Shelter in the Storm Page 5

  Cameras clicked and the reporters shouted questions, no doubt trying to get the Abbotts to turn their heads so better pictures could be snapped.

  “Have you heard from Trevor? Do you know where he is?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Is there anything you’d like to say to America today?”

  The Abbotts ducked their heads and moved silently forward, encircled by the deputies.

  Joseph frowned, a genuine pity stirring in his heart. The two of them were alone. Nobody stood with them, apart from the law enforcement officers. Stephen Abbott had driven himself and his wife here, and there appeared to be no one else waiting in the car. What kind of lives did these Englischers lead, what kind of friendships did they lack, that their people would allow them to face such a moment as this by themselves?

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Joseph was gratefully conscious of the cluster of men who stood behind him. He could hear their breathing and the restless shift of their boots on the gravel. His bishop’s hand rested warmly on his arm. The farm overflowed with people, come to show support however they could. The men would tend to the few animals the Hochstedlers had left. The women would clean the house, and deal with the laundry and other family needs, to spare Emma the trouble. Naomi would come and sit faithfully beside his fragile sister. Whatever help his busy neighbors could afford to offer would be quietly, generously given.

  Joseph had lost a great deal today; that was true. And yet he remained far richer than these two in their fancy car. Joseph pulled free from the bishop’s hand and strode down the drive until he met the couple and their entourage of khaki-clad county officers. The noise from the reporters died to a scuffling murmur, and Joseph knew the cameras were fixed on his face, waiting to see what he would do.

  He held out his hand to Stephen Abbott, who awkwardly released his grip on his wife and accepted it. The Englischer’s hand was slick with sweat, and his eyes flickered nervously around the assembled Amish men.

  “Thank you both very much for coming. It was kind of you,” Joseph said quietly.

  “We wanted—” Mr. Abbott faltered. He swallowed and went on doggedly, pitching his voice to be heard by the cameramen. “We wanted to express our deepest—our deepest condolences to you and your family on the loss of your parents—”

  His wife’s shoulders began to shake, and she pressed a crumpled tissue to her face. The reporters jostled excitedly, leaning around the deputies, trying to get a shot of Mrs. Abbott’s face.

  Joseph moved to stand beside Mr. Abbott, blocking the reporters’ view. “Please bring your wife into the house. She can sit, and someone will make her a cup of tea.”

  The Englischer darted a glance toward the cameramen. Then he nodded.

  “All right. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  As the three of them walked toward the front porch, the Amish men silently parted to allow them to pass. Isaac fell in step beside Mrs. Abbott, keeping a respectful distance.

  Just as they reached the steps, Joseph looked up, and his heart sank. Caleb stood framed in the doorway. His younger brother’s jaw was set, his green eyes glittering like shards of mossy ice. Rhoda stood beside him, one pleading hand on his arm, her gaze fixed worriedly on her new husband’s face.

  Joseph stopped short, weariness falling heavily over him like a sodden blanket. He recognized that look on his brother’s face, and he knew what it meant. This hard task Joseph was expected to do had just gotten a good deal harder.

  Chapter Four

  Naomi came up the basement stairs into the Hochstedler kitchen, cradling four full mason jars against her middle. The wooden steps were unevenly spaced, so she kept her eyes fixed on her feet until she arrived safely at the top.

  “We’re in luck,” she announced as she stepped through the doorway. “I found more pickles, sweet and sour both. I don’t think the family will mind if we open them. There are plenty more jars down cellar.”

  Nobody answered. The kitchen, which had held half a dozen busy women before she went downstairs, was empty.

  Puzzled, she nudged aside a few crumpled balls of discarded tin foil to set the jars on the cluttered kitchen table. A hubbub of raised male voices came from the direction of the living room, and she tilted her head, listening. Likely that was where the women had gone, to see for themselves whatever new trouble was brewing. Should she go, too?

  Nee, she decided. She shouldn’t. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t any of her business. From the look on Joseph’s face earlier, he’d had just about enough of nosy folks for one day. She wouldn’t add to his troubles, especially not now that he’d asked her for her help.

