A Perfect Square

Chapter 9




DEBORAH CHECKED THE PINS holding up Martha’s long brown hair as her daughter lined up the lunch pails on the counter. She’d done a good job of fastening on her kapp but needed help with the back, where it was difficult for her to see or reach. “There. It’ll hold nicely now.”

“Danki. How did you ever learn to do it yourself?”

“Practice. And it helps when your arms grow a bit. Did you remember to add the raisin cookies we had left over from last night?”

“I did. I even gave the boys an extra one each. Have you noticed how they’re hungry all the time?”

“Ya. That was good thinking on your part.”

“Maybe something’s wrong with them, Mamm. Joseph and Jacob had seconds at dinner. Last year they grumbled about stew, but this year they ate more than I did, and I’m four years older than they are.”

Deborah smiled at her ten-year-old as she heard the boys clambering at the backdoor.

“Boys are different,” she said.

“Is that why they like being dirty?”

Turning to look at her twins, Deborah closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe when she opened them again, the boys would be clean. Clean, like they’d been when she’d sent them out with Jonas an hour ago.

Opening her eyes, she shook her head, and Joseph and Jacob froze — each with one hand on the back of a chair.

“What did we do — “

“This time?”

“You’re filthy,” Deborah answered.

“Huh?” The word came out from both of them at the exact same moment, in the exact same pitch, with equal innocence.

“Look down.”

They did and seemed to realize for the first time that their pants were covered in hay and mud, their hands were filthy, and yes … as they felt in their hair, it, too, had managed to get hay in it.

“Get as much of that mud and hay off as possible and then head upstairs.”

“But we’re hungry.” Joseph smiled so that his freckles popped across the bridge of his nose.

“And we did all of our chores.” Jacob was her serious child. He appealed to reason every time. He was also a hair taller than his twin brother, but who knew if that would last until November. They’d turned six a month ago and seemed to be growing faster than the crops Jonas had begun to harvest.

“Ask Dat,” Joseph added.

“That they did,” Jonas agreed, coming in the backdoor and washing his hands at the sink in the mudroom. “I believe the problem came with the game of chase after their chores.”

“It wasn’t chase exactly,” Joseph said, looking down at his hands — covered front and back with dirt — as if they’d betrayed him.

Jacob reached over and pushed his brother’s hands down and out of sight, then stuck his own in his pockets. “We were keeping a box of turtles in the back of the last stall.”

“Turtles?” Deborah reached for her kaffi.

“Ya. We were afraid they might not do well in the creek. What with the cold weather and all.” Joseph nudged Jacob.

“But somehow they escaped from the box, and when I opened the stall, they scampered out of the stall too.”

“I was feeding the pigs, like Dat asked.” Joseph smiled again, freckles spreading.

“Turtles move faster than you’d think. Don’t know why they’d head to the pigpen.”

“Seems like the smell would keep them away.”

Both boys fell silent, either considering the pickle they were in or contemplating the wonders of turtles. Deborah honestly couldn’t have guessed — with those two it was an even chance either way.

“I’m sure the turtles appreciate your care, but you can’t go to school dirty. Now pick off that hay, head upstairs to change your clothes, and clean up. Tonight you’ll have to soak and hang those dirty clothes yourself.” Deborah turned back to the stove and poured Jonas a mug of kaffi.

His fingers brushed hers as he accepted it, reminding her of the moments they’d shared before the day’s work had begun. The memory stirred a warmth deep within her, helped her to keep some perspective regarding the two imps standing in front of her.

“But we were going to build the turtles a better box tonight.” Joseph shifted from one foot to another.

“I even had planned a ramp that would allow them to get more exercise.”

“Don’t argue with your mamm.” Jonas sat down at the table and began heaping food on his plate.

“What about breakfast?” Joseph asked.

“I’ll put some muffins in your lunch pail. You can eat them as we walk to school.” Martha turned and began wrapping muffins in dishcloths. “And if I help with the clothes, maybe you can do both tonight.”

“Thanks,” Jacob and Joseph said in unison. Their worried looks vanished completely as they turned and hurried from the room, nearly running over Mary who was carrying a clean cloth diaper and leading Joshua.

“Martha, that was nice of you.” Jonas salted his food and helped Mary into her seat at the same time.

