The Search (8 page)

The truck driver who had hit the buggy climbed out of his cab. He walked up to Lainey in shock. “I didn’t see them! It was so dark and I was trying to pass . . .” He looked as if he expected her to tell him what to do next.

Lainey took a deep breath. “Go down the street until you come to the intersection. Find the gas station and call for an ambulance.”

The man just stood there, looking at the horse trying frantically to get up, panting heavily. Its leg was twisted grotesquely. Then the man looked at the buggy, at the bodies in it, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Go!” Lainey shouted, pointing her small finger down the road.

The man backed up, staggering, then started to run down the road.

Lainey heard a sound and turned to Rebecca, whose eyes opened halfway. “Mein Boppli,” Rebecca whispered. “Meine Dochder.”
My baby. My daughter.

Lainey looked around and found a small bundle, thrown from the buggy. She hurried to the bundle and felt her stomach reel. The baby looked nearly identical to her own baby sister—same size, bald like Colleen, the same wide blue eyes. The face was unmarked, but the baby’s chest appeared to have caved in. Her eyes were wide open, showing no signs of life. There was no breath. She didn’t blink at all, even when Lainey touched her cheek. She put her hand on the baby’s tiny chest but couldn’t find any heartbeat. She had seen enough of farm life to know that this baby was dead. She heard the horse whimper in pain and shock—she would never forget that sorrowful sound as long as she lived—and she looked back at the buggy, at Jonah and Rebecca, and then down at the dead baby. Nausea rose in her throat and she coughed, retching. There weren’t many times she wished Simon were home, but she wanted him here now, to help her. She was frightened, so frightened, and didn’t know what to do next.

Lainey heard Rebecca call out. How could she tell Rebecca that her baby was dead? Slowly, she walked back to the buggy and saw Rebecca’s eyes flicker open again. Impulsively, hoping to give Rebecca comfort, she tucked Colleen into her arms. “She’s here, Rebecca,” Lainey lied. “She’s just fine.”

Rebecca’s eyes tried to open, but Lainey could see she was fading. “Denki,” she murmured.
Thank you.

Lainey hoped that truck driver could figure out where the gas station was. She stayed by the buggy, telling Rebecca and Jonah to hold on, that help was coming. When she heard an ambulance siren in the distance, she exhaled with relief. As she reached down to pick up Colleen, she had a heart-thudding moment. Her infant sister looked up at her with wide blue eyes, oddly serene and peaceful despite this gruesome scene.

A plan took shape in Lainey’s ten-year-old mind.

She saw the red flash of the ambulance’s siren as it turned onto the street. Then she kissed her sister goodbye and picked up Rebecca’s baby before running into the house. She spent the next hour by the window, shaking like a leaf, watching the ambulance workers and the police. She tucked Rebecca’s dead baby in her sister’s cradle and curled up in the corner of the old brown couch that smelled like mold. When she heard a single gunshot ring out—knowing the policeman had to put down the horse—she threw up again.

She didn’t sleep at all that night. As soon as dawn broke, she walked down the road to tell her nearest neighbor, Mrs. Hertz, that her baby sister had died in the night, peaceful as can be, in her sleep. Surely God would punish her for all of these lies she was telling. Surely somebody was going to figure out what she had done. But all Mrs. Hertz said was, “God was merciful, Lainey. He knew no child should have to endure Simon Troyer as a father.” She grabbed Lainey into her generous-sized bosom for a hug. “I never did understand why your sweet mama ever married that poor excuse for a man, anyhows.”

They both knew the answer. A single mother, poor as a church mouse, didn’t have a whole lot of choices in 1957.

Mrs. Hertz made one call to the county coroner and the next one to a county social worker. A bead of sweat trickled down Lainey’s neck when the coroner arrived. She was petrified he might ask questions about the baby’s death, but he just came and took the baby away, like he did two weeks before when her mother passed. She figured the coroner didn’t concern himself with poor folks like them. In fact, he acted as disinterested as Simon had the night Lainey’s mother lay dying. The day after his wife was buried, Simon told Lainey to take care of the baby and he went off deer hunting, though that couldn’t be right because it wasn’t hunting season. But maybe he
was
deer hunting. Rules were always optional for Simon.

