The Lesson (36 page)

Chris’s cheeks flamed. He looked at his feet. “Make it fast because I’m freezing.”

M.K. blew out a puff of air. “Why are you acting like such a jerk?”

Chris snapped his head up. “How so?”

“Ever since you kissed me at the schoolhouse, you’ve treated me like I’ve got the bubonic plague.”

Chris turned away, but M.K. pulled his arm, forcing him to turn back toward her. “Just tell me why you’ve turned so cold and distant. I deserve that much.”

He looked right at her. “You do. You do deserve that. You deserve that and much more.” He put his hands on her arms. “Mary Kate, you deserve better than me.”

“Why can’t I make that decision, Chris? Why does everyone think they know what—or who—is best for me?”

He dropped his arms and paced around the center aisle. She was so innocent, so naïve to the cruelty people were capable of. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me or my crazy family. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I might not know everything about you, but I do have a pretty good idea of the kind of man you are, Chris.”

“No. You don’t. You have no idea. My life’s not worth . . . anything.”

She straightened up as tall as she could and pointed at his chest with her finger. “Don’t ever say that again,” she told him, sounding like she was talking to one of her scholars. “Don’t ever, ever say that again. Don’t think it either. That’s a lie you should never believe.” She took a step closer and
reached out for his hand. Her hand tightened around his fingers, and only then did he realize how much was at stake.

“Why me, Mary Kate? What could you possibly see in someone like me?”

“The thing about you, Chris Yoder, is . . . you make me want to be a better person.” She reached out and touched his cheek. He turned his face so that he could kiss the palm of her hand. His lips brushed her hand, then again, and he took a half step closer to bring their bodies into light contact.

Then, abruptly, he stepped back, pressing her hands into a prayer, palm to palm. “I’m sorry, Mary Kate,” Chris whispered. “I can’t do this.”

When Chris looked up, M.K.’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. One finally fell and traced a path down her cheek. She backed up a step and crossed her arms over her chest. Then she turned and pulled the barn door open. She started to walk back to the house alone.

And he stood there and watched her go.

Was he going to let her walk out of his life?

No. No he wouldn’t.

He ran to the barn door and whispered as loud as he dared, “Mary Kate!”

19

T
he van pulled into Stoney Ridge as the sun was starting to set. Amos directed the driver to drop Jenny and Chris off first. Naturally, M.K. thought, still exasperated with her father. As the van went down the long driveway, M.K. noticed someone’s car parked out front, but no sign of anyone.

Chris groaned. “That’s the realtor’s car, Rodney Gladstone. He keeps after me to buy the house.” He slid the van door open and let Jenny climb out. “Thank you for everything,” Chris told Fern, before turning to Amos. “I’ll get Samson in the morning, if that’s all right.” He gave M.K. a brief glance as he closed the van door.

The van turned around in the driveway as Chris tried to open the front door with his key. M.K. saw him look at Jenny with a puzzled face. “Hold up a moment, Ervin,” she told the driver. “I think something’s wrong.” She unrolled the window.

A man in a business suit came around the side of the house. “Locks were changed, just this morning. Did you forget something?”

“What are you talking about?” Chris asked, coming down the porch steps. “Why would the locks be changed?”

Chris seemed to know this man, so M.K. guessed he was
the realtor. She jumped out of the van, and Amos and Fern followed.

“That’s what the new owners wanted done, first thing,” the realtor said. “My brother-in-law is a locksmith.”

“New owners?” Jenny asked.

Rodney Gladstone looked at Chris, baffled. “Didn’t your mother tell you?” He scratched his head. “I hope I didn’t spoil her surprise.”

“Tell me what?” Chris said, his voice filled with alarm.

Jenny’s eyes went wide.

“I contacted her a month or so ago to let her know I had a buyer for the house, to see if she might be interested in selling.”

Chris fixed him with a hard stare. “How did you know where she lived?”

Rodney glanced at Jenny.