“They’re just kids,” Martha said in a voice that sounded ten years older than it should have. “I remember going without breakfast once or twice when I had trouble getting up in time for chores.”

Martha tucked the muffins into the already-full lunch pails, then reached down for her baby brother, who had plopped onto the middle of the kitchen floor. “He’s wet, Mamm. Do you want me to change him?”

“I’ll take care of that. You’re not so grown you don’t need your own breakfast.” Deborah smiled at Jonas and nearly laughed out loud when he winked at her over the kids’ heads. Five children were a handful, but they made for interesting mornings.

She’d picked up Joshua, taken the clean diaper from Mary, and was heading back into the nursery to change him when a knock sounded at the front door.

“I’ve got it.” With her left hand, she moved Joshua so she was carrying him in the front — facing out, like a bolt of cloth. She knew from experience not to carry him on her hip when the boy had a wet diaper. Potty training would come in the spring, and though she wasn’t looking forward to it, certain things would be easier, like early mornings.

Joshua twisted in her arms to look at her and began giggling when she met his gaze.

“You’re going to be like your bruders. Aren’t you? Hmm? That’s why you’re laughing at me.”

She was so busy talking to her son that she didn’t glance out the glass of the front door as she reached for the handle and pulled it open. It wasn’t unusual to have visitors so early, what with the various farming activities Jonas attended to. It never occurred to her to check to see who it was.

Later the moment would crystallize in her mind, for it seemed — even more than when she saw the girl in the pond — this moment changed their lives.

What had happened the day before had been at Reuben’s house. It hadn’t seemed quite real, as she’d explained to Jonas the night before when they snuggled on the couch.

This morning, she opened the door, smiled down at Joshua, and listened to the sounds of the girls and Jonas at the table behind her as beams of fall sunlight shone through the windows — and everything changed.

This morning the tragedy on her doorstep spilled into her home, shattering the sweet, warm nest she and Jonas had made.

Esther stood there, or a shadow of Esther, reminding Deborah of one of those paper dolls the girls cut out from their books. She looked as if the sun would not continue rising on the day. Pale and rumpled, her hair barely covered by her kapp and clinging to Esther’s hand, stood Leah.

“Deborah.” Esther’s voice trembled. She stopped and pressed her fingers against her lips, as if to regain control of herself.

“Esther, was iss letz? Come in. Come inside.”

Deborah pulled her friend into the sitting room. “Martha, come and get the baby, please. Mary, would you take Leah to the table and offer her some breakfast?”

Esther nodded when Leah looked up at her for permission.

When they’d crossed the few steps to the sitting room and sat on the couch, Esther covered her face with both hands and began to sob, her shoulders shaking as the last thread of her composure snapped.

Deborah’s body flooded with alarm.

She’d never seen Esther show such emotion before. Maybe recently she’d begun to allow herself to show some happiness, a smile here and there, even a laugh occasionally. But she’d never actually expressed strong joy or grief — not even when her husband, Seth, had died.

Deborah moved closer to her on the couch, placed an arm around her shoulders, and began to rub up and down. She prayed silently for a moment, prayed for a way to calm her best friend. “Would you like some kaffi or some tea?”

“No. No.” Esther wiped at her face with her sleeve, and Deborah handed her the clean cloth diaper she’d been carrying. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been so upset. I wanted to wait until the children were at school, only I couldn’t. I needed to see you, to talk to you.”

“Of course you did, and I’m glad that you came over. But what’s wrong? Is it Tobias?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”

Deborah accepted the hot mug of tea Jonas handed her and pushed it into Esther’s hands. “Drink this. It will calm you.”

“Where is Tobias now?” Jonas sat down on the chair across from them, braced his forearms against his knees, and looked straight at Esther. Perhaps it was his no-nonsense voice that brought Esther around. He’d always been kind to her, always helped during planting and harvest, though she had plenty of brothers and brothers-in-law who had picked up on chores when Seth had died.

Sometimes, though, it was a relief to have friends step in. Deborah was guessing that was why she’d turned to friends now.

“He’s in town, with Reuben. And Reuben’s in jail.” The words out, Esther’s hands began to shake. She tried to raise the mug to her lips, but seemed to realize she would spill its contents.

“Let me help you, Esther. I believe you might be in shock.”