As the coroner left, the social worker arrived. She took one look at Lainey’s living conditions, at the absence of any adult in the home, and whisked her off to a foster home. When Simon didn’t appear at the court date to claim Lainey, she became a ward of the state of Pennsylvania. She lived in three different foster homes until she was eighteen. After graduating from high school, she was on her own. She worked for a department store in Harrisburg and saved her money. She had a plan. Her two friends, Robin and Ally, gave her a hard time for being so serious and saving every penny, but Lainey knew what could happen to girls without goals and dreams. Her mother had warned her. She wanted a different life for herself.

All the while, Lainey had never forgotten her baby sister. Giving Colleen up was the hardest, best thing Lainey had ever done. Not a day went by when she didn’t wonder a dozen questions about her sister—what did she look like? was she happy?—but she didn’t feel plagued with guilt about whether it was the right thing to do. She couldn’t think of a better life for a child than to grow up Amish. And now God in his mercy was giving her a chance to see that her sister had a childhood just as she had hoped for her: happy and loved.

Lainey gave up trying to sleep and went to the window to open it wider. The room she had rented from Mrs. Stroot’s sister faced west and was hot and stuffy by evening. She sat on the sill for a while, looking up at a sliver of the new moon. Her feelings felt jumbled. She had come to Stoney Ridge to try to find out information from Bertha about how her sister was doing, but she never planned to reveal her secret. She never wanted to upset her sister’s life.

Today, that noble intention turned upside down.

Bertha said she was going to tell Bess and Jonah the truth this summer. It was high time. Bertha said when she saw Lainey in town a few weeks ago, she decided she would do all she could to get Bess out here as soon as she could. Now the time was right, she said. Maybe not today, but soon.

At least Bess would be here all summer. And so would Lainey.

Lainey’s thoughts bounced to Jonah. Bertha didn’t offer up much information about him—typical of her—but she did say that Bess was his only family. Lainey was sorry to hear that Rebecca hadn’t survived the accident. Rebecca had always been kind to Lainey. It gave Lainey comfort to think she might have given her peace in those last moments, laying Colleen in her arms. She remembered Rebecca had been a beauty—small and delicate. It was plain to see how much she and Jonah loved each other. She had thought they were the luckiest two people on earth . . . until the accident.

As she thought about all Bertha had told her today, she found it hard to believe. But life could be like that, she had learned. A single decision, a moment in time, and the ground could shift beneath your feet.

______

When Bess came into the kitchen the next morning, Mammi was pouring batter on the waffle iron while the coffee perked. Mammi had finally relented to Bess’s pleading and allowed her to drink coffee, as long as it was half milk. Peering out the window, Bess noticed Billy was already out in the fields among the roses. Unlike other mornings, she wasn’t in any hurry to join him. She picked up her fork as Mammi brought her a waffle, then put it down as Mammi sat down and bowed her head. Mammi’s prayers were never short.

When Mammi lifted her head, she said matter-of-factly, “You got in awful late.”

Bess poured syrup over her waffle. “By nine. You were asleep in the rocker. I didn’t know if I should wake you to outen the lights.” She had decided against it when she realized that her grandmother had taken out her false teeth. The sight made Bess shudder. Mammi’s mouth had looked like a shrunken apple.

“I never sleep.”

Bess rolled her eyes.

“Did you have a good time?”

Bess nodded, distracted, and chewed slowly.

“Then why are you sitting there with a face as long as a wet week?”

Bess rested her chin on her propped-up hand. “I’m all at sea.”

“What’s making you so mixed up?”

“Do you know a girl named Betsy Mast?”

