A Sister's Hope Page 11

  Ruth nodded and swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I’d like that very much. I hope your brieder and little schweschder will call me Mama, too.”

  “I’m sure my sister will. After all, Molly’s been callin’ you mammi ever since you came to work for Papa.” Esta frowned. “I’m not sure about the brothers, though—at least not Gideon. He’s such an old sourpuss these days. He might refuse to call you Mama just ’cause he’s so stubborn.”

  Ruth glanced around. “Where are Molly and your brothers?” she asked, making no comment about Gideon’s recent behavior. Today was a special day, and she didn’t want to think about anything negative. “Did your daed gather all of you together so my aunt Rosemary could take your picture?” she asked, patting Esta’s arm.

  Esta’s head bobbed up and down. “After the picture takin’ was done, Molly started to fuss, so—”

  “Grace took our little girl over to her house,” Abe said, stepping up beside Esta.

  “See you later, Mama.” Esta gave Ruth a quick hug and darted away.

  Abe reclaimed his seat and leaned close to Ruth. His warm breath against her neck caused her to shiver. “Grace and Cleon volunteered to keep our brood until tomorrow morning, so it’ll just be you and me staying here with your folks tonight.”

  Ruth’s cheeks warmed at the thought of spending the night with Abe sleeping next to her. Would he find her desirable even though she could never give him a baby? Would he be tender and loving, the way Martin had been?

  As if sensing Ruth’s reservations, Abe reached under the table and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Tomorrow, after we’ve helped clean things up here, we’ll take our kinner home to our place and begin a new life together.”

  Ruth smiled and squeezed Abe’s fingers in response. “I’m looking forward to that.”

  Ruth was getting ready to put a pot roast in the oven for supper, when Gideon stepped into the kitchen. “Are you just getting home from school?” she asked, glancing at the battery-operated clock above the refrigerator. “The others have been here for nearly an hour already.”

  Gideon scrunched up his nose. “Teacher kept me after school. Didn’t Esta tell you I was gonna be late?”

  Ruth’s forehead wrinkled. “No, she just said you hadn’t walked with them. I figured you’d walked by yourself through the woods or had decided to walk with some of your friends.”

  “I ain’t got no friends,” he said, shaking snow off his stocking cap.

  “Don’t have any,” she corrected. “And what makes you think you don’t have any friends?”

  Gideon hung his coat and hat on a wall peg and flopped into a chair at the kitchen table. “ ’Cause nobody wants to be around me, that’s what!”

  Ruth put the roast into the oven and took a seat in the chair opposite him. “Does this have something to do with you having to stay after school?”

  He shrugged.

  “Gideon, I need to know what’s going on. I can’t help if you don’t talk about it.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it, and you ain’t my mamm, so I don’t need your help, Ruth!” Gideon pushed his chair away from the table and rushed out the door as the chair toppled over with a crash.

  Ruth sighed. All of Abe’s children except Gideon had begun calling her Mama. She had a hunch he hadn’t because he resented her marriage to his dad. Could that resentment be the cause of Gideon’s problems at school?

  As Martha directed her buggy horse toward Irene’s house, a feeling of despair settled over her like a drenching rain. She was thankful for this job but wished she could become self-supporting through her kennel business.

  Without telling her folks about the book Luke had given her, she’d mentioned the possibility of dog grooming to them the other night. Dad had said he thought it would be too much work because Martha had enough to do right now with her job at Irene’s and raising puppies. Mom’s only comment was that she thought Martha should give up working with dogs altogether and find a husband.

  Thinking about marriage made Martha’s thoughts turn to Luke. She’d only seen him once since Ruth and Abe’s wedding—at their biweekly preaching service, which had been held at his folks’ house. After the service, Luke had disappeared, so she hadn’t been able to say hello, much less ask if he’d had any success finding out who was behind the attacks.

