The Search (4 page)

Chapter 3

“When Perry was twelve, he broke his collarbone jumping out of a hay loft. Until they found his body, I do believe that was the last time he'd been seen by a doctor.”

A
BRAHAM
B
ORNTRAGER

T
hey called it a corneal obstruction. Through her haze and pain, Frannie was coming to understand that the glass had scratched the surface of her cornea, which was the covering of her eyeball.

It was a painful thing, and an injury that would need to be looked after with care for a bit. But she wouldn't go blind.

The cuts around her eye, however, were another matter. A special eye surgeon was on his way to mend the torn skin at the corner of her right eye and to examine the abrasion on her lid.

Someone had already stitched up the other cuts on her face. Though no one would let her see a mirror, Frannie could feel that her whole face was covered in stitches and bandages. Her face had become a pincushion for those shards of glass.

All she wished for was a cooling ointment or cloth to cover her face with. The sensations were as if a hundred bees had launched themselves at her face and angrily stung her.

As she held up her two hands, one with just two bandages and one completely covered in gauze, she sighed. Could she look any more terrible? How could one little bowl raise so much havoc?

“Hey, look at you!”

It was as if he had read her mind. Feeling like a puppet on too-stiff strings, she slowly turned her head so that her unbandaged eye could see who was speaking. “Detective Reynolds? Luke?”

“That's me.”

“Did you come to make fun of my bandages?”

“Maybe.”

“Honestly, Detective—”

“Nope. You are not allowed to start calling me detective again . . . just now you called me Luke. Now we're on a first name basis.”

Only this man seemed to be able to push away her anxiety and turn all the tumbling feelings into spunk. “Ha, ha. If you aren't here to tease me . . . why did you come?” Truly he hadn't thought her cuts were a crime?

“I came because I had some time. And because I heard through the grapevine that you got yourself into a mess.”

“I didn't get myself into anything. A glass bowl fell and broke.” Even though vanity was a sin, Frannie felt herself frown. “Now I'm a scratched-up mess.”

“You sure are. You are scratched up something awful.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Are you in a lot of pain? Do you want me to get you anything?”

“I'm all right.”

“Okay, then.” For some reason he took what she'd just said as an invitation to stay a while. As he walked closer, she could feel his gaze settle on her. “You look like a prizefighter.” And with that, he took a seat right next to her.

Even though he hadn't been invited.

The immediate flood of happiness that she'd felt by his sudden appearance slowly gave way to dismay. “What are you doing?”

“This is called sitting in a chair, Frannie.”

Oh! “I mean, why are you here? Why, really?” Embarrassed about her warming feelings for him, she lashed out. “Detective, I am sorry. I cannot answer any questions from you right now.”

He stilled. “Did you really think I'd come here right now to question you about the case? Do you really think I'm that cold?”

She didn't think he was cold at all.

But she also didn't know why else he would have come all the way to the hospital to see her. Though she might have had secret wishes where he was concerned, he certainly didn't need to know that. “I can't think of why else you would be here.”

“You can't, huh?” The tender look that she'd thought she'd spied in his eyes vanished. “Well, I only came because I was worried that you'd be alone here. And it looks like you are. Or, are you waiting on someone else to visit?”

She'd been tempted to tell him that there was no one else. But then she remembered her conversation with Beth.

Which made her think of Micah. Would he come? Did she even want him to? “I'm not sure if anyone else is coming or not. It ain't easy to get here by buggy you know.”

“It's easy enough to hire a driver, Frannie. Even I know that.”

While she lay there, slightly embarrassed for being so snippy, Luke's voice turned gentle. “Where is your father?”

As usual, their topsy-turvy interactions made her mind spin. To buy herself some time, she said, “You're only asking about my
daed
?”

“I, uh, discovered your mother passed away a few years ago.”

“Cancer,” she murmured, remembering those awful months all over again. It had been so difficult to keep her mother's spirits up when the chemotherapy had made her so weak. “My
daed
, he is at home on the farm, I suppose.”

“He didn't think he should come to the hospital and sit with you?”

“I don't know if anyone has told him about my accident yet.” Or, for that matter, if the news would spur him to come.

Little by little, she felt the tension leave him. “I'm sorry. I remember now that Mose was going to pay a visit to your father and tell him the news and see if he wanted to come up here.”

Imagining her father leaving the safety of their farm was like imagining the detective suddenly feeling at home in Crittenden County. “It would be best if he stayed home.”

“Why? You don't think he'd accept a ride from Mose?”

Frannie struggled to describe her father's personality. “He's a cautious man. Shy, too. He wouldn't venture far unless he was truly needed.”

“And he isn't needed right now?” His voice rose as he made no effort to conceal his confusion. “You're badly injured, Frannie. ”

“I know.”

“Who knows how many cuts and stitches you received.”