  Naomi felt a warm bloom of joy at the memory. It had felt gut to be so matter-of-factly asked for help, as if she were any other able-bodied woman in the community. Back home, people still hesitated. Even her sisters-in-law shot wary glances at her brothers whenever Naomi offered to lend a hand.

  Although Joseph had known about her restored health for only a few days, he hadn’t hesitated to turn to her when he had a need she could fill. That made her all the more determined to be a blessing to the Hochstedler family—and to Joseph in particular. Unfortunately, it seemed she’d already caused him some trouble.

  She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help hearing Melvin’s disapproving remark about Joseph courting her. Maybe she’d been meant to overhear it. Joseph’s uncle seemed to be that sort of man. She could certainly have avoided listening to Joseph’s answer, though. She’d halted, one foot on the first step leading up to the back door, long enough to hear Joseph’s denial.

  Which, of course, was what she’d expected to hear, and no reason at all to feel an odd twinge of disappointment. She truly hadn’t come to Johns Mill looking for a husband, in spite of some of the teasing remarks her brothers’ wives had made.

  Well, ja, she’d thought it might be . . . sweet . . . if Gott blessed her with a family of her own, but she wasn’t setting her heart on it. She had plenty other blessings to be thankful for.

  She was just grateful Melvin hadn’t made his dig before Joseph asked her to sit with Miriam, or perhaps he wouldn’t have considered Naomi at all. Since he had, the least she could do was work hard and keep her nose in her own business. She’d start by replenishing the empty pickle platter.

  She picked up one of the jars and tried to twist the silver ring holding the lid in place. It wouldn’t budge. That sometimes happened when canned goods were stored with the rings left on. Naomi carried the jar to the sink and held the top under running water for a few seconds. As she waited for the ring to loosen, her gaze lingered on the word printed across the top of the lid.

  Sweets

  Naomi’s heart constricted. Likely that would be Joseph’s mamm’s handwriting, scribbled on a still-warm lid after a long day of canning. Levonia could never have guessed that this jar would be opened at her own funeral.

  Naomi gently dried the jar with a red-checkered dishtowel. She set it on the butcher block counter and nibbled on her lower lip. Maybe she shouldn’t open these, after all.

  Then she glanced at the glass platter, empty but for a greenish-yellow puddle of pickle juice, firmed up her lips, and reached for a butter knife. Using its solid heel, she tapped a circle around the stuck ring and gave it another twist. This time it loosened easily, and Naomi used her fingernails to pop up the lid. The spicy scent of a housewife’s last busy summer wafted into the kitchen.

  Tears stung Naomi’s eyes, but she blinked them away and began arranging the crisp slices in a pretty pattern on the platter. Her faith taught that death, even sudden, tragic death, was simply a part of life. Levonia had made these pickles to be eaten, and so they would be. Life would go on.

  The men’s tense voices grew louder, and the door leading into the living room flew open, banging against the wall. Naomi jolted around to face it, and a pickl
e slithered off her fork and plopped into the sink.

  Caleb, Joseph’s younger brother, strode through the kitchen, his face ruddy with anger. He didn’t spare her a glance as he headed for the back door.

  Joseph followed hard on his brother’s heels. “Caleb, we need to talk.”

  Caleb turned, and Naomi drew a startled breath. She’d never seen such fury in the eyes of a man wearing Plain clothing.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You wanted them in, Joseph. They’re in. But I’ll not pass pleasantries with the parents of that murderer in my father’s house.”

  Naomi stood frozen as pickle juice dripped from her fork to the floor, not sure what to do. Neither man had glanced in her direction. They were too focused on each other.

  “They came here alone, seeking our forgiveness.” Joseph spoke evenly, only the muscle jumping in his cheek betraying him. “Our faith requires us to give it, even if they themselves were the ones who caused us harm.”