  Of course I haven’t learned anything yet, either, she thought ruefully. Preparations for Ruth’s wedding had kept Martha busy for weeks. She’d also had her dogs and her job at Irene’s. During the holidays, they’d been busier than ever, serving dinners to the employees of several local businesses that had decided to host their Christmas parties at an Amish sit-down dinner.

  Tonight, they would be cooking for people who worked at the newspaper in Millersburg. Since they’d been too busy to accommodate the group before Christmas, it would be an after-the-holidays gathering.

  Having taken care of her horse and buggy, Martha stepped into the kitchen and found Irene and Carolyn scurrying around, faces glistening with perspiration. Even on a chilly winter day, the kitchen was hot. Martha figured by the time their guests arrived they would all be sweating.

  Irene turned from cutting up chicken and smiled. “Ready for another big dinner?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Martha replied. “What do you need me to do?”

  Irene motioned to another chicken lying on the cutting board. “You can begin by cutting that, and then there are ingredients for a tossed green salad in the refrigerator.”

  Martha slipped into her work apron and set right to work. She kept so busy that she barely took notice when the group of Englishers arrived and took their seats at the table. It wasn’t until a deep male voice said something to Irene that Martha glanced that way. Gary Walker, the reporter who’d dated Grace during her rumschpringe days, stood near the door that separated the kitchen from the dining room.

  She leaned casually against the counter and listened to his conversation with Irene.

  “I’m hoping to write another article about your business here,” Gary said. “The last one I did generated a lot of reader response, which made my boss happy.”

  Irene smiled. “Soon after the article was printed, several more people made reservations for a meal.”

  “That’s good to hear, Mrs. Schrock,” Gary said in his usual, charming voice. He glanced over at Martha and winked. “Maybe after this article comes out, you’ll have to hire a few more lovely women to help with your dinners.”

  Martha averted her gaze and busied herself filling water glasses that had been set by each plate.

  For the remainder of the evening, she stayed busy in the kitchen, returning to the dining room only when necessary. The sight of Gary flirting with the dark-haired woman beside him was enough to make Martha’s stomach churn. She couldn’t figure out what Grace had ever seen in that arrogant man.

  When the meal was over and the guests began to file out of the house, Martha breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe now she could focus on something other than the irritating man in the other room.

  She’d just gone outside to deposit a bag of trash in the garbage can, when Gary stepped onto the porch and leaned against the railing. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

  She shivered and knew it wasn’t from the chilly night air. “I thought everyone had gone home.”

  “Everyone but me.” He moved to stand beside her. “I decided to stick around awhile so I could talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “I have a few questions I’d like to ask about your dog business.”

  “My dog business?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to know if I can come by your place tomorrow and take a look at your kennels.”

  “Are you interested in buying a dog?”

  He grunted. “Hardly! I hate dogs. Have ever since one bit me on the nose when I was a kid.”

  Martha dropped the sack into the trash can and started walking back to the house.

  Gary followed. “I’m
interested in writing a story about your kennel business for the newspaper.”

  “Why would you want to write a story about me? I only have a few dogs. I don’t think there’s much about my struggling business that would be worthy of a write-up in the newspaper.”

  He eyed her curiously. “It’s struggling, huh?”

  “I’ve been trying to get it going for some time, but either my dogs aren’t able to get pregnant, or something happens to one of the pups.” Martha felt like biting her tongue. She had no idea why she’d answered any of Gary’s questions, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to come to her house and nose around. Grace would be upset if Gary came anywhere near their place. Besides, Martha didn’t trust the man as far as she could toss one of Dad’s buggy horses.

  Her thoughts went to the article that had been in the paper several weeks ago, accusing some Amish of running puppy mills and abusing their dogs. If Martha gave Gary an interview, he might write something that would make her look bad.

  “I’m not interested in having an article written about me or my dogs,” she mumbled.

  “Why not? If your business is struggling, a newspaper article might be just the thing that would bring in more customers.”

  She shook her head.

