The Imposter (18 page)

It was distressing to Jesse that riches kept eluding him—he needed to do something about that—but for now, he had more pressing matters on his mind. His knees, for example. He was scooting his way to the hardware store to pick up some equipment for Hank when he passed right by the Sweet Tooth Bakery. A cinnamon roll sounded nice right about now, especially after Molly's inedible scrambled eggs this morning. He parked his scooter on the side of the building, and suddenly felt as if he wasn't alone. He glanced over his shoulders and there were two of them, big and bigger.

Domino Joe's goons. The kneecap smashers.

“Jesse Stoltzfus,” the big one said. His head was round, with tiny eyes and a bulbous nose. “We'd like to have a little chat with you.”

Jesse swallowed. “Certainly, gentlemen. Let's go inside.” Where it was safer. Where there were witnesses.

“We like it out here,” the bigger one said. “Nice and private.” He had a broad nose and a high forehead and a long throat with an Adam's apple that was too prominent. He sized Jesse up with a tilt of his head. “So you're the one who owes Domino Joe some money.”

“One month, he said. And don't forget October has thirty-one days in it.” On top of everything else, Jesse was mortified to hear his voice jump an octave.

Swish
, and then
bang!
All three of them jumped like spooked schoolboys.

A Plain man towered in the doorway, the flung-open door still quivering on its hinges behind him. “What's going on out here?” He reached one hand into his coat pocket and pulled out something shiny and metal, something Jesse had never seen before. Something the man gripped tightly in his fist.

All at once there was more space around Jesse, both goons stepping back from the circle of authority the man seemed to bring with him. Why was that? This fellow was a Plain man, half their age, hardly a physical match against two conscienceless goons.

“Clear out of here,” the man boomed, “and I mean now.”

The pair cleared out, but not without pointed glares at Jesse's kneecaps that sent a deep chill down his spine. By the time he turned back around, the man was nowhere to be seen. But it occurred to him who this Plain man was: Andy Miller.

David had been at the hospital since Sunday afternoon. Ephraim and Sadie's entire extended family had arrived and gathered to say their goodbyes. Surrounded by his loving family, Ephraim was taken off the ventilator. His lung muscles were too paralyzed to work to breathe, so he labored hard to get air. Those he loved wrapped around his bed, watching him struggle to get air, praying that each breath would be his last and his soul would be released from his broken earthly shell. Everyone was prepared for this moment.

What no one had been prepared for was that Ephraim's heart was young and strong. The afternoon turned into the evening, which turned to morning, another day, and still he labored to breathe. Gasping, choking. He was suffocating to death.

It was a heart-wrenching thing to watch, especially for his wife and son. Not a single relative—over twenty packed into the small room—left his side. David stayed through the night and into the morning, but felt he had to leave for a few hours to open the store. He planned to return to the hospital as soon as Bethany Schrock arrived for her shift at noon.

Around nine thirty on Monday morning, David left the hospital in a taxi and went straight to the store, surprised to find Katrina waiting for him by the door. “Morning, sweetheart.” He greeted her with a warm smile but she didn't return it. She seemed . . . all business. Even the bow was tied tight under her black bonnet. But she wasn't as tired looking as she had been looking lately. In fact, her eyes were bright and clear.

“Dad, there's something I need to tell you. I thought we could talk privately before the store opened.”

Finally, she was ready to talk. David had known she returned from Ohio that weekend in July with a broken heart, but he could tell her heart wasn't mending. If anything, the heartbreak had seemed to deepen with time. He wanted to do something to make it better, to make her better. “Okay. Let's go inside.” He went right to the coffeepot but she waved him off.

“You'd better sit down for this.”

They went to the storeroom and he pulled out a chair for her, then sat across from her. “What is it, honey? You seem so troubled.”

Katrina untied her bonnet and took it off. She placed it on his desk, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and lifted her head, though she kept her eyes on her black bonnet. “I'm . . . going to have a baby. John's baby.”

For several moments, David said nothing, his mind struggling to grasp this new information. Dazed, he sank back in the chair. He knew something was wrong—but not once did this option cross his mind. Not once.

“Say something, Dad.”

He'd bent his head as she spoke, and now he looked up.
Tears rose in his eyes, and his throat ached. Moments came back to him, in swirls and glimpses, strange disconnected details. Katrina as a newborn, then a toddler, struggling to walk, tying her shoelaces. Katrina, playing happily in the backyard, putting her soft arms around his neck for no reason at all and saying, “I love you, Daddy.” His mind pictured her on her first day of school, then years later, when he went into the emergency room and saw her still figure lying on that gurney, sure she had died along with Anna. A deep sense of loss rose up in him, so forceful, woven of so many memories.

