Amish Breaking Point (4 page)

Chapter 7.

A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance:

but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.

Proverbs 15:13

"Ouch," Emma yelped, before sucking her needle-pricked thumb.

Bless her for helping, but Silvie wanted to wear a pristine wedding dress, certainly not a blood splattered one. "Here, a tissue."

"Thanks. Sorry, I'm so clumsy," Emma said as she wrapped the tissue around her finger.

"Something distracting you, Emma? You seem distant today.”

"I'm sorry; I got carried away with the conversation and didn’t look where I was sewing and sewed my thumb.” Emma gave a giggle. “It’s not long now, is it? Not long ‘til you’re a married lady.”

"
Jah
, I’m so looking forward to it." Silvie hoped with all her heart that Bailey felt the same flurry in his stomach, the same happy dreams of their life together, and the same longings.

Emma shook her head. "Will I ever tire of talking about my wedding and married life?" Her face beamed with delight.

Silvie imagined how she would feel after making her vows before
Gott
. She could not wait. However, Bailey's recent odd behavior along with the constant stirring from Sabrina had given her cause for unsettled sleep these past few nights.

What if he's changed his mind? Would he be too decent to go back on his promise? Of course he would. But I'm certain I see love in those hazel eyes. I must have faith.

"Oh, hold this for me, Silvie?" Emma asked.

Silvie held up the blue dress that she would wear to begin her new life.

“I’ve lost a needle on the floor. It fell down here somewhere."

As Emma fussed over finding the missing needle, mumbling and lifting then lowering the sewing bag, the fabric, and various other items about the floor, Sabrina walked straight to it. "Looking for this?" She held it up like a prize before returning it to its rightful owner. "Please don't get blood on my sister's dress, Emma. It will add a morbid theme to the proceedings." Under her breath, Sabrina added, "And it may turn out to be morbid enough."

Silvie clenched her jaw, having heard Sabrina's spiteful remark clearly enough. "Just sit, and sew, won't you?"

"Whatever do you mean, Sabrina?" Emma frowned innocently at Silvie, then Sabrina. "What could make a wedding morbid? Weddings are such happy occasions."

"Oh..." Sabrina drawled, with her hand on her hip.

Silvie glared, silently daring Sabrina to say anything derogatory about Bailey.

"Morbid because..." Sabrina bit her lip. "Well, weddings are such a bore."

"What?" Emma sat back in the chair. "What woman doesn't love a wedding?" She frowned again and adjusted her prayer
kapp
. "I never heard of such a thing."

Sabrina looked at Silvie. Silvie knew that Sabrina loved weddings and that her comment was another excuse to express her doubts about Bailey being a good match for her. Silvie did not doubt her love for Bailey, but had begun to wonder whether he had changed his mind about her.

"But...but it's a declaration to
Gott
about a couple's intension to love each until they go home to be with the Lord," Emma reasoned aloud, not looking at either of them. "It's..."

"Of course it is." Sabrina raised her hand to silence Emma. "Perhaps, what I meant to say. Perhaps… it's not weddings as such; it’s more about who gets wed that I have a problem with, in general, of course."

Silvie watched Emma raise her eyebrows at Sabrina’s outburst. Silvie knew that Emma had got Sabrina’s point of her slur against Bailey.

Silvie loved Emma for being able to exercise polite restraint. Emma could have easily taken Sabrina to task over her wicked comments, but she kept the peace.

"Perhaps, Sabrina, when a good man asks you to marry, you'll think differently. And when you truly love a man, so much you'd defend him with your life, you and I can sit as equals and discuss this again." Silvie smiled kindly and held up one of the dresses on which Sabrina had been working. "For now, this has to be finished today, time’s running out."

"
Denke
for pointing that out for me, dear sister." Sabrina scowled, snatched the dress out of Silvie's hands, and slumped into the chair next to her to continue where she'd left off. "Whatever will I do when you're a busy
fraa
and have no time to guide your little
schweschder
?"