Deborah glanced over at Jonas, worried that this latest blow might be more than Esther could handle. She’d always been the strong one, but this turn of events, on the doorstep of what was to be a new life —

“How did you hear Reuben had been arrested?” Jonas asked.

“Tobias called down to the feed store before first light, since he couldn’t make his shift. They sent the delivery boy out to t-t-tell me.”

“All right. And what exactly did he say?” Jonas’ voice was smooth, like the horse brush gliding over Cinnamon.

As Esther began telling them what had happened since sunrise, she drank more of the tea, and her shaking eased.

“Martha, bring me one of the muffins for Esther.”

“Yes, Mamm.”

“He said that Shane Black—” Esther closed her eyes, then began again. “That Black arrested Reuben last night. That the girl in the pond — the dead girl — had been living in the house.”

“Their grossdaddi’s house? No one’s lived there for years.”

“Ya. I know.”

“This makes no sense.” Jonas stood and crossed his arms. “Black can be insensitive, but he always does what’s within Englisch laws. He must have had a reason for arresting Reuben, though he also must be wrong. Maybe he received some incorrect information. Maybe it’s all a misunderstanding.”

Esther pushed away the muffin Deborah offered and stared down into what remained of her tea. “Tobias told the boy at the shop Black had accused Reuben of having intimate relations with the girl. Black suggested that Reuben fought with her, shoved her maybe, causing her to fall — “

“Which would explain the injury to the back of her head,” Deborah murmured.

“Reuben couldn’t have done that though.” Esther looked up, her face completely drained of color. “He would never have carried on with a girl we didn’t even know, never have carried on in an improper way. And Reuben isn’t a violent man. Can you imagine him shoving anyone? Hurting anyone? But Reuben didn’t say a word to defend himself. He allowed them to handcuff him and then was driven away in their vehicle.”

“What evidence did Shane have?” Deborah asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“He must have had something.” Jonas didn’t pace, but the muscles in his neck tightened.

Deborah pulled in a deep breath, her eyes again brimming with tears as she looked up at them both. “He only said that he had enough evidence to hold him … hold him until the forensics team had completed their work.”

“And then?”

“And then he could be charged with manslaughter.”

Callie snapped on Max’s leash, though she could have sworn his brown eyes looked a bit reproachful when she did.

“I trust you not to run off, Max. You’ve never run off. It’s just a habit from when I lived in the city.”

Max’s tail thumped on the hardwood floors of the hall. She reached forward and adjusted the deep purple bandana he wore. “Obviously I’m taking this bandana thing too far, but that color does look nice on you. And it matches the fall flowers in my skirt.”

Max cocked his head.

“A cat would never put up with this, and we both know I’m not having a baby anytime soon. There’s a bigger chance of a snowball falling out of the October sky than there is of me having a baby.” Opening the door to the shop, she peered up at the blue morning sky, just to be sure she hadn’t tempted God into making a fool of her, then walked Max the short distance to the side yard. “The good Lord knows there’s not even a man in my life, which is why I’m having my morning conversation with a dog — no insult intended.”

Max didn’t look offended. At this point, he was more focused on the activity going on in his yard than he was on the words coming out of his mistress’ mouth. Callie didn’t blame him. She enjoyed prattling on sometimes, especially when she was in a good mood, and for some reason she’d awakened in a very good one — despite all that had happened the day before.

Something told her today was going to be special.

Though it was a tad cool, her tan sweater provided the right amount of warmth. As Max took care of his business, she puttered around her little garden admiring the corner bed, breathing in the scent of herbs, flowers, and fall leaves. Esther had been helping her restore things to order. When she’d moved in earlier this year, the garden had been one of the last things she’d tackled — weeds had nearly overtaken the broken pots and little brick path.

This morning she could appreciate all the evenings of work she’d spent weeding and deadheading plants. Finally the small area had taken on the beauty it must have had when her Aunt Daisy had been alive.

Regret reached out and squeezed Callie’s heart, stealing some of the loveliness from the fall morning. Why hadn’t she visited her aunt more while she was alive? Aunt Daisy had been her last living relative, and she’d been too busy with her job as a pharmaceutical rep to even fly up on the holidays.

Max barked at a squirrel, bringing her back to the present. She turned to call him back to her side and nearly tripped over an old, all-but-rotten birdhouse. Buried among the chrysanthemums, somehow she had missed it in her early gardening forays, or perhaps she’d been too busy to see it.