The reminder made her face throb even worse. “I know,” she said again.

“He should be here for you. You shouldn't be here alone.”

But, yet . . . she wasn't. “Next time I see my father, I'll pass on your thoughts on the matter.”

“I'm not trying to be critical.”

“But you are.” Her good eye saw him flinch. And immediately she felt bad. She didn't know the detective all that well, but she was certainly coming to understand that he was a man used to being in charge, and used to saying what he thought.

Maybe a little bit like herself?

“Luke, I'm sorry if I don't sound grateful for your concern. I thank you for that. And I thank you for coming here to check on me. It was kind of you.”

“What are the doctors saying?”

“I don't know. Everything's been pretty fuzzy.” She thought for a moment. “I think I remember them saying that they'd come back soon.”

“When they do, would you like me to talk with them, too?”

Just the idea of someone taking over her worries and questions sounded wonderful. With the way her head was pounding and her cheeks and face stinging, she was having trouble even keeping her good eye open. “Thank you for that,” she said quietly. “If you could get some information and hold on tight to it, I would be most grateful.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“You don't need to thank me. I'll be glad to help.” He paused. “I don't usually argue with people all that much, you know.”

“I don't argue that much, either,” she admitted. “I guess we bring out the worst in each other.”

“I hope not. I don't want to always argue with you, Frannie.”

She didn't know how to respond to that. Changing topics, she opened her good eye again. “One doctor stitched up my face, and another doctor examined my cornea. But neither of them wanted to tackle the cuts on the side of my eye. I'm waiting for that eye doctor. When he gets here, he's going to fix the cuts on the side and lid of my eye. I might have to get operated on.”

“And that worries you.”

Her lip trembled. “I'm tryin' to be brave, but in truth I'm scared.”

“You know what? You have every right to be, too.” As tears leaked from her good eye, Luke grabbed a tissue, hovered it over her, then set it down. “Fran, I don't have a clue about how to wipe your tears away. Want some water? There's a straw.”

“Okay.”

When she attempted to sit up, he placed a hand behind her shoulders and clicked his tongue. “Easy now. Don't want you to hurt yourself. Just open your mouth like a baby robin and I'll give you the straw.”

The image of the fierce-looking detective playing mama bird to her baby bird was so ludicrous that she opened her mouth without a complaint. And sure enough, a cool straw came filled with cooler water that tasted wonderful in her mouth.

Greedily, she swallowed, then swallowed again.

“Easy now. You'll choke if you're not careful.”

Following his words, she swallowed more slowly, then released the straw and leaned back again.

“Danke.”

“You're welcome.”

“If you'd like to leave, that's okay with me.”

“I don't want to. I want to stay here and keep you company.”

“You must know that I'm not the best of company right now.”

He chuckled. “You must know that you're not the best of company a lot of the time.”

By now she knew his words were only teasing.

“And?”

“And I don't feel like doing much at the moment. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to sit here with you, and wait for the doctors with you.”

“Don't expect me to be grateful.” Because, of course, she was grateful. She hadn't liked sitting alone.

To her surprise, he chuckled again. “Don't worry, Frannie. I've come to discover that I shouldn't expect much from you. You have a tendency to surprise me.”

Against her will . . . or maybe because of his frankness, she smiled.

L
uke turned out to be an easy companion. He didn't say much. Instead, he encouraged her to close both eyes and relax. A nurse came in to take her blood pressure and to tell her that the plastic surgeon for eyes was on his way.

When they were alone again, he leaned closer. “You okay?”

“Truth?”

“Always.”

“No. I'm frightened. I don't want to be blind, and I'm not too excited about getting stitches around my eye neither. And my face hurts.”

“That's to be expected. Do you want me to see if they'll give you more medicine for the pain?”

“
Nee.
I need to be strong. I don't want to be in a greater daze than I am right now.”

“That makes sense. I've always greeted doctors with a mix of anticipation and fear.”

Just then two doctors and a nurse came into their little cubicle.

“Frannie? I'm Dr. Carlson and this is Dr. Arthur. We're going to look at your eye, okay?”

She nodded.

As they crowded around her, she did her best to lie still.

But she felt the shakes start, so much so that she knew everyone in the room was aware of it.

“Are you in pain?” Dr. Carlson asked.

“Some,” she murmured. In truth, she was so stunned by the unexpected events, she wasn't completely sure how she felt.

“Do you want some more pain medicine?'

She didn't know. Weren't all medicines bad? But if the doctors asked her to take them, then she must need them, right? “I'm just afraid of what you're going to do,” she said, hating that her voice was trembling.

Then, to her surprise, Luke took her hand. “It's okay, Frannie. You don't need to make any decisions right now at all. I'll stay right here with you.”

And though it wasn't in her nature to accept help, Frannie found herself linking his fingers between hers and exhaling.