Mammi raised an eyebrow at Bess, then her gaze shifted through the window to Billy in the fields, bent over a blooming rose. “Es schlackt net allemol ei as es dunnert.”
Lightning doesn’t strike every time it thunders.

“I’m not so sure, Mammi. You know boys.” Bess sighed dramatically and took a sip of her coffee-laced milk.

Mammi nodded. “Boys are trouble. But girls is worse.” She started filling up the sink with soapy water.

Bess gave up a smile, in spite of her grim mood.

One sure way of surviving heartache was to stay busy, Mammi told her, and shooed her out to join Billy by the roses. Bess picked up a basket on the porch and slowly went out to the field.

Last night, with her chin propped on the windowsill watching the moon rise, she had given her runaway feelings about Billy some serious thought. She’d barely known him a week. Now was the time to reel her heart back in, before she found herself falling off the edge of no return—the way Billy’s face looked when he caught sight of Betsy Mast.

So that’s the way things were going to be. She thought she had found the man of her dreams . . . but it was only an illusion. A tragic illusion. She sat in the moonlight and shed a tear or two. It didn’t take much to set her off, now that she was fifteen. Her feelings were as tender and easily bruised as a ripe summer peach. Even Blackie, her cat, had declared his independence and had taken up barn living. She shed a tear for Blackie too. She missed her father, missed her home and her own bed. She even might miss Sallie and her boys a little.
No, scratch that.
But she did regret ever coming to Stoney Ridge. Even summer school looked more appealing than being stuck here, picking roses near a beautiful boy who hardly noticed her. She sighed, deeply grieved, and climbed back into bed, sure she would never sleep. She turned over once, and it was morning.

As Bess walked out to the roses, she decided that she would avoid Billy as much as possible, picking roses in rows far from him. She bent down to examine a blossom.

“Hey, what are you doing way over there?” Billy called out to her.

She bounced back up.

He picked up his basket and joined her in the row she was working on, making her heart turn in somersaults. “You were right about birds missing from the lake. I went back later last night, to see if I could hear any owls hooting. Nothing. What do you make of that?”

What did she make of that? Looking into his dark eyes, she couldn’t make sense of anything. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say—she was that tongue-tied around him. He looked particularly fine today too, with his cheeks turning pink from the sun and his shirtsleeves rolled up on his forearms. The wind lifted his hair. He looked so handsome she wanted to reach out and stroke his cheek. Her spirits soared.

Billy Lapp wasn’t making it easy for her to fall out of love with him.

Jonah walked out to the shop in his barn, reviewing the facts for the hundredth time. He had tossed and turned last night trying to figure it out. What exactly had happened last night to lead Sallie to the conclusion that they now had an Understanding? He had dropped her and her boys off after church, and she had invited him to stay for dinner. There was nothing different about that scenario. He and Bess had often taken Sunday suppers at Sallie’s. He remembered saying that the house was awful quiet without Bess. Then, as he said good night, Sallie told him that she was just thrilled they had an Understanding. He was mystified. What had he said?

The morning was so warm that he opened up both doors in his workshop to have air circulate through. As he slid open the barn door, a thought seized him. Sallie was so . . . overly blessed . . . with the gift of conversation that he often found himself not really listening to her. Maybe he was asking himself the wrong question. Maybe the question wasn’t what he had said. Maybe it was: what had he not said in reply?

When Lainey heard the bakery door jingle, she looked up, surprised to see Bess. Her blond hair was covered by a bandanna knotted at the nape of her neck, just below her hair bun. She wore a lavender dress under her white apron and she was barefooted.

“My grandmother has a craving for your cherry tarts and sent me down to get some,” Bess said, peering into the bakery counter. She looked up, disappointed. “But they’re all gone!”

The store was empty and Mrs. Stroot had gone home, so Lainey grabbed the chance to encourage Bess to stay. “I was just going to whip some up. What would you think about staying to help?”