  Caleb laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Isaac couldn’t have said it better. You’re very trusting, Joseph, to follow him so blindly.” He paused. “Or stupid, maybe.”

  Joseph’s eyes flashed, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “We can’t hold the Abbotts at fault for their son’s actions. They’ve broken no laws.”

  “You think not?” Caleb shook his head without taking his eyes off his brother’s face. “So you’re stupid, then,” he muttered.

  “Mind your tongue, bruder.”

  Caleb tilted up his chin. “I speak the truth as I see it.”

  “Truth I could respect. This is nothing but temper,” Joseph continued in a gentler voice. “Stop and think, Caleb. I know you’re grieving, but Daed always said—”

  “Don’t.” Caleb’s voice cracked on the word. “Don’t quote our father to me. You’ll never begin to fill his shoes, so better you don’t try.”

  Joseph flinched. “I know I am not such a man as our daed. But we’re still brothers, you and I.”

  “Are we?” Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not so sure. You go back and talk nicely to those Englischers if you can stomach it. I’m leaving.” He reached for the doorknob. “Tell Rhoda to pack our things and go home with her parents. Even living with a bishop looking over my shoulder will be better than staying here.”

  Joseph made an exasperated noise. “Go, then, if you’re bound to it, but Rhoda is your wife, not mine. If you have something to tell her, you can do it yourself.”

  Caleb turned back around slowly. “And that’s part of our trouble. I married the woman you wanted, and you’ve not been fit to live with since. Maybe you should think twice before you preach to me about forgiveness.”

  Naomi suddenly came to her senses, horrified. She shouldn’t be listening to this. She had to excuse herself somehow. She had to—

  “Stop it! Both of you! Shemmt ehr!”

  A sharp female voice rang out behind her. Naomi looked over her shoulder to see Emma standing on the steps leading to the upstairs bedrooms.

  Naomi was startled at the sight of her. From birth, Emma Hochstedler had been gifted—or cursed, maybe— with a breathtaking loveliness, but grief had taken a heavy toll. Today her oval face was washed of color, and her blond hair straggled from under her kapp. Caleb’s twin looked exhausted and heartbroken—and angry. Her shadowed blue eyes spit sparks at her two brothers.

  “For shame!” Emma repeated. “Having such an argument at all, much less here in our mamm’s kitchen, in front of Naomi! What would Daed have said to the pair of you?”

  Her voice trembled at the mention of their parents, and both men went still and looked stricken. Caleb sent one shamed glance in Naomi’s direction. Then he looked back at his brother, and his expression hardened. He slammed out of the back door without another word.

  Joseph started after him, but Emma held up a hand. “Nee, let me speak with him. He may not listen to me, but he certain sure will not listen to you.”

  She lifted Caleb’s winter hat from its peg on the wall. In his fury, he’d gone outside bareheaded. Emma hesitated, looking down at the black hat in her hand. Then she slipped silently through the door, leaving Joseph and Naomi alone in the kitchen.

  Naomi moistened her lips, her breaths coming unevenly. She didn’t know what to say, how to apologize. It didn’t help that her heart seemed to be doing some funny things. She felt dizzy.

  “I’m so sorry for staying,” she blurted out. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I’m the one who should apologize.” Joseph raked a hand through his hair. “Emma was right. It was rude to argue in front of you.” His gaze sharpened as it skimmed her face. “You’ve gone pale. You should sit, maybe.”

  He pulled out one of the ladder-back chairs. Naomi started to argue that she was perfectly fine, then changed her mind and sat.

  She was fine, of course, but her knees did feel wobbly and it was better to sit down than to fall down. Naomi felt an all-too-familiar flash of self-disgust. She was supposed to be helping this family, not requiring help herself.

  Joseph pulled out a second chair and sat across the table, watching her.

  “Are you sure you are all right?”

  She nodded quickly. “Ja.”

  “Gut. Naomi . . .” He stopped as if he didn’t know quite what to say next. Disappointment poked Naomi’s fluttering heart.