Now she squatted down and righted the tiny house. Fastened to the top was a miniature bird, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. Over the hole, where an actual bird might enter, were words. All Callie could make out was a capital letter A, so she used her thumb and forefinger to rub at the caked-on dirt.

Tiny musical notes, stenciled in black, trailed away from the words, down the side of the house. “Amazing grace … How sweet the sound.”

And suddenly Callie was four again, sitting on her mother’s lap on Daisy’s front porch. It must have been before her aunt had moved to live above the shop, because Callie clearly remembered a yard overshadowed with large trees and a stone wall that separated Aunt Daisy’s property from her neighbor’s. The wall wasn’t tall, and Callie had decided to climb on top of it, though her mother had warned her not to. Standing up, she had been able to see far, able to see the neighbor’s house. When she’d begun to walk, her Sunday shoes had slipped on the stones, and she’d tumbled into the grass.

Daddy had been there almost before she’d settled into the grass, checking her and proclaiming her okay. But she’d wanted mother. And so her momma had rocked her and sung “Amazing Grace” as Callie’s tears turned to hiccups and then disappeared completely.

Max barked once, jarring Callie back to the present once again.

She righted the birdhouse, dusted off her hands, and turned toward the front of the shop.

An elderly man stood at her gate, waving at her with his cane.

Max looked to her for permission.

“No, Max. Heel.”

The dog came to her then and walked calmly by her side.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re not open for another hour.”

The man was quite old. Callie would have guessed that he was maybe in his eighties — his skin weathered and worn thin like the pages of a well-read book. Though his head was bald, he sported a long white beard. Dark brown eyes appraised her and the dog in one quick swoop.

“You’re her all right.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one. I know, because you have the dog and you wear matching clothes — like in the paper.”

“Can I help you, sir?” He didn’t look Amish exactly. No hat, for one thing. She thought he might be Mennonite, but didn’t the Mennonite also wear hats?

His gaze jumped around — taking in Max, the shop, her, then back to Max. The man didn’t wear a jacket of any type, only dark pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and the typical suspenders. And the cane he gripped in his hands.

“Sir, can I call someone for you?”

“No. I don’t need anyone else. I need you.”

“Me?”

He whacked the cane against the fence, causing Max to emit a low growl.

“Are you deaf? Maybe if you moved closer you’d be able to understand me. Surely you’re not afraid of an old man.”

“Why don’t you lower your cane?” Callie aimed for pleasant but firm.

The old guy looked at the smoothly carved cane, stared at it as if he was seeing it for the first time. His hand touched the wood. Trembling fingers ran up and down the smooth surface. It seemed to calm him a bit when he reached the top, when his fingers found and paused over some engraving that she couldn’t make out.

“Are you going to ask me inside or not?”

“As I explained, the shop doesn’t open for another hour.”

“Not interested in quilts. Have plenty of those.” He began to turn in a circle. “Sharon sewed the prettiest quilts you have ever seen. My daughter-in-law tries, but she can’t put the squares together quite right. Sharon always quilted a perfect square.”

He stopped in his circle, looked over at Callie, and shook his head. Max padded over to the fence and stopped next to it. The old man reached out over the short fence, his hand still shaking, and ran his fingers through Max’s coat.

Callie realized then that something was wrong. The look of confusion, the way the old man seemed clear one moment, then foggy the next, his disorientation. Suddenly the training she’d left in Texas kicked into gear. “Why don’t we go inside for a minute? Maybe I can call someone to help you.”

“I told you already. I want you to help me. I want you to find my dochder.” His voice rose in pitch, and he gripped his cane with renewed vigor.

“All right. I was about to make some tea, and Max hasn’t had his breakfast yet. Perhaps you’d join us while you tell me about your daughter.”

The man thumped his cane against the ground and considered her offer. “Isn’t proper for a man to go into a woman’s home with her alone, but seeing as this is your business it might be allowed.”

“And we do have Max as a chaperone.” Callie passed through the gate and did her best to guide him across the parking lot. Where had he walked from? There was no horse and buggy or car on the street or in the lot. Once inside, while he was eating, she’d call Andrew Gavin.

The thought of Andrew calmed the anxiousness in her stomach. He’d know what to do.

Perhaps someone had lost their grandfather.