Too much. Too much. David was on the verge of weeping. He pushed it all back: the accident that affected Katrina so profoundly—emotional scars that were every bit as real as the physical ones, the powerful rushing love he felt for his daughter. David stared at his girl, his little girl, his firstborn. He felt as if someone had bushwhacked him.

“Dad, I know it's wrong, a sin even. I regret what we did. But I'm not sorry about having a baby. I didn't think it was possible . . . and what if this is the only baby I will ever have? To me, this baby is a miracle.” She paused and looked at him. “Please say something. You look so pale.”

He struggled for breath to respond to her, knowing all that was hinging on this moment . . . for her, for the baby's future, for them.

And then he pictured Ephraim Yoder, struggling for breath in a hospital room. A reminder of the fragility of life, of focusing on what was truly important. He rose to his feet, pulled his daughter close to him, and kissed the top of her head. The wonder of it grabbed him, gave him the strength he needed, and he smiled. “You're right. A baby is always a miracle.”

She clung to him in a way she hadn't since she was a little girl. For a long moment they stood there, father and daughter, until she pulled away and walked toward the window. “I'm not going to marry John. Or rather, he is not going to marry me.”

That, David felt, was a great relief. “Did you want to?”

“I thought I did. I thought we both wanted that. I was sure of it. But I was wrong.”

“He knows about the baby?”

“Yes. And he made it clear it didn't change the fact that he was going to marry Susie.” She had been staring out the window, but now she swung hard around to face him. “You know what he said? That he was sorry.
Sorry
.”

David went cold inside. He believed in nonresistance, believed it with his whole core, but at this moment, he wanted to hurt John. He clenched his fists and breathed in and out slowly. With great effort, he kept his voice level and calm. “Sounds like you don't believe him.”

She shrugged and crossed her arms, eyes filling with tears. “John doesn't matter anymore.”

He smiled and gathered her back into the circle of his arms. “We'll get through this together. I promise.” He put his finger under her chin and tipped her face until he was looking into her wet eyes. “And did I ever make a promise to you that I didn't keep?”

“I don't remember.”

“You would remember if I did.”

“Dad, there's one thing I am sorry about. Disappointing you. You don't deserve this, and I know there will be repercussions.”

“Katrina, there's not a person on this planet who doesn't
have regrets about choices they've made. The important thing is to make things right with God.”

That was the wrong thing to say, he could tell by the way she tensed up and pulled away. But it needed to be said to her, as a father, as a minister. This was between her and God. A turning point, he hoped. Katrina had never had the strong faith of Anna or him, but she knew where the source of their strength came from.

She reached for her black bonnet on his desk and started to put it on, then lowered it and held it in front of her, chin tucked low. “Since Mom died, it's been like a long night that never ends. Sometimes I think God asks for more than I can give. Der Herr gibt und der Herr nimmt.”
The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.

“It might seem like that at times, but he also gives us more than we can receive. This baby, for example.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Dad, do you think this baby is a gift? Do you really?”

“Oh yes, Katrina. A great gift.” A thought occurred to him. “Well, what do you know? I'm going to be a grandfather.” He smiled at that thought. The first smile of many, it dawned on him, over this new life.

Relief swept over her face, then just as quickly, it was gone. As she put her bonnet on, she said, “Dad, do you think people will talk?”

David reached out to straighten her bonnet. “Of course not,” he said, not at all certain.

Thunder sounded in the distance. The clouds had darkened the day. The rainstorm that was threatening to move in this afternoon suited Jesse's mood perfectly.

Life had taught him you have to do what you have to do. Aware that he should get down to business, he decided to pay a call to Andy Miller at Moss Hill.

He hadn't gone far when lightning lit the sky, followed closely—too closely for his liking—by a crack of thunder. A sprinkle hit the back of his neck as he swept along down the road on his scooter. The sprinkle turned to an icy cold shower, making Jesse think twice about the wisdom of his errand.

At the little house, he barely rapped on the door when it opened wide and Fern Lapp stared back at him. She seemed amused. “You look a sight. Like a mouse washed down the drainpipe.”

That woman was everywhere at once. She said she was sharing a cup of tea with Thelma, but her expression at the sight of Jesse seemed to imply that she knew he was up to
no good. “Does your employer know you're traipsing around the countryside?”

“But I was out doing an errand for Hank—” He stopped himself. Some questions scare off words. Why was he trying to explain himself to Fern Lapp? Jesse felt it wouldn't be worth pointing out that Hank wasn't much of an employer—he seldom repaired anything, nor had he taught him a single thing about buggies. Jesse had to admit, Fern Lapp was the one responsible for keeping him on his toes every second . . . though she was not exactly easy on the nerves. “Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I'd drop by to say a quick hello to my dear sister.”