Bess looked delighted. “I’d love to! Mammi is canning zucchini, and the kitchen is so hot that it’s steaming the calendar right off the wall. One thing I’ve learned, if I don’t make myself scarce, Mammi will find me some chores.” She followed Lainey to the back of the bakery.

Lainey pointed Bess to the sink to wash her hands while she got out the flour and sugar and lard. She felt her heart pounding hard and tried to calm herself. It still seemed like a miracle to her, to think that her sister was right there beside her.

Mammi was waiting out on the porch, arms akimbo, when Bess drove up the drive to Rose Hill Farm. Bess felt a little nervous because she’d been much longer than she said she would.

“Where have you been?” Mammi asked when Bess pulled the buggy horse to a stop by the barn.

“Lainey taught me how to make cherry tarts!” Bess handed Mammi a big pink box before she got out of the buggy, which, she thought, was a smart move. “The bakery was empty and she was just about to make a fresh batch. So she asked if I could help and I thought you wouldn’t mind, seeing as how you love them so much.”

Mammi opened the box and looked over the tarts. “Well, as long as you were helping her and doing something useful.” She took a bite out of a tart and closed her eyes, as if she were tasting heaven.

“Lainey didn’t even let me pay for them. She said I earned my keep and she hoped I’d come back again. She said late in the day the bakery is usually empty and she could use my help.” Bess hopped down from the buggy and started to unbuckle the tracings on the horse. “Would you mind if I go see Lainey at the bakery now and then? Dad would sure love it if I could bake something new. I told her you wouldn’t mind. You don’t, do you, Mammi?” She backed the buggy up from behind the horse and leaned it upright against the barn.

There was no answer, so Bess chanced a look at her grandmother. Mammi’s mouth was too filled with another cherry tart to talk.

Three o’clock in the afternoon had become Lainey’s favorite time of the day. For the past two weeks, like clockwork, Bess came through the door for another baking lesson. Normally, Mrs. Stroot closed the bakery at three, but when Bess started coming by at that time, Lainey asked if she would mind if the store stayed open a little longer. “I’m here anyway, getting ready for the next day,” she told Mrs. Stroot, “and each afternoon we end up selling a few more baked goods. Better first-good than day-old prices.”

Mrs. Stroot couldn’t argue with logic that turned a profit, but she did say she needed to go home and start dinner for Mr. Stroot. Lainey promised her that she would lock up. So each afternoon, Bess drove Bertha’s buggy to the bakery, parked the horse under the shade tree, and spent two hours with Lainey, baking and talking. More talking than baking.

Oh, the things she was discovering about Bess! She learned about Jonah and how he was going to marry his neighbor, Sallie Stutzman, who had twin boys no one could tell apart. And she learned about the boy at school who liked Bess overly much. “Levi Miller is nothing but a bother and a nuisance, Lainey. So . . . childish,” Bess said, sounding so very adult. “But we’re the only two Amish ninth graders at our public school, so he thinks we’re destined for each other.” And with that, Bess made a sour face.

There were also things about Bess that Lainey picked up without being told. Earlier in the week, Bess was in the middle of mixing cookie dough when she froze, eyes wide, as she stared out the window. Eventually, she turned back to the cookie dough, but sadness covered her like a blanket. Carefully, Lainey craned her neck to see what had caught Bess’s eye out the window. It was that young fellow who worked for Bertha, Billy Lapp, carrying packages for a very attractive Amish girl.

“You’re every bit as pretty as she is, Bess,” Lainey said. She wasn’t just saying that. Bess was going to be a beauty. She was unusual looking, with lovely cheekbones and skin like peaches and cream. And those eyes! They were extraordinary. When she wore a dress of a particular shade of blue, those eyes looked like the waters of a tropical island.

“No. I’m not,” Bess said, sounding miserable. “It’s hard on an ordinary moth when a beautiful butterfly comes around.”

Lainey couldn’t help but laugh. “Give yourself a little time. You just turned fifteen!”

Sadly, Bess said, “I don’t have time. The summer is flying by.”