The Letters (17 page)

Despite Bethany Schrock’s opinion, Jimmy Fisher did have ambition that lasted longer than five minutes. But it was not to inherit his mother’s farm to become a chicken and egg dealer like his brother, Paul, who didn’t mind living his life in a groove etched out by their mother. Jimmy had different ideas for his life. He wanted to become a respected horse trainer, just like Galen King.

He listened carefully to Galen—though he knew his taciturn boss thought otherwise—and he had discovered that horses coming off the Kentucky racetracks were breaking down. Too many horses were bred for one quality—speed—at the expense of others. They were weedy and unsound.

Jimmy decided that he should help out mankind and create a superb Thoroughbred bloodline. He developed a plan: he would stop dating girls and start saving his money. And he would attend local spring mud sales held at county fire stations on Saturdays, looking for the perfect foundation stallion to start his superb bloodline.

Amazingly, he found the horse on the first Saturday at the Bart Township mud sale.

It was early. The auction wouldn’t get started for a few more hours, but there was a crowd milling around a certain stall that piqued Jimmy’s interest. He made his way through the crowd to get closer to the stall and see what folks were oohing and aahing over. Inside was the most striking-looking horse he’d ever seen—a chocolate palomino stallion with a flaxen mane. He tried to gather as much information about the horse as he could without having the owner notice him. Bright eyes, a long arch to his neck, thick cannons, hooves in good condition, sound teeth that revealed he was a young colt. And he was definitely a stallion. He could just imagine what Galen King would have to say if Jimmy bought a gelding as the foundation of his breeding plan. No thank you! He did not want to have to be on the receiving end of Galen King’s disdain any more than necessary.

The owner noticed him and sidled over to him. “Beautiful creature,” he said. “I hate to let him go.”

“Then why are you selling?” Jimmy asked.

“I’ve got some bills to take care of.” He rolled his eyes. “But . . . a man’s got to do what he’s gotta do.” He stuck out his hand. “Jonah Hershberger.”

“Jimmy Fisher.” He shook his hand and noticed that it wasn’t the palm of a typical horseman: calloused and rough. This was a man who didn’t use his hands for a living. In fact, he looked like he didn’t get outside much—he had pale skin, was small-boned and slender, blue eyed, with shingled mahogany hair. The indoor type. Mennonite, he guessed, with a name like Jonah Hershberger. Hard to tell his age but he didn’t wear a beard so Jimmy assumed he wasn’t married.

Jonah Hershberger nodded his head toward the horse. “You can check him out.”

Jimmy ducked under the rope gate and walked slowly around the stallion. Perfect conformation—large eyes, broad forehead, knife-edged withers, sloping croup, lean body, good depth of girth, beautiful coat. Jimmy lifted each hoof and examined it. The horse was calm, at ease with handling. “Does he have a name?”

“I call him Lodestar.”

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He knew what that word meant: a guiding light. Lodestar bumped Jimmy gently with his nose and he was hooked. This horse was meant for him.

Jonah Hershberger looked around, then lowered his voice. “Look, I can tell you know horses.”

Jimmy nodded. He did.

“I’d rather Lodestar go to someone like you, someone who would give him a good home, than let him go on that auction block.”

“How much? How much do you want?”

“I haven’t signed any papers with the auctioneer yet, so if you can get him out of here before the auction starts, I’ll let him go for $1500.”

Jimmy inhaled a sharp breath. “The thing is, Jonah, I don’t quite have that much. Not yet. I could give you a deposit and make payments. I’ve got a steady job. I’m good for the money.”

Jonah hesitated. “I don’t know. Like I said . . . I got these bills to take care of.”

“It would just be for a few weeks, maybe a month—I get paid on Fridays. I’m good for it. Ask anybody around here. They all know me.”

“How much can you get me today?”

Just how much was in Jimmy’s checking account? Last time he looked was . . . blast! He couldn’t remember. He had never been much of a money manager—mainly because he just didn’t care much about it. “I could write you a check for $500.”

“Make it $750 and you’ve got yourself the finest stud north of Kentucky.”

He looked over at Lodestar, who stretched out his neck now, lifting his head, looking calmly at Jimmy through big round dark eyes. What was it about the meeting of eyes that created a connection? He’d never felt such a bond with an animal before. It’s like Lodestar was meant for him and they both knew it.

But he remembered Galen’s constant refrains—
Never let your heart rule your head. You make a purchase with your stomach.

Jimmy’s stomach felt just fine.

“Okay,” Jimmy said, grinning. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes with a friend who has a trailer.”

“Hold on,” Jonah said, laughing at Jimmy’s delight. “I’ve got a trailer hitched to my truck. Throw in an extra twenty-five bucks, and I’ll deliver him right to your barn.”

Jimmy’s grin spread from ear to ear. “It’s a deal!”

Later that afternoon, Jimmy confessed to Galen that he had bought a foundation stallion for his future stud farm. He braced himself for a lecture on impulsive purchases, but Galen surprised him with only interest. In fact, he wanted to go over to Jimmy’s farm to meet Lodestar. As they drove the buggy down the road that led to the Fisher chicken and
egg farm, the buggy horse pricked its ears, then started to speed up, prancing on the road. Not a moment later, a dark object came hurtling through the woods, leapt over a fence, blew past them, and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the road.

It took all of Galen’s attention to keep his buggy horse from bolting. His fists were clenched around the reins so tightly that his knuckles were white. When the horse finally stopped straining, Galen relaxed his grip, little by little. He edged the gelding sideways over to the side of the road. “What was
that
?” he said, mystified.