“She is a dear,” Thelma said, peeking around Fern's shoulder. “But she has gone to the Bent N' Dent to speak to your father. Andy might know when she's due back. He's down in the greenhouse.”

Excellent! Out the front door he went, past Fern Lapp's cold eye, to the greenhouse near the barn. Thunder blasted overhead. Thunder meant lightning, and here he lay in a prime location for a direct hit from a lightning bolt. He started to run toward the greenhouse. Thunder cracked louder, closer. A flash of lightning lit up the noonday sky.

He burst into the greenhouse, gasping for breath. Andy looked at him, startled, as did his big yellow dog. The dog came flying down the aisle with a threatening bark, but Andy gave a sharp whistle and the dog stopped in its tracks but blocked the aisle, staring Jesse down. He decided to stay by the door until the dog realized he was friendly.

On both sides of the greenhouse were flats of soft green moss, at various stages of growth. The sight of it was
mesmerizing, truly beautiful. But Jesse needed to stay focused on the purpose of his task. “Sorry to interrupt you.”

Andy cocked his head. “If you're looking for your sister, I dropped her off at the Bent N' Dent to talk to your dad.”

Jesse took off his hat and twirled it in a circle. “Actually, you're the one I've come to see. I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Jesse, Katrina's brother.”

“I know who you are. And you know who I am, otherwise you wouldn't be here.” Andy whistled again and the big dog returned to his side and lay down. “Still a little spooked from your friends at the Sweet Tooth Bakery?”

Everyone seemed to be an expert on Jesse's countenance today. “I'd never met those two before.”

“Really.” Andy fixed a look on him as if he didn't quite buy his story. “My grandmother had a saying—‘Gleich und gleich gsellt sich gern.'”
Birds of a feather will flock together.

This wasn't going well. Jesse tried a more direct approach: honesty. “I seem to be in a bit of a tight spot and thought you might be able to help me.”

A crashing thunderbolt rolled across the sky overhead. “Tight spot?”

“A long story. Suffice it to say that a bet went south.”

“Goons tend to have long memories.”

And didn't Jesse just know it.

He had a tendency to draw the attention of goons the way syrup drew flies. A few months ago, back in Ohio, he had made a bet with the wrong sort—so grumm as me Hund sei Hinnerbeh.
As crooked as the hind
leg of a dog.
The race had been fixed, Jesse later realized, but his favored horse—quick as greased lightning—hadn't gotten that information and won by two lengths. The bookie was not happy to have to
cough up a large winning, and Jesse thought it expedient to depart his aunt's home that very day.

“What makes you think I'd have any experience with goons?”

“For starters, the way you scared off those two earlier this morning.”

“They were just trying to intimidate you.”

“It worked.”

“Their boss wants his money.”

“So I've been told.” He rubbed his kneecaps. “Another reason I thought you might be able to provide some help is that I've seen you at The Chicken Box.”

“Oh, that place.” Andy lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I just go in now and then to grab a hamburger.”

Right
. That wasn't what the meeting seemed like to him. Andy had sat next to an English man and the two were huddled together, talking in earnest. And perhaps Jesse was mistaken—highly doubtful but there was always a slim chance—but while he was scootering around town on bill collection errands, a car had passed him on the road a few times, driven by that very English man, with Andy in the passenger seat.

“What were
you
doing at The Chicken Box? Aren't you underage?”

“That's where my bookie hangs out.”

Andy groaned. “Not Domino Joe. Of all the bookies in the world, you picked Domino Joe. He doesn't forgive and he never forgets.”

Jesse nodded. “The very one.”

“How much do you owe him?”

“One thousand dollars . . . by the first Sunday of November.”

Andy let out a whistle. “Any way you can drum up the cash? Maybe you can ask your father for a loan.”

Jesse shook his head. “No chance at all. My dad is completely preoccupied with someone at the hospital who's dying.” He moved in on Andy and tried to keep a tenor of desperation out of his voice. “If I could just have a little more time, I can make good on what I owe Domino Joe.” Enough time for Jesse to track down Yardstick for one more race. All or nothing. Preferably, all. He glanced cautiously at Andy, inclined to play an all-or-nothing hunch of another sort entirely. During church on Sundays, he had seen Andy gaze at Katrina as if he had her made to order. “My sister has spoken so highly of you. I felt sure you'd be the one who could help me.”

Andy hesitated. He was weakening. “What do you want me to do?”