After an awkward silence, Emma diverted the conversation. "It’s such a pretty shade of blue you’ve chosen, Silvie. It’s the same shade as your eyes, yours too, Sabrina.”

Sabrina forced a smile, but kept her head down as she executed some small stitches.

"You'll love being married, just as I do," Emma said to Silvie.

“
Ach
, but you were both married before. Did you forget?” Sabrina said with a snigger.

“Sabrina, that’s a hurtful thing to say,” Silvie said wishing her
schweschder
would hold her tongue instead of saying the first thing that came into her head.

“
Jah
, Sabrina, sometimes my head forgets, but never my heart,” Emma said with a kindly smile.

Sabrina carried her point further, by saying, "Silvie already knows how it feels to be a
fraa,
don't you
schweschder
?"

"Of course I do." Silvie tried not to show Sabrina that she was flustered by her words. She was not ashamed of being a widow. "A marriage is made up of two personalities, so this marriage will be different than my first."

"
Jah.
I imagine it will," Sabrina mumbled. “You know, the
Englisch
don’t have the same commitment toward marriage that we do. I hope he doesn’t grow bored with you like so many of the
Englischers
do with their marriages. They think nothing of divorce.”

Emma looked up from her sewing. “Sabrina, he’s Amish now, he’s just been baptized and taken the instruction. You can’t call him
Englisch
.”

“That’s right, Sabrina. Bailey’s not
Englisch
.” Silvie inhaled sharply and fisted her dress in both hands. Silvie meant what she said; she would defend her Bailey against Sabrina's mudslinging. But some of her mud had begun to stick, and she wasn't sure if she'd forgive Sabrina if it ruined her relationship. She wanted to trust and be happy, but in her heart she already had a nagging suspicion that all was not well with Bailey.

Emma frowned while she sewed silently. Silvie knew that Emma had been just as shocked as she at Sabrina’s constant negative talk of Bailey.

Sabrina held up the dress in her hands, allowing the sun to pass through the blue fabric. "Tell me, Silvie, did you use the same material manufacturer as Emma? It's so beautiful."

"I did." Silvie exhaled, happy for the change of subject and diffused tension. "They're very good and affordable, compared to some."

"Jah
," Sabrina said, her attention returned to her sewing, "It wouldn't do to waste too much money on..."

Silvie kicked Sabrina's ankle under the table, while she gave her a stern look.

"Tsk." Sabrina flinched. "That hurt.”

“
Gut
, it was meant to, and I’ll do it again if you don’t stop saying horrible things about my future husband and your future
bruder
-in-law.”

Sabrina remained silent, and Silvie kicked her sharply once more.

“Ow, Silvie!”

Silvie stared at Sabrina until she said, “Okay, I’ll keep quiet.”

Sabrina looked over toward Emma and Emma looked back to her sewing.

“Hello.” Maureen knocked on the door.

Silvie jumped to her feet and let her in.

“Sorry, Silvie, I’ve just gotten off from work. I had to stay back and do a couple of extra things.” As Maureen walked toward the kitchen where the other ladies sat, she looked at everyone. “Everyone’s quiet, what’s wrong?”

Emma was quick to say, “Nothing, we were just having a lively discussion, but it’s over now.”

Maureen smiled. “Now, what can I do, Silvie?”

“We were having a discussion about Bailey,” Sabrina said.

Maureen nodded and kept quiet.

“Enough said, Sabrina,” Silvie said frowning at her
schweschder.
Silvie turned back to Maureen. “You can do this hem for me, Maureen.”

Maureen took a seat and threaded needle and cotton.

Chapter 8.

A wrathful man stirreth up strife:

but he that is slow to anger appeaseth strife.

Proverbs 15:18

Bailey sat in Dr. Phillips’ waiting room. It was nothing like Dr Chivers’ lush office quarters. There was no fish tank filled with rare tropical fish and no white leather couches. The room was small and sparse with four metal and vinyl covered chairs and one coffee table filled with out-of-date newspapers.