  No doubt he was rethinking the favor he’d asked of her, and who could blame him? She’d stood there like a dunderhead, listening to an obviously private conversation instead of discreetly leaving the room. A woman who’d do such a thing was nobody to have around when a family was suffering through such a difficult time.

  He cleared his throat, and Naomi braced for the worst.

  “If you want to reconsider sitting with Miriam, I’ll understand.”

  “Joseph, I—” Naomi cut short a second apology and blinked. “What?”

  “I couldn’t blame you.” Joseph glanced toward the back door. “The four of us are in a mess, and it’s not fair to ask you to muck around in it with us.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. Truly I don’t.” When he shot her a skeptical look, she added, “Don’t be discouraged, Joseph. What you’ve been through is enough to make any family strain at the seams, but in the end the stitching will hold. You’ll see.”

  Joseph sighed. “If it does, it’ll be Gott’s doing, and none of my own. I’ve no idea how to head up this family. Caleb’s right enough about one thing. I’ll never fill Daed’s shoes.”

  “You’re doing all you can, Joseph. Caleb’s just upset.”

  “He’s gone mad as a bull, and he won’t listen to reason. And Miriam won’t come out of her room. She just lies balled up in her bed, crying. It’s not only grief. There’s more to it. All you have to do is suggest she come downstairs, and she trembles so hard, the bed shakes. I don’t know how to help her, and that worries me. And Emma—” He broke off and shrugged miserably.

  “Emma’s suffering,” Naomi finished for him. She hastened to add, “Of course, you all are, but—”

  “Nee, you’re right. We’re all grieving, but Emma’s got the worst of it. Worse even than Miriam, if you can believe that. Emma blames herself for what happened.”

  Naomi made a sympathetic noise of protest, and Joseph nodded.

  “I know. It’s not her fault, none of it. She knows how I’ve always felt about keeping separate from the Englisch, and she thinks I blame her for being friendly to the boy. I don’t, of course. None of us do, but nothing I say makes any difference. Whenever I look into her eyes, I can see the hurt she’s feeling. I just—” He stopped short. “I can’t look in her eyes anymore,” he finished finally.

  The pain in his face made the tears start pricking at Naomi’s eyes again. “It will get better, Joseph. If we give Him time, Gott can heal all our wounds. Even this grief, as deep as it is.”

&
nbsp; “I believe that, Naomi, but grief isn’t the only thing we’re coping with. We’ve got all that craziness out there by the road, too. The sheriff says it will take time for those folks to lose interest, and until then we’re likely to have troubles with trespassers and the like. That’s one reason I’m worried about leaving Miriam alone, but I’m having second thoughts about asking you to come here. We’ll likely have a few run-ins over the next few days, and that’s nothing you need to be dealing with.”

  “I’ll come anyways, Joseph. I’m not afraid of the reporters.”

  “Naomi, that’s kind of you, but—”

  “I’m not being kind.” She stuck her chin out as she spoke, holding his eyes with hers. “I’m being sensible, and you should be, as well. Like I told you before, I’ve had to stay in hospitals amongst the Englisch more times than I can count, and I got used to them. Oftentimes, they just don’t understand. When they overstep their bounds, they just need somebody to speak plainly to them, make them see sense. I’ve had plenty of practice with that. Trust me, no Amish woman you’ll find will be better suited to run a nosy Englischer off your porch!” She leaned earnestly across the table. “Joseph, perhaps this is Gott’s provision, for me to be here and to be able to stay with Miriam just at this time. If it is, don’t you think we should accept it?”

  She could see that he was thinking over what she’d said in his careful, serious way. That was another thing she liked about this man. He listened.

  “It does seem providential,” he admitted. “All right, Naomi. We’ll see how it goes. You’ll tell me, won’t you, if you change your mind later? I don’t want you troubled if this turns out to be unpleasant for you.”

  “I’m not going to change my mind, and I’ll stay as long as you need me.” She would, too, Gott willing. She couldn’t quite tamp down the smile that tipped up the corners of her lips.