“I’ll be gentle, Mattie. I promise.”
She leads me back into the boy’s room. David is lying on his side, looking out the window, rubbing absently at the cast on his arm. He looks at me when I approach the bed and smiles.
“Is that cast starting to get itchy already?” I ask.
“Mamm told me not to scratch, but I can’t stop. It feels like that time I got poison ivy.”
I pull the chair closer to the bed and lower myself into it. “Do you feel up to answering a couple of questions?”
He lifts his uninjured shoulder in a shrug, as if he doesn’t know what information he could possibly have that would be valuable to me. “Okay.”
“I was wondering if you remember anything about the buggy accident.”
His brows knit, his eyes skating away from mine, and he picks at the cast with a fingernail. “Alls I remember is eating an ice cream cone and botching with Norah.”
“You know, I used to like to botch.”
“It’s a girl game.”
“I bet Norah was good at it.”
“She was the best.”
“Were you botching when the accident happened?”
“We were singing the botching song. ‘All Around the Mulberry Bush.’”
“I like that one.” I smile at him. “Do you remember seeing a car or truck?”
“No.”
“What about people? Did you see anyone before or after the accident?”
Shaking his head, he sinks more deeply into the bed and pulls the covers up to his chin. “I dunno.”
“Do you remember anything at all about the accident?”
“I remember lights.”
His voice is so soft, I have to lean forward to hear him. “What kind of lights?”
“The kind on English cars.”
“You mean like headlights?”
“Ja.”
“What color were they?” I ask him to specify to make sure he’s not confusing headlights with the emergency lights afterward.
“White.”
Many traffic accident victims that sustain head injuries don’t recall the minutes, hours, or even days before or after the event. That David remembers seeing headlights could be significant.
“What else can you tell me about the lights?”
“There were two of them and they were bright.”
I smile. “You have a good memory.”
“That’s what Datt always says.” His expression is so sweet I want to pull him out of the bed and hug him to me.
“Did you see the vehicle that hit the buggy?” I ask gently.
He looks away from me to stare out the window, his expression troubled. His fingers scratch absently at the cast. “No. Just lights.”
“So you didn’t notice the color? Or if it was a car or truck? Anything like that?”
“No.”
“Did you see any people?”
“No.” He glances at Mattie, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s going to crawl out of the bed to get away from me and my questions. “Mamm, did I do something wrong?”
The words go right through me, as sharp and hurtful as any blade. “No, honey. You did great.” I reach out and squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
Then Mattie is next to the bed, bending and pulling him to her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. Katie is a policeman and it’s her job to ask questions.”
Feeling like an ogre, I rise and go to the window. I listen as Mattie coos to him, calming his fears. I try to remember if my own mamm ever did that for me and I can’t.
A child’s heart is a tender thing that never forgets. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to lose a family member at such a formative age. When you’re Amish, your family is the center of your universe. Jacob and Sarah had been my best friends, my confidantes—and partners in crime. I didn’t have a perfect childhood, but I consider myself lucky to have had those few magical years.
I turn from the window and address Mattie. “Will you let me know if you need anything?”
She pulls away from her son and crosses to me. “Thank you, Katie, but we are fine.”
I feel myself stiffen when she embraces me. I close my eyes against the rush of emotion. For her. For the boy. For everything they’ve lost. For what I lost somewhere along the way.
I pull away first. Her hands slide down my arms and she eases me to arm’s length. Her gaze finds mine and for the span of several heartbeats our eyes hold.
“Gott segen eich,” she whispers. God bless you.
I turn away without responding.
CHAPTER 12