some of her tension. That and a few hours on the job would put everything right. Surely it would, because back at the pond, she’d had the uncomfortable feeling they were all in for another long ride.
In fact, she’d had the distinct thought, standing beside Esther, that this time could be worse than the last.
But how was that even possible?
Before she could dwell on the possibilities, she opened the door to the shop, Max bounded inside, and Callie lost herself in the warmth of her fabric and buttons and quilt kits.
Then the afternoon activities took over, including changing clothes as Melinda had suggested. During the course of those chores, Callie did what she’d often done as a child: She pushed what was troubling her to the back of her mind.
Reuben watched the scene unfolding outside his barn window, and it was as if it were one of the
Englisch
motion pictures he’dheard his nephews describing. It was as if all that had happened since Deborah had driven her buggy onto his land earlier that morning, discovered the girl’s body, and run screaming for his help — as if all of that had happened to someone else.
No chance of that. It had happened and was happening … to him.
Reuben closed his right fist and worked it into the palm of his left hand. Though he wasn’t old, arthritis had already begun. He massaged his knuckles, kneaded the tendons like his sisters kneaded bread.
He was a big man, accustomed to long days of hard work. It was work he enjoyed. When his muscles ached from long hours in the field, he felt as if he’d done what he should for the day. When his back was sore from hauling feed or cleaning out stalls, he knew he’d completed his half of some contract established long ago.
Each evening he looked out across his
grossdaddi
’s land and asked himself if he had done his best. If he could honestly answer yes, then he was pleased with that day’s work. His
dat
and his
grossdaddi
had always taught him that his best — and only his best — was good enough.
Now, watching the sun set over the unharvested fields, Reuben had the uncomfortable feeling that somewhere, somehow, he’d broken the contract. He’d betrayed both his parents and his grandparents.
But where?
How?
Which step had been the one that had ultimately been the wrong step?
How could he have dealt differently with the girl?
What would have been a better way?
As he watched Shane Black walk toward his door, watched a house key swing back and forth from the officer’s hand, he knew that the next few moments would be the hardest.
The next few moments, another life could hang in the balance.
Reuben closed his eyes and did what he often did. He prayed for wisdom, that he might choose the correct path this time. He prayed for strength, that he might be able to endure what lay ahead. And he prayed for mercy, God’s mercy, as man’s mercy meant nothing to him — he neither expected nor wanted it.
Then he took one last swallow of cold, bitter
kaffi.
Something told him it might be the last homebrewed
kaffi
he would have for quite some time.
Shane didn’t bother to knock on the door. He did stop to argue with Tobias.
Reuben turned away, not wanting his memory of this last sunset to be scarred.
“I have a legal right to question him again, Tobias. Now you can be present or you can leave, but you will move out of my way.”
Shane stepped through the door, still holding the key. Apparently Tobias hadn’t noticed it yet. He was still trying to prevent the lawman from entering their house.
“Don’t think because we’re a bit unfamiliar with your ways, that you can come in here and — “
“It’s all right, Tobias.” Reuben met Shane’s gaze without flinching. He wasn’t sure why the key had been in the pond, but when they brought the machinery and the nets, he’d suspected they would find something. There were only three questions to be answered now.
What else had they found?
How much did Shane know?
How much
In fact, she’d had the distinct thought, standing beside Esther, that this time could be worse than the last.
But how was that even possible?
Before she could dwell on the possibilities, she opened the door to the shop, Max bounded inside, and Callie lost herself in the warmth of her fabric and buttons and quilt kits.
Then the afternoon activities took over, including changing clothes as Melinda had suggested. During the course of those chores, Callie did what she’d often done as a child: She pushed what was troubling her to the back of her mind.
Reuben watched the scene unfolding outside his barn window, and it was as if it were one of the
Englisch
motion pictures he’dheard his nephews describing. It was as if all that had happened since Deborah had driven her buggy onto his land earlier that morning, discovered the girl’s body, and run screaming for his help — as if all of that had happened to someone else.
No chance of that. It had happened and was happening … to him.
Reuben closed his right fist and worked it into the palm of his left hand. Though he wasn’t old, arthritis had already begun. He massaged his knuckles, kneaded the tendons like his sisters kneaded bread.
He was a big man, accustomed to long days of hard work. It was work he enjoyed. When his muscles ached from long hours in the field, he felt as if he’d done what he should for the day. When his back was sore from hauling feed or cleaning out stalls, he knew he’d completed his half of some contract established long ago.
Each evening he looked out across his
grossdaddi
’s land and asked himself if he had done his best. If he could honestly answer yes, then he was pleased with that day’s work. His
dat
and his
grossdaddi
had always taught him that his best — and only his best — was good enough.
Now, watching the sun set over the unharvested fields, Reuben had the uncomfortable feeling that somewhere, somehow, he’d broken the contract. He’d betrayed both his parents and his grandparents.
But where?
How?
Which step had been the one that had ultimately been the wrong step?
How could he have dealt differently with the girl?
What would have been a better way?
As he watched Shane Black walk toward his door, watched a house key swing back and forth from the officer’s hand, he knew that the next few moments would be the hardest.
The next few moments, another life could hang in the balance.
Reuben closed his eyes and did what he often did. He prayed for wisdom, that he might choose the correct path this time. He prayed for strength, that he might be able to endure what lay ahead. And he prayed for mercy, God’s mercy, as man’s mercy meant nothing to him — he neither expected nor wanted it.
Then he took one last swallow of cold, bitter
kaffi.
Something told him it might be the last homebrewed
kaffi
he would have for quite some time.
Shane didn’t bother to knock on the door. He did stop to argue with Tobias.
Reuben turned away, not wanting his memory of this last sunset to be scarred.
“I have a legal right to question him again, Tobias. Now you can be present or you can leave, but you will move out of my way.”
Shane stepped through the door, still holding the key. Apparently Tobias hadn’t noticed it yet. He was still trying to prevent the lawman from entering their house.
“Don’t think because we’re a bit unfamiliar with your ways, that you can come in here and — “
“It’s all right, Tobias.” Reuben met Shane’s gaze without flinching. He wasn’t sure why the key had been in the pond, but when they brought the machinery and the nets, he’d suspected they would find something. There were only three questions to be answered now.
What else had they found?
How much did Shane know?
How much
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