Or better,
I made these for all of you to enjoy
.

Ruth was a good cook. She knew it, and Mrs. Capp knew it. Warm rolls could help thaw whatever had frozen between the two women, and even if they did not, Ruth would be amicable to the end.

And then she would send Joel over to see how Elijah was.

Mrs. Capp was in the yard hanging sheets on the line. Ruth picked up the tray of rolls in one hand and opened the car door with the other.

“Good morning,” she said. “I brought some rolls. They’re still warm.”

Mrs. Capp took a clothespin from between her lips. “We had breakfast hours ago.”

“Of course you did.” Ruth walked toward her. “A midmorning treat, perhaps?”

The older woman pulled a pillowcase from her laundry basket and snapped it on the line.

“Yesterday was a hard day for all of us,” Ruth said. “But we can all give thanks that Elijah was not hurt worse.”

“If you’re hoping to ply him with warm rolls, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Ply him?
“I only meant to cheer him up. I can just leave the rolls if he’s sleeping.”

“He’s not here. He insisted we take him to that…place where he is staying.”

Ruth’s breath caught. “What do you mean, Mrs. Capp?”

“He would not even let me take care of him for one night.
One night
. Was that so much to ask?”

Ruth moved closer. She saw that Mrs. Capp had hung the last of the bedding. At the bottom of the basket were four jars of canned green beans, perhaps to weight the basket if a wind kicked up through the valley.

“Where is Elijah?” Ruth asked.

“Renting a room. In an
English
house. He has decided that is better than living with his own parents.”

Ruth felt the blood drain from her face. “I didn’t know anything about his moving. When did this happen?”

“Last week.” Mrs. Capp stooped and picked up a jar of beans. “He saw an ad tacked up on the board in the grocery store. Some woman was looking for boarders.”

Ruth knew the ad. She had looked at it herself before deciding to stay with Annalise.

“It’s your influence, with all your
English
ways. Like that awful car.” Mrs. Capp hurled the jar, and it smashed against the hood of Ruth’s car.

Once again Ruth turned off the engine in front of a house. This time the rolls were cold and she had lost interest in them.

Mrs. Capp had muttered an apology as soon as the jar smashed, but Ruth had hustled to her car and pulled away. Elijah left his family home and moved into an
English
house. And never said a word to her. Ruth was not sure which fact stunned her more.

She sat in the car and stared at the house, trying to picture what it must be like for him to live inside, in a room, by himself.

After nearly ten minutes, during which Ruth’s heart rate returned to a normal range, she got out of the car and approached the front door to ring the bell.

She rang again about a minute later. The thought that no one was inside except bruised and weary Elijah made her lean far to the right to peer between the curtains in the front room. He was in no condition to be left alone all day, but his landlady had no obligation to care for him. Ruth buzzed her lips in agreement with Mrs. Capp. Elijah should have gone where someone could look after him. Perhaps she could still persuade him to go home.

Tentatively, she rang the bell a final time and at last heard movement.

“Coming!”

It was Elijah’s voice. Remorse for causing him to get out of bed scratched at her conscience.

He opened the door. “Hello, Ruth.”

“May I come in?”

He took two steps back, and she entered a plain living room with furniture that looked outdated and uncomfortable. After sweeping her eyes around the room once, Ruth focused on Elijah. His hair was tousled, but he was in fresh clothes and stood fairly erect. She had pictured him more bent over.

“First of all,” she said, “how are you?”

“Well enough, considering. The doctor said I could go back to work when I felt up to it.”

“Take a few days. Old Amos will understand.”

“I’m not very good at sitting around doing nothing.”

“You should sit now.” Ruth gestured toward a faded mauve sofa.

“I’m not supposed to use this room,” Elijah said. “I have kitchen and laundry privileges, but otherwise just the one room and bath.”

“Oh.” She gained his gaze and held it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You try too hard to talk me out of things.” He waved a hand to the hall. “You might as well come and see the room. I don’t suppose we’re breaking
Ordnung
now.”

Ruth had never been alone in a house with Elijah. They always found each other on top of the flat rock behind the Beiler land, now part of a town park. It made her nervous to see Elijah standing up, though, so she followed his shuffling gait toward a rear bedroom.

“The room came furnished,” he said.

A full-size bed, a desk, a dresser, an upholstered side chair, a rickety stand for a small television, which was turned on with the volume dialed low. On the desk Ruth saw a cell phone plugged into the wall.

“Oh, Elijah, what have you done?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Elijah gingerly lowered himself into the side chair. “I’m not going back.”

“But your family—”

“I’m not going back.”