A Bee in Her Bonnet (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Poppy could barely remember changing back into her dress. She could barely remember Aunt B helping her tie a scarf around her head. But here she sat in the kitchen in her dress and a head covering, obviously dazed beyond what she thought she was.

Her face hurt something wonderful, but it was nothing compared to the dread that filled her chest at the thought of what Luke's anger would be like. Joann had gone to fetch her brother, and any minute now he would crash through that door and yell at her for putting his sisters in danger. She was already poised to burst into tears. She didn't think she'd be able to hold it back once Luke got here.

Maybe she could go hide in her room.

Poppy pushed aside that cowardly thought. She had always stood up to Luke Bontrager before, no matter how angry he was.

Sometimes it was very inconvenient to be so contrary.

Poppy sat at the table with the hand that wasn't broken wrapped around Rose's wrist. Rose clutched a tissue in one hand and stroked Dorothy's arm with the other. Dorothy sat next to Rose, sniffling softly, but she seemed calmer than when they had first come into the house. The sight of Aunt B's shotgun had eased her mind considerably.

Aunt B knelt on the floor next to Dorothy's chair. “
Gute
as new,” she said as she peeled the paper backing off an extra-large Band-Aid and placed it over the scratch on Dorothy's leg.

“Denki,”
Dorothy said. “I'm just a big
buplie
. It's a little scratch compared to Poppy's face.”

Poppy tried to give Dorothy a reassuring smile. It didn't come out well. Her face hurt too much.

“You're not a baby, and we don't want it to get infected,” Aunt B said. “How is your scrape, Rose? Do you need a Band-Aid?”

“I'm okay. There isn't any blood.”

Aunt B put the Band-Aid box back in the drawer. “There doesn't have to be blood. Look at Poppy. She's not bleeding anywhere, and she looks terrible.”

“
Denki
, Aunt B,” Poