“I wanna go with you.”
“Shush.” After slipping on a shirt, he opened the door and started down the stairs, already anticipating a big helping of mamm’s scrapple. He hadn’t yet reached the base of the stairs when the yellow slash of a flashlight beam played over the wall.
“Datt?” he called out. “Mamm?”
The shuffle of shoes against the wood plank floor was the only reply.
He reached the kitchen only to find himself blinded by the beam of a flashlight. He raised his hand to shield his eyes. “Who’s there?”
“Shut up!” A male voice snarled the words.
Shock sent Billy stumbling back. In the periphery of the beam, he got the impression of a man wearing a denim jacket and a knit face mask. Then rough hands gripped his arm and hauled him into the kitchen. “Get over there! On your knees!”
A hammer blow of fear slammed into him when he saw his mamm and datt kneeling on the other side of the kitchen table, their hands clasped behind their heads. On shaking legs, Billy rounded the table. Who was this Englischer? Why was he here? And what did he want?
No one spoke as he knelt beside his mamm. Leaning forward, he made eye contact with his father, hoping the older man could tell him what to do. Willis Hochstetler always knew what to do.
“God will take care of us.” His father whispered the words in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Shut your mouth!” The man drew a pistol from his waistband and jabbed it at them. “Get your hands up! Behind your head!”
Billy raised his hands, but they were trembling so violently, he could barely lace his fingers.
“Where are the lights?” the man demanded.
“There’s a lantern,” Datt said. “Next to the stove.”
The man strode to the counter, snatched up the lantern, and thrust it at Billy. “Light it.”
Billy jumped to his feet and crossed to the counter. Feeling the man’s eyes on him, resolving to be brave, he pulled the matches from the drawer and lit the mantle. He thought about Little Joe upstairs and prayed to God the boy had fallen back to sleep.
“Give it to me.”
Billy passed it to the man, who yanked it so forcefully, the kerosene sloshed.
“Get back over there and be quiet.”
Billy took his place next to his mamm, praying they would just take what they wanted and leave.
A second man entered the kitchen, a flashlight in one hand, a pistol in the other. He was heavily built with blond hair and a bandanna over his nose and mouth. He glared at Billy’s father. “Where’s the cash?”
Billy had never seen his datt show fear. But he saw it now. In the way his eyes went wide at the sight of the second gunman. The way his mouth quivered. He knew the fear was not for his own safety or for the loss of the money he’d worked so hard to earn. But for the lives of his wife and children.
“There’s a jar,” his datt said. “In the cabinet above the stove.”
Eyes alight with a hunger Billy didn’t understand, the blond man walked to the stove and wrenched open the cabinet door. Pulling out the old peanut butter jar, he unscrewed the lid and dumped the cash on the counter.
Billy watched the money spill out—twenties and tens and fives. At least a month’s worth of sales.
“If you were in need and asked, I would have offered you work and a fair wage,” Willis Hochstetler said.
The blond man didn’t have anything to say about that.
“Mamm?”
Billy jerked his gaze to the kitchen doorway, where Little Joe stood, his legs sticking out from his nightshirt like pale little bones. Something sank inside Billy when he noticed Hannah and Amos and Baby Edna behind him.
“Die kinner.” Mamm got to her feet. “Die zeit fer in bett is nau.” Go to bed right now.
“What are you doing?” the blond man turned and shifted the gun to her. “Get back over there!”
But Mamm started toward the children. She was so focused on them, she didn’t even seem to notice that he’d spoken.
“Tell her to get down!” The man in the denim jacket shifted the gun to Datt. “I mean it! Tell her!”
“Wanetta,” Datt said. “Obey him.”
As if sensing the wrongness of the situation, Baby Edna began to cry. Hannah followed suit. Even Little Joe, who at eight years of age, considered himself a man and too old to cry.
Kneeling, Mamm gathered the children into her arms. “Shhh.”
“We’re not fucking around!” The blond man stomped to Billy’s mother and tried to separate her from the children. “Get back over there!”
“They’re babies.” She twisted away from him, put her arms around the children. “They don’t know anything.”
“Mamm!” Billy hadn’t intended to speak, but somehow the word squeezed from his throat.
“Wanetta.” Datt lurched to his feet.
A gunshot split the air. The sound reverberated inside Billy’s head like a shock wave. Like a bullet passing through water, the concussion spreading in all directions. His datt wobbled, an expression of disbelief on his face.