  Gary followed her onto the porch. “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  He shrugged. “You must have something to hide if you won’t let me do a story about your dogs.”

  A brigade of shivers ran up Martha’s spine. What was Gary trying to prove? Was he hoping to find something at her kennels to make her look bad? “I have nothing to hide,” she said.

  “That’s good to hear. For a minute there, I thought you might be running one of those puppy mills and didn’t want me to know about it.”

  Martha’s anger outweighed her fear. “I am not running a puppy mill! I take good care of my dogs, and I have a kennel license!”

  Gary tipped back his head and roared.

  Her defenses rose. “What’s so funny?”

  His laughter slowed to a few chuckles and then stopped. “You remind me of Grace in many ways, only you’re prettier.”

  “I have nothing more to say, so if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Martha tromped across the porch, jerked open the door, and stepped into the house. She wished Gary Walker would leave Holmes County for good!

  As Martha sat around the breakfast table with her folks a week later, she was shocked to discover an article in the newspaper written by Gary Walker. It was about Amish puppy mills again, only this time he mentioned her as a breeder who had refused an interview. “Could Ms. Hostettler be running a puppy mill?” the article read. “Is that why she wouldn’t allow this reporter to see her kennels or ask any pertinent questions?”

  Martha slammed the paper down so hard it jiggled her mother’s cup, spilling some of the coffee.

  “Ach! Martha, watch what you’re doing!” Mom grabbed a napkin and mopped up the spill.

  “What’s wrong with you this morning?” Dad asked crossly. “You shouldn’t be reading the paper while we’re trying to eat.”

  “This is what’s wrong!” Martha pointed to the newspaper. “There’s an article by Gary Walker. He insinuates that I might be running a puppy mill!”

  Mom’s mouth dropped open. “Where would he get such a notion?”

  Dad snatched up the paper. He studied it a few seconds then slapped it down hard, jostling his own cup of coffee. “That man has some nerve saying those things!”

  “What’d he say, Roman?” Mom asked. “Did he accuse Martha of running a puppy mill?”

  “Not in so many words, but he said Martha’s a dog breeder and that she refused an interview with him. It also says he suspects she might be running a puppy mill.” Dad looked over at Martha and frowned. “Any idea where he got such a notion?”

  Martha reached for her glass of orange juice and took a drink, hoping to buy some time. Dad was upset enough; she didn’t want to say anything that might rile him even more.

  Dad leaned closer to Martha and tapped his finger against the newspaper. “Have you talked to that nosy reporter recently?”

  Martha nodded. “He came to Irene’s last week with some others who work at the newspaper. After everyone else had left, Gary cornered me and started asking a bunch of questions.”

  “What’d you tell him?” Mom asked.

  “I just said my business was struggling, and when he asked if he could come by our place to take a look at my dogs and interview me, I turned him down.”

  “Ah, I see how it is.” Dad frowned deeply. “You got Mr. Walker riled when you refused to let him interview you, so he’s trying to get even by writing things that aren’t true.”

  “Well, I—”

  “If an Englisher raises more than one breed of dog and doesn’t have a license, it’s considered ‘enterprising.’ If an Amish person raises more than one breed and has a license, it’s called ‘running a puppy mill.’ ”

  “Some Amish and Englishers probably don’t take good care of their dogs,” Martha said. “But I’m not one of them.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Mom said. Her hand shook a bit as she patted Martha’s arm.

  Dad gave the newspaper another good rap and grunted. “If that man comes around here asking a bunch of nosy questions, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. Fact is, I’ve got half a notion to go over to that newspaper office and have a little talk with Gary’s boss. He ought to know one of his reporters is writing things that aren’t true.”

  Martha figured if her father hadn’t gone to the sheriff when most of the attacks had occurred, he wasn’t likely to go to the newspaper office and file a complaint.