The doctor poked his head into the room. “Bailey Rivers?”

“Yup,” Bailey said, half amused that he was the only person in the waiting room and the doctor should have known who he was since he was just there the day before. There was no receptionist.

“Have a seat,” the doctor ordered.

There was no couch, just two easy chairs in the doctor’s small office. Bailey sat in one of them and tried to wind down.

"Relax. It's important that you forget about me here, and think that you are in your own room, alone, quiet, relaxed."

Bailey tried to allow his stress to melt away, but when the doctor said ‘own room’ he couldn’t help but think that he had no room or home that he could call his own, not at the moment. He would pretend he was in bed late at night at Jack and Pamela’s
haus.

"Okay." Bailey linked his fingers over his chest and closed his eyes. "I'm ready."

"And don't speak."

"Ah, right."

"Clear your mind, Bailey. Let go of work, of Silvie, of all concerns. One by one, blow them out as if they were candle flames."

Bailey had never realized how relaxing his new doctor’s voice was. He did as he was told, listening to the slow, rhythmic hum of the low voice, allowing his instructions to push away his thoughts.

Soon, he floated upward, leaving the cozy confines of Dr. Phillips’ office, drifting back, back into his past, to his childhood. His mother smiled, and he knew the world was right. He’d had a full day; he’d completed his morning tasks and had played the rest of the day.

"Go get your father. He’s been gone a while now.”

Bailey watched her kneading bread and thought her an angel, with her blonde hair and her milky complexion. "Yes, Mom."

"What's happening, Bailey? Where are you?" The doctor’s voice intruded.

"I'm in the fields at the back of our house, looking for my dad. Mom told me to call him. He's late for dinner."

"Can you see your father, Bailey? Keep going until you see him."

Bailey ran through the same fields he'd played in his whole life, fields at the back of his house. Bailey could smell the grass, the earth and the wildflowers as the soft breeze blew against his face. "Yes, I can see him, not far from the house and he’s with someone. Can't make out who he’s with."

"What do you do now, Bailey?"

"I slow down, don't want to make him angry again by disturbing him. He wouldn't take too kindly to being told mom wants him to come inside, not in front of someone else.” Bailey knew that the last thing he wanted to do was set off one of his dad’s rages.

"Okay, can you see what's happening, Bailey? Get close enough to see what you're father's up to, but stay out of sight."

"I don't.... I don't want to go any closer." Bailey thrashed on the couch. "He's fighting that man now. Got his hands around his throat, making the man's face turn purple."

"You're safe, Bailey. It's okay."

"Can't breath.... Oh, no, no."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Dad turned and saw me. He knows I saw him hurt the man. Got to get away, he looks angry. Don't let him get me."

"You’re safe, Bailey. No one can hurt you."

"He, he's chasing me through the long grass back toward the house."

“You’re safe, Bailey, no one can hurt you.”

“He’s telling me to stop, but I’m too scared and I am running.” Bailey was running through the tall grass at the back of his childhood home. The top of his shirt was grabbed from behind, and he was scooped up and stowed under his father’s arm. He struggled to free himself, but it was no use.

“Can’t get away, he’s got me.”

"Bailey, listen to my voice. What did you do?”

Soon he was in darkness. He was in his home, shut in the large cupboard off from the kitchen. “Don't lock me in here. It's dark and cold. Let me out, please daddy."

"Where are you, Bailey?"

"I'm in our house, locked in a cupboard. Won't let me out, it's been ages, maybe days. I cry and cry, but he won't let me out. I think of the man with the purple face. He's dead, I know he is.” Images and sounds flooded Bailey’s mind.

“I can hear Mom begging for him to let me out. She talks to me through the door when he's out, telling me everything will be okay. But when she's out, Dad tells me if I ever tell a soul about what I saw, he'll take Mom away from me." Bailey sobbed like the child he once was, about the fear, the threat, and the childhood stolen by his own father.

