“Abigail,” I say softly, “Tell me what happened to Leroy.”
She stops at the door that looks out over the pens and the overgrown field beyond and takes a deep breath. My attention is honed on Abigail, but I’m ever aware of the hogs below. Several of the animals—the boars—are huge and probably weigh in at three or four hundred pounds. They have a feral, intelligent look about them. Some of the smaller animals are wallowing in a mudhole in the corner of the enclosure. Others, having noticed us, are standing below the door, their beady eyes trained on us as if expecting us to drop feed to them.
“Did Jeramy do something to him?” I ask. “Was he there the day Leroy was killed? Is that why you poisoned him?”
Her face screws up. “I can’t speak of it.”
“What about your parents? Were they involved? Do they know what happened? Is that why you tried to poison them?”
“They murdered him.” Her voice is so low, I have to lean close to make out the words.
“What did they do to him?”
“They hated him.” She sucks in air as if coming up for a breath after a long underwater dive. “Because of me. Because I loved him.”
“What happened to Leroy?”
“We were in love. The kind of love a young girl’s heart can barely contain. We’d been meeting secretly for weeks. We were going to run away and be married. Have children. A happy life together.” Her eyes glaze, and I know she’s riding her memories back to the past. “We planned it for weeks, and I was so happy. I wanted to tell everyone, but of course I couldn’t say a word. You see, Leroy was New Order Mennonite. We’re Swartzentruber.” She sighs. “My datt’s hatred for Leroy was an ugly thing. Monstrous. I think on some level, Datt knew I would choose Leroy over him. Over the church.”
“What did he do?”
“The day Leroy and I were to leave, Leroy asked me to meet him at the covered bridge. He had a car, you know. He’d been saving his money. For the future. Our future.” She smiles the brilliant smile of a girl in love, and I know that in her mind she’s no longer standing in this old barn with me. She’s seventeen years old and waiting for her lover.
“I’d never been away from home before,” she whispers. “I was so scared. What would my mamm do? Would the Amish speak of me behind my back? And what of my datt, who was so very strict? He’d told me I’d marry Jeramy Kline, after all. But my love for Leroy was much more powerful than the fear.” She shrugs. “I packed my little satchel. I waited until dawn, and after my datt left for the day, I walked to the bridge and I waited for Leroy.” She lowers her head, her brows coming together in anguish. “I waited for two days. I spent the night at the bridge because I was afraid if I went home, Leroy would come for me and I wouldn’t be there. He never came.”
“Why didn’t he show?”
Her eyes meet mine. I see knowledge in their depths. Words too painful to utter aloud, but a story that must be told. “It was Jeramy who finally came for me. That second day. He found me sitting there, crying and near physical collapse. He told me Leroy had left town. And then he asked me to marry him.”
“Jeramy knew about your relationship with Leroy?”
“I didn’t tell anyone, but a young girl wears her heart on her sleeve. That kind of love is difficult to conceal. Looking back, I think he must have known. My datt, too.” She looks off in the distance, and her eyes glaze. “I was too young and naive not to believe Jeramy. I believed Leroy had left without me. All these years, I believed he’d left to chase all those crazy dreams he had. I was happy for him. I was secretly rooting for him to find the success he’d craved for so long and worked so hard for.” She looks down at the leather rein in her hand as if not quite remembering why it’s there. “I think Jeramy knew I was with child. Even as I cried for Leroy, he asked me to marry him.
“But I never forgot about Leroy. It was my secret.” Her smile is wistful. “I’d picture him in the city, in some fancy car or restaurant or just walking on the sidewalk in a flashy suit. I’d fancy him thinking of me. Wishing I were there with him. Some days I believed I’d go. I fantasized about it. I’d just start walking and never come back. Better yet, he’d write me a letter, begging me to join him, and I would. Oh, how I fantasized about that. How I’d join him in some big city and we’d live happily ever after.…
“But the babies came and life intervened.” She falls silent, thoughtful. “Thirty years have passed, and my life has been a lie. All of it. A life based on deceit. And secrets. And sin. So much sin.”