She needed someone to clutch and lean on. To calm her nerves. And Luke did seem more than willing to accept her burdens.

“I've got you, Frannie,” he whispered.

And truly . . . right then and there, she felt like he did.

“Stay as still as you possibly can,” Dr. Carlson ordered as he and the other physician bent close and peered into her eye.

The light felt blinding. Her vision blurred.

And she was so very glad that she couldn't see what was happening.

Chapter 4

“I never agreed with Mamm and Daed searching through the drawers and cabinets in our rooms. Everyone needs some privacy, I think. But Mamm said she only looked through my things because she'd gone through Perry's.”

D
EBORAH
B
ORNTRAGER

D
espite the rumors that were buzzing around their tight-knit community, Deborah Borntrager still loved her brother. Sure, Perry had made some bad decisions. He'd gotten mixed up with the wrong kind of people. Sometimes, too, he could be terribly mean, almost spiteful with his sharp words and temper.

Sometimes he'd even been that way with family members who cared about him.

But everyone made mistakes, right? Deborah knew she did. She knew she was still making mistakes.

She comforted herself with that thought every morning when she said her prayers. With each sunrise, she'd get down on her knees and reach out to the Lord. Then, in the quiet of her room, she'd talk to Jesus about Perry's good points. Even the ones that Perry had seemed to have forgotten about. Perry had never been one for self-reflection.

Next, she'd pray for the Lord to help everyone in their community to forgive Perry. He'd caused so much hurt by his lies and anger, and it was becoming mighty apparent that not too many people in the community were eager to simply forgive and forget. Especially since he had never admitted his sins or asked for forgiveness. With all her heart, she would pray people would remember that it had been the drugs that had made Perry do bad things. It wasn't his fault.

After she covered the community, she'd ask the Lord to forgive Perry for his transgressions. She'd pray that he had somehow repented before he'd died and was now in heaven with all the saints and angels. But always, as soon as she thought about his erratic behavior, about the terrible things he used to say to her, the way he'd lied and cheated and stole from them all . . . she'd open her eyes and get up off her knees.

And as her heart began to beat slower, she'd sigh and wonder how long she could blame the drugs for his selfishness. And the way he could be so cruel. After all, he might have been addicted. But he'd also made the choice to begin his drug use in the first place.

Not that she'd ever say any of those things out loud.

At first when Perry's body had been found and a thousand questions had buzzed through the community, her parents had sent her to Charm, Ohio. There, her grandparents had given her time to mourn. For two weeks she cried and prayed and slept. She helped her grandmother wash walls and move all the household goods from the basement to the main floor. The hard work, combined with her grandmother's sweet, quiet personality, had been the perfect medicine to her frayed nerves. Only in the middle of the night would she let the reality of Perry's death sink in.

Imagining the commotion that was surrounding the murder investigation, she'd feel guilty. It hadn't been right to escape to her grandparents' farm like she had, but her parents had encouraged the trip. They hadn't trusted the policeman from Cincinnati.

Actually, they hadn't trusted Sheriff Kramer, either.

“There's no reason for you to become entangled in the police investigation, Deborah,” her mother had said. “After all, you knew nothing about Perry's habits. None of us did. I don't know how, but Perry pulled the wool over all of our eyes.”

Deborah never said anything, but she privately thought that the reason Perry had been able to pull that wool so well was because they hadn't wanted to see what he was doing.

It had been easier to be ignorant.

But Deborah had known more than she'd ever let on about her brother's habits.

She'd simply chosen to do nothing about it.

Now, though, she was back and was determined to hold her head up high. Even if some people thought she should stay in hiding, ashamed of what her brother had become and what had happened to him.

After washing her face and getting dressed for the day, she did the dozen other things that were part of her normal morning routine.

Then prepared herself to finally go to Schrock's Variety.

Her mother wasn't happy about it. She'd been flitting around her like a hummingbird since breakfast, full of nervous energy and advice. “Deborah, perhaps you should stay home today,” she said. “There is nothing we truly need at the store.”

“I told you I'd buy you some fresh cottage cheese and buttermilk, Mamm. Mr. Schrock always carries fresh dairy on Tuesdays.” Plus, she, at least, needed to begin her life again. Staying inside and sheltered from the rest of the community was becoming too easy.

If she kept it up, she'd soon never want to leave her house.

“But Perry used to work there.” Her mother bit her lip. “And I'm afraid Mr. Schrock and Perry didn't part on the best of terms. For some reason, Mr. Schrock fired him.”

Deborah fought back the urge to roll her eyes upward. Though not a bit of what they were talking about was humorous, her mother's penchant for turning Perry into a saint was hard to take. “Mamm, I know that. Of course I know that.”

“Then you know there might be hard feelings . . . Some people might take out their anger toward Perry on you.”