"Okay, that's enough for now, Bailey. I'm counting backward and when I reach one, you will wake, refreshed. You will remember everything and it will no longer upset you.”

"No longer upset me," Bailey repeated through sobs.

“Five, four, three...you're waking up, hearing me clearer... two ... you're in the room with me, on the couch... one...open your eyes.”

Bailey remembered all of what he had just replayed in his mind, but at the same time felt calm and not afraid. "He did all of that, I remember now. As if it were yesterday. There was no bed in that room, and I had to sleep on the floor. It was so cold, and hearing mother crying, begging, made my heart ache. But the fear of losing Mom, and the memory of the dead man crippled me."

The doctor was silent for a few moments. “We’ve just had a good result. It could have taken months or years to reach this point.”

Bailey knew it had taken him years already; he needed to resolve it now.

Dr. Phillips spoke again, "You were close to your mother? Tell me about her."

"She was soft and kind, opposite to my dad." He sniggered though he felt no humor. "In the end dad let me out because he'd made me believe he'd kill her if I told anyone. We lived like nothing happened for years after that. Dad was away a lot after that, with work. I guess it’s all real isn’t it? How could I have pushed the whole thing out of my mind? How could I forget such a thing, Doctor?”

"Children are only able to deal with trauma such as this by departmentalizing it. Essentially, you packed up your pain and stored it away, in a box, buried far, far into you subconscious. Otherwise, how could you go on living with your father, and under such a threat?"

"Why did it decide to return now, in flashes and nightmares?"

"Perhaps because to move forward, to start your new life with Silvie, you needed to let go of the past.” The doctor raised his hands in the air. “We’re still learning about the human brain. We can really only make assumptions and work with what we know.”

"It was better when I couldn't remember. Knowing my father is a murderer and a bully doesn't release me from anything, it gets in the way."

"No, you still knew it, only it was hidden. Whether it makes sense to you or not the knowledge was influencing your decisions and emotions, even though you didn’t realize it.”

Bailey rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. The dying man's face haunted him, as did the sweet face of his dear mother, shining with tears. "What do I do with this knowledge now?"

"Deal with it and lay it to rest. Tell me about your father? Is he still alive?"

At that moment, an alarm sounded. “Times up for today, I’m afraid,” the doctor said. “Well, we can go a little overtime. My next appointment’s not for a while.”

“No, I won’t take advantage of your time, thank you, Doctor. I have to get going myself.” Bailey was pleased the time was up because he had no knowledge with which to answer that last question of the doctor’s. He had not seen his father for many years. His father had left his mother long ago, and Bailey never cared to ask questions of his whereabouts. If his father was alive, he had made no effort to contact him.

Just before Bailey joined the Amish, his mother sent him an email with her new address, but he deleted his email account, and now he wracked his brain trying to remember what she had said. He had only read it quickly since their relationship was strained, and he never paid much attention to any of her emails. Did she say she was going overseas for a time, or to visit someone somewhere? It was all hazy and in what town did she now reside? Details like that did not stay in his brain, whereas his mind was like a steel trap if it was anything to do with a case on which he was working.

He wondered what sort of parent he would be since he hadn’t had the best of childhoods. He wanted to be the sort of
daed
Jack was to his
kinner.

He would have to contact both his mother and his father to finally lay things to rest. But how would he do that? He hadn’t heard from his father in years and he had no idea where his mother lived.

Crowley. Crowley the local detective could help him. He’d done Crowley favors in the past; surely Crowley could track down his parents. But he could not mention to Crowley that his father was a murder. He might now have been convicted for the murder, or he could be in jail already for all Bailey knew. There were however, two people he could tell anything to, and those people were his two great aunts, Elsa-May and Ettie, his grandfather’s sisters. He would talk to Detective Crowley and then visit his old aunts.