“He did it!” Jenny pointed at him, glaring. “He brought the mail to the house one morning and looked through it! He saw Mom’s address on an envelope.”

Chris looked at her as if she were speaking in Chinese. “What envelope?”

Jenny looked at him with wild eyes. “Mom and I . . . we’ve been writing back and forth, all fall. She figured out where we were living by the postmark.”

Chris squeezed his eyes shut, opened them. He turned to Rodney Gladstone. “You had no right to meddle in our business. No right at all.”

“But I did!” Rodney said. “I absolutely did. I was just doing my job. Grace Mitchell held the title to the house. She was the legal owner. It was all there, down in the title office. I had a buyer. It was the right thing to do. It was my duty to present an offer to the rightful owner. It’s my job.” His Adam’s apple
bobbed up and down. “Grace Mitchell called me right away. The same day she got my letter. She said she wanted to sell. I sent her the offer and she sent it back, accepted without contingencies. It went into escrow and she told me to get the paperwork ready for the notary public. She would be in Stoney Ridge to sign the papers on December 23rd.”

“She was here?” Chris said. “My mother was here? In Stoney Ridge?”

Rodney nodded, paling. “December 23rd, just like she said she would be. Right before closing time. She said to keep the sale a secret from you and your sister—she wanted to surprise you and buy you a bigger spread. For your horse business.”

“You sold our house?” Chris looked and sounded as if he couldn’t get his head around this news. “You sold our house out from under us?”

Rodney started to sputter. “It was all legal! The title was in her name. She inherited the house from her father. It was all . . . legal. We had all the paperwork. I was just doing my job . . .”

“You gave her the money for the house?”

Rodney gulped. “A cashier’s check.” He licked his lips. “I figured she was doing you a favor. I mean, she’s your mother.”

“You figured wrong . . .” Chris’s voice trailed off. He looked shaken, pale and dazed, as if he might pass out. “How could she have done this? How could she have masterminded this?”

Jenny started to sob and M.K. pulled her into her arms.

M.K. sucked in air, held it in her lungs. She wanted to shout,
That’s
terrible, terrible! . . . What kind of woman would lure her daughter
and son to Ohio so that she could sneak back
to Pennsylvania and sell their home out from under them?
She’s a monster.
Instead, she only murmured, “Everything will be all right.”

Fern stepped up to Chris and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s late. We’ll get this sorted out in the morning.”

Rodney shook his head. “Not possible. The possession date was on closing. The new owners arrive with their moving truck at 8 a.m.” He looked cautiously at Chris. “Your mother said she wants to buy you a bigger place. A better place.”

M.K. couldn’t tell if that was the wrong thing to say to Chris. Or the right thing. Whichever it was, it snapped him out of his shock. Chris’s hands were clenching and unclenching rhythmically, his powerful chest shook. He gave Rodney a look as if he wanted to tear him apart. “My mother is halfway to somewhere else right now. She took that house money to feed her drug habit. She’ll blow through that money within the month.”

Rodney Gladstone’s pale face went two shades paler. He looked horrified. “But she looked so normal, and seemed like a nice lady . . . and it was all . . . legal . . .” His voice drizzled off as he realized that he wasn’t helping the situation, so he quietly got in the car and drove off.

M.K. watched Chris’s arms fall to his sides, and something seemed to collapse inside of him. She couldn’t bear him being hurt any more. She simply couldn’t bear it. She looked to her father to say something, do something. But Amos Lapp did nothing. He seemed at a complete loss for words. So she turned to Fern, who seemed just as nonplussed. M.K. was going to have to take charge. “They should come to Windmill Farm.”

Fern blinked a few times, then snapped into action. “Of course. Of course they should.” She put an arm around Jenny, who was still crying. She led her into the van.

“Chris,” M.K. said softly, “come to our house.”

Chris didn’t budge. He had a strange look, as if he were somewhere else. “Chris, you need to come with us,” M.K. repeated. “You can’t stay here. Jenny needs you.”