  “Calm down, Roman. You’re getting too upset about this,” Mom said. “I’m sure anyone reading that article will know it’s not true.” She added more coffee to her cup. “Would. . .would you like more coffee, Roman, or another piece of toast?”

  Dad shook his head and pushed away from the table. “I’ve lost my appetite, so I think I’ll head out to the barn and get busy on that new set of cabinets the bishop ordered the other day. Nothing gets me calmed down better than work.”

  Dad grabbed his stocking cap from the wall peg and slipped into his jacket. He turned and looked right at Martha. “If you ever see that reporter again, don’t say a word to him. Is that clear?”

  “Jah, Dad,” she mumbled. She hoped she hadn’t made a promise she might not be able to keep, because if she ran into Gary again, she’d probably give him a piece of her mind.

  As Luke headed home from work that afternoon, he spotted Toby’s rig pulling out of his folks’ driveway. I wonder what he was doing at our place. Luke lifted his hand in a wave, but Toby looked the other way and kept on going.

  When Luke entered the house, he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table massaging her forehead. His dad sat across from her wearing a frown. Something must be wrong.

  “What’s going on?” Luke asked. “Why was Toby here?”

  Pop glared at him. “You don’t know?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “He came about that stupid truck of yours.”

  “My. . .my what?”

  “Don’t play dumm with me, Luke.” Pop’s voice raised an octave, and a muscle on the side of his neck quivered. “Toby told us you have a truck you keep hidden in the woods so we won’t know about it. Is it true?” He leveled Luke with a piercing stare. “Well, is it?”

  Luke dropped his gaze to the floor. “Jah, it’s true.”

  Pop slammed his fist on the table, sending the napkin holder sailing across the room. “I might have known you’d go behind my back and do something like that!”

  “Now, Elam, please calm down.” Mom’s voice was pleading, and Luke figured she was close to tears. She had never approved of yelling in the house.

  Apparently, Mom’s cocker spaniel, Cindy, didn’t care for Pop’s yelling, either, for the shaggy little dog left her
place by the woodstove and ducked under the table.

  “I won’t calm down!” Pop shouted. “Not until our son gets rid of that truck!”

  “I’ve not joined the church yet, so I have every right to own a motorized vehicle.” Luke’s defenses rose. “What all did Toby say that’s got you so riled and demanding that I sell my truck?” he asked.

  “He said a black truck matching the description of yours was seen cruising around the schoolhouse near Farmerstown last night.”

  “I wasn’t riding around in my truck last night.”

  “Jah, well, Toby says the fellow driving the truck was wearing a baseball cap like you sometimes wear.” Dad grunted. “You oughta be wearin’ an Amish man’s hat, not what the Englishers wear.”

  “So someone was driving a truck that looks like mine, and he was wearing a baseball cap,” Luke said, making no reference to what he should or shouldn’t be wearing. “What does that prove?”

  “It proves that whoever egged the schoolhouse during the night could have been the same one driving the truck.”

  Luke’s eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “The schoolhouse was egged?”

  Pop nodded. “The public school in Charm had some windows broken out awhile back, and now the Amish schoolhouse in Farmerstown’s been singled out.”

  “I hope you don’t think I egged the schoolhouse or broke those windows in Charm.”

  “I’m not saying you did either of those things,” Pop replied, “but Toby believes you did because he saw your truck in the area.”

  “So it was Toby who supposedly saw me, huh? A minute ago you said Toby told you someone else had seen my truck.” Luke clenched his fists. “That someone was Toby, wasn’t it?”

  Pop nodded slowly.

  “Well, he’s lying! I wasn’t driving my truck last night, and I didn’t egg the schoolhouse.”

  “We believe you, Luke,” Mom said. “But we don’t want folks making accusations.”

  “If the bishop’s son is the one making those accusations, then people are likely to listen,” Pop added.

  Luke folded his arms. “I don’t care what other people think. I didn’t vandalize either of those schools, and I’m not the one responsible for any of the attacks against the Hostettlers.”