“Perhaps . . . you could talk to him for me? Put in a good word.” Wisely, Jesse stopped talking and gave him room.

Andy frowned. “Wait here. I'll be right back.” He made a dash in the rain from the greenhouse to the barn, disappearing into the yawning open door. Happily, the dog trotted behind Andy, his tail high. Someday, Jesse would like to have a good old dog like that. A loyal companion.

While waiting for Andy to return, Jesse wandered up and down the aisles of the greenhouse, marveling at the sheets of moss growing in flat wooden containers, carpets of emerald green. Moss was something he'd never given any consideration to before, and yet here, it was strikingly beautiful. When he had first heard that his sister was going to stay with Thelma to help her with a moss business, he thought it was a joke. Now, looking up and down the rows of growing moss,
he thought it was brilliant. A much less dangerous business venture than a Hundred-Yard Dash.

Moments later, Andy came back to the greenhouse, his fist lifted in the air. “It's been years since I needed to resort to these.”

Brass knuckles.

So
that's
what he reached for in his coat pocket outside of the Sweet Tooth bakery.
That
's
what scared off those goons. “Seems like a strange thing for a Plain man to have.”

Andy grinned. “One of the many reasons to not bend at the knee yet.” He handed them to Jesse to try on. They fit across the back of his hand cold and secure. “If you show them off at the right time, you won't ever have to use them. All they're meant to do is to intimidate Domino Joe's goons right back. Give you the upper edge.”

Jesse was doubtful, but he was willing to try anything to keep his kneecaps intact. Still, it didn't solve his primary problem. “And you'll talk to Domino Joe? Try to buy me a little time? Get him to call off his goons?”

Andy sighed a doubtful sigh. “I'll do what I can.”

Jesse's spirits soared. “Thank you, Andy. I'm indebted to you.”

“I haven't done anything yet.”

In his puniest voice, Jesse said, “Can I count on your discretion? You won't say anything about this—”

“No reason to.”

Hugely relieved, Jesse jammed the brass knuckles against his other palm and yelped in pain.

“You have no idea what you're doing, do you?”

He looked up at Andy in surprise, relieved to see not censure in his expression but rather an understanding light in
his eyes. He couldn't quite stifle a small grin. “Absolutely no idea at all.”

The grin faded, however, when he thought of Domino Joe and his goons, waiting for him around every corner. He rubbed his knees again as he walked out of the greenhouse, ready and armed to face his foes.

From the smell and feel of the air, tonight would bring the first hard frost. Birdy closed the schoolhouse door behind the last student—Luke Schrock had to stay after today for another misdeed—and turned back to take a fond assessment of the little room. It continued to surprise her that she enjoyed her role as teacher. More than enjoyed. She loved it, loved waking up in the morning, loved hurrying to school to start the day.

She'd always thought of herself as a student—after all, she loved to study birds. But never as a teacher. And yet she was actually competent in the role. Perhaps her brother had done her a favor: he'd given her the unexpected discovery that she had a gift for teaching.

This little piece of property had some pull on everyone in Stoney Ridge. Everyone she could think of had something at stake in this school. Her brothers, as school board members. Along with them, the men of Stoney Ridge who had built the snug schoolhouse. The mothers who sent their hearts out the door every morning. And now . . . here Birdy was, pulled in to teach. And loving it!

It mystified her, how life had its twists and turns. It delighted her.

Birdy went to her desk to finish up the grading of seventh
and eighth grade essays. The door opened and she didn't even look up, sure it was Luke Schrock, who had a habit of forgetting his hat and coat. He never remembered until he was halfway home, then he would blast into the schoolhouse and grab them, then blow out again. Without lifting her head, she said, “You have to stop doing this!”

She braced herself for the stomp of his feet, but none came. When she looked up, there was David Stoltzfus, standing in the back, a slightly amused and puzzled look on his face. She jumped out of her chair and it tipped backward. She hurried to pick it up and then knocked over her mug filled with pencils. They went clattering. She gathered the pencils on the ground and stuffed them back in the mug, silently berating herself. Her awkwardness had improved in the last few encounters with David—she hadn't done anything clumsy during the two times he had come to speak to the class. It only seemed to happen when she was acutely nervous, like now.

David didn't budge from his spot. He patiently waited until she had recovered from everything . . . but embarrassment.

“Um, hello, David. I wasn't expecting you today.” He took a few steps toward her. How could a person's eyes be so true, so beautiful? And—could it be more unfair?—thick dark lashes framed those eyes. Trying not to think of her own rather ordinary eyes, she refocused. She reminded herself to breathe normally.

“Sadie Yoder asked me to bring you the death message of Ephraim.”