Deborah was sure they might. But she also knew things wouldn't get better until she made some changes in her life. She needed to move forward and find something to occupy her mind instead of grieving for her brother. “I'll be all right.”

Her
mamm
wrung her hands. “But they might ask you questions.”

“
Muddah,
Perry was murdered. People want to know what happened.”

“But you shouldn't have to talk about him. You shouldn't have to dwell on things that make you upset.”

“I already am upset, Mamm. He was my brother, of course I'm going to be sad that he's dead.”

And before her mother could refute that, Deborah slipped on her black tennis shoes and began the trek to Schrock's Variety Store.

It wasn't a short walk. Easily three miles. But the day was sunny and the sky was blue—and the exercise would improve her spirits. Already, the plan to get out of the house for the day was lifting her spirits.

She grabbed a tote to carry the dairy products home and swung it a little at her side as she left the house. She was happy not to have to be fussing with a horse and buggy and all the headaches that came with driving a buggy through traffic on a Tuesday morning.

As she passed Stanton Park, she was reminded of the rumor that Lydia Plank liked to meet Walker Anderson there, and then she passed a pair of nurseries. Finally, after almost an hour, Deborah arrived at Schrock's.

Now, as she stood outside the door, all the doubts she'd tried so hard to keep at bay rushed forward. Perhaps she shouldn't be so bold?

Perhaps she should feel more dismay for Perry and more shame for her brother's actions.

Then the door opened with a jerk, making the decision for her. She hastily took two steps back.

“Careful in there,” a man muttered before dashing out of the way. “Things are crazier than usual.”

She stood at the stoop, watching him in confusion.

Mr. Schrock was known for outlandish schemes. It was part of his charm, really. Entering the store always made her think of the fun house she'd visited once when a carnival came through the area. You never knew what was going to pop out at Schrock's.

“You coming in or out?” a woman's voice rang out from the back. “Make a choice, and be quick about it.”

Deborah felt her breath hitch at the harsh command. She hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she stepped in, fast. Before she could change her mind.

“Ach! Shut the door, wouldja?” the same harsh voice yelled.

Deborah shut it. Then wished she was still on the other side.

Four large gangly puppies were gallivanting her way, taking down everything in their path. Their paws were overlarge and their tongues wet and drippy.

“Dogs?” she yelped.

“Prepare yourself! They're a mite rambunctious right now. Real excited for sure.” Mrs. Schrock was hustling in from the back with her warning.

She barely had time to brace herself as one let out a friendly
woof
and leapt.

Two paws landed on her thighs. Its littermate jumped right next to her.

When she bent to steady herself, two wet tongues whipped out and swabbed her cheeks. “Oh!” she squealed as a third puppy barreled her way, attacking from the side.

She fell on her bottom. With a few triumphant yips, the puppies gallivanted closer. In no time at all, she was soon covered with paws and fur and puppy slobber.

“Woof!”
a fourth exclaimed, barking and licking with playful moves. She would have loved to play with them all. That is, if they weren't bounding on top of her lap with the force and energy of four tiny locomotives.

“Oh, you puppies!” Mrs. Schrock exclaimed as she scurried to Deborah's side and came to her rescue. With a gentle tug, the lady maneuvered the pups off and helped her to her feet. “All you all right, dear?”

Deborah was not. Her
kapp
and bonnet were skewed to one side, her pink dress and black apron were covered in dog fur, and one of her black stockings now had a quarter-sized hole at the knee.

But she pretended none of that mattered. “
Jah
. I am fine. Never better.” She smiled wanly. “Those puppies are sure frisky.”

“Indeed.” Still trying to corral the exuberant monster pups, Mrs. Schrock looked her over with a worried expression. “You're not hurt? Are you sure?”

“I am fine, Mrs. Schrock. Truly, I like dogs. They just caught me off guard, that's all. They are adorable puppies.” More like overgrown horses, but still . . . their sweet brown eyes, pink tongues, and happy antics were terribly cute.

Mrs. Schrock chuckled as two of the puppies lay down, exhausted. “They don't usually greet newcomers quite so enthusiastically. They must like you.”

“Lucky me.”

Mrs. Schrock's eyes twinkled merrily. “Yes, indeed.” Raising her voice, she opened the door to the storeroom and called out, “Walker? Where are you? I need your help, dear.”

“Walker left, Mamm,” a familiar voice replied, sending the last tiny bit of Deborah's composure out the window. “It's just me here.”

Her arms full of puppy, Mrs. Schrock frowned. “I didn't see Walker leave.”

“Daed sent him to go help with a delivery—I thought you knew?” Jacob called back.

Listening to the conversation, Deborah's spirits sank. Oh, but this visit to Schrock's had just gone from bad to worse.

Jacob Schrock was back in town.