With that, Chris seemed to jolt back to the present circumstances. Then his face opened for an instant: grief and loss. He nodded and followed M.K. meekly into the van.

They sat down to a silent dinner of cold turkey sandwiches from leftovers Julia had sent back with Fern. No one was very hungry, but Fern insisted everyone sit down and eat.

“Today, despite everything, is a gift,” she said, right before they bowed their heads, “and we should return thanks.”

And she was right. Remembering God put everything in its rightful place, even terrible things. Chris’s face, Amos noticed, had lost that awful white color from when he heard the news of his mother’s actions.

Amos felt disgusted by the treachery Grace Mitchell had pulled over her children. Even animals cared for their young better than that woman.

But there was a tiny glimmer of happiness inside of Amos. It shamed him to admit it, but he couldn’t stop the thought from taking shape: Now, surely, Chris Yoder would leave Stoney Ridge. There was nothing to keep him here.

And then he silently upbraided himself for his selfishness.

A knock at the door interrupted his conflicted thoughts. He got up and opened the door to find Jimmy Fisher standing there.

“Come in, Jimmy.” Amos pulled him in and closed the door. Ah, finally. Finally, Jimmy Fisher showed up when he was needed. Jimmy stood awkwardly in front of the family.

“Have you eaten?” Fern asked.

“Yes. No.” Jimmy scratched his neck. “I have a couple of things to tell you.” He looked at M.K. “First, Eugene Miller wanted me to give this to you.” He handed her a note and waited while she read it aloud.

Deer Teecher M.K.

I am running off fer good. Don’t worry about mee. I will bee fine. Yurs trooly, Eugene Miller

P.S. I am not leaving cuz of your teeching. Yur not half-bad.

M.K.’s dark brown eyes, so much like Amos’s own, widened. “He’s gone. Eugene Miller left home. He’s run away.” She passed the note to her father.

Amos’s heart went out to his daughter. She had been encouraged by the progress Eugene had been making. He was just about to say something to comfort her when Jimmy blew out a big puff of air.

“There’s something else.” Jimmy moved from foot to foot, ill at ease. “Something I need to say, and I need to say it right away, while I still have the strength.” He cast a furtive glance in Chris’s direction.

“Did something happen to Samson? Is he hurt?” Chris jumped up from the table.

Jimmy looked at M.K., then took a deep breath. “He’s not hurt. He’s fine. More than fine. But . . . something has happened.” Jimmy folded his arms against his chest. “I raced him. Over at the track.”

“Domino Joe’s gambling field, you mean,” Fern uttered under her breath.

“Samson’s not much of a racehorse, I discovered.” Jimmy
rubbed his hands together. “I underestimated his—” he glanced at Fern—“manliness.”

Chris groaned. “His instincts would make him try to prove to the other colts that he’s the boss. He’s the keeper of the fillies.”

Jimmy rubbed a hand through his hair. “Apparently.” He cleared his throat. “But I was just so sure he would be a crackerjack racehorse.” His eyes nervously took in the room. Quietly, he added, “So I bet on him.” Jimmy carefully studied a crack in the ceiling. “And I lost.”

There was a terrible silence that no words could fill. All eyes were on Jimmy.

Chris came around the table. “What exactly did you bet?”

“Samson,” Jimmy said, barely a whisper. He cleared his throat. “I bet Samson. And I lost. I lost Samson to Domino Joe.”

It took a moment for Jimmy’s confession to sink in. A solitary feather would have knocked everyone down. It hit Chris first, full force. He opened his mouth as if forming an answer, then clenched his jaw and closed his eyes in despair. “The only thing that was mine . . . the
only
thing left . . . and you lost him in a pathetic pony race . . .” When he opened them again, he turned to M.K., then to Amos, with wounded eyes. He snatched up his hat and coat and left the house without a word, closing the door gently behind him.

Jimmy wrinkled his face in confusion. “What does that mean—the only thing left?”