“A horse, I think,” Jimmy said, peering into the woods. He gave a snort. “Somebody’s gonna be sorry they left a barn door open.”

Wait.
What?

“That was Lodestar!” Jimmy swung out of the buggy and ran into the woods, calling Lodestar’s name. He stopped and listened, hoping to hear some sound that the horse was near. The woods were silent.

Slowly, Jimmy walked back to the buggy and climbed in.

“You’re sure that was your new horse?” Galen said. “It blew past us pretty fast. I couldn’t tell if it was a bear or a buck.”

Jimmy hung his head. “I’m sure.”

“Let’s go to your farm and double-check.” Galen clucked for the horse to move forward and drove down the road, turning into the Fisher driveway. Jimmy’s eyes immediately went to the paddock where he had left Lodestar grazing just a few hours earlier.

Empty. The paddock was empty.

11

I
n the warm kitchen of Eagle Hill, Bethany washed dishes, suds up to her elbows. Mim dried and put the dishes away. Seated at the kitchen table, Luke was reading his essay to them.

“‘Noah and his wife, Joan,’” he read, “‘lived on the Ark for a long time.’”

“What makes you think Noah’s wife is named Joan?” Bethany asked. “I don’t remember reading what her name was in the Bible.”

“Everybody knows that. Joan of Ark.”

Bethany and Mim burst into laughter. Luke ignored them and went back to his essay. “‘The ark came to its end on Mt. Error Fat. It is still up there, teetering on the top of the mountain, just waiting to be discovered by
National Geographic
magazine.’”

“Luke, where did you get that information?” Bethany asked, scratching her nose and leaving a spot of suds there.

“I made it up,” Luke said, looking pleased. “What do you think?”

“Luke, you can’t make up facts!” Mim protested. “You research facts. Facts are true. Made-up facts are not true.”

“Unless you happened to have interviewed Mr. and Mrs. Noah,” repeated Bethany, scouring out the soup pot, making Luke smile.

“Can I say I did?”

“No!” Mim and Bethany shouted.

After Luke and Mim went upstairs, Bethany finished up the last of the dishes. She was standing at the sink, her hands immersed in soapy water, when she noticed movement outside, half in the darkness, half in the square of light thrown out from the window.

Her heart skipped a beat.
Shootfire!
She smacked her hands to her cheeks.
Oh my.
Oh my!
He’s come for me!
“Jake! Jake Hertzler.”

He didn’t hear her; he was staring in through a window now, as if searching the room. She waved a hand, signaling to him, and he startled, hesitated, then smiled.

She dried her hands before opening the kitchen door, and tried to appear calm as a cucumber, as if the arrival by night of Jake Hertzler lurking in the darkness was nothing unusual. As soon as she had closed the door, she ran into his arms. “You’ve come. You’ve finally come!” She was floating, lighter than air. She loved him, loved him so much! Her relief was so great, she felt dizzy with it. Jake had come for her!

Jake put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back. “Bethany, I’m here for Tobe’s sake.”

Her chin jerked up. He hadn’t even seen her in months and months . . . and he was worried about Tobe? About
Tobe?
“Well, that’s a fine way to greet your girlfriend.”

He glanced into the kitchen. “Keep your voice down. Tobe’s in trouble. He needs our help.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s he been?”

Jake took his time answering. “He’s been with your mother.”

Bethany’s head snapped up. “WHAT?”

“Hush!” he clamped his fingers over her mouth. “There’s something I need your help with. Tobe said he left something important in the basement. But when I looked in the windows—”

“You peeped in the basement windows? There’s a paying guest in there!”

“Relax. She didn’t see me. But obviously, stuff has been moved out of the basement. Where would it be now?”

She shrugged. She was still reeling over the news that Tobe was with their mother. She had no idea where her mother lived. Somehow, Tobe had tracked her down and was living with her? “I . . . I don’t know. I could ask Rose.”

“No!” Jake snapped. She stiffened and he noticed. His face softened as he added, “I don’t want Rose to find out about this. It’ll only make things worse for Tobe.”

“But she should be told if he’s in some kind of trouble. She’ll know what to do.”

“Legal trouble, Bethany. I’m trying to help him stay out of jail. We can’t get Rose involved in this—not yet. Not with the SEC lawyer sniffing around. It puts her in a tight spot. She’d have to turn him in or she could be in trouble herself. You understand, don’t you?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. “I’m sorry, Bethany. I’m trying to do all I can to help your brother. Now I want you to think hard for a minute. Where would things be that were stored in the basement?”

She breathed in the familiar scent of Jake: Old Spice
shaving cream and peppermint gum. He always smelled so good and looked so good—unlike most of the farm boys in Stoney Ridge who wore the barn on their boots. She wished she could stay in his arms forever. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

“Most importantly, two black books with red bindings.”

“Books?” She pulled back to look right at his eyes. “Tobe didn’t read.”

“These are ledger books. For Schrock Investments.”

“What’s the next most important thing?”

He hesitated. “I’m looking for a key. But I’m not sure Tobe took it. I couldn’t find it after the SEC cleaned the office out.”

She tilted her head. “What kind of key? For a car?”

“No. Smaller than that.” He shook his head. “Never you mind. The books are what I really need. What Tobe needs.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’m on the road a lot—interviewing all over, trying to find a job. But everyone seems to have been an investor in Schrock Investments or their grandmother was—it ain’t good. It’s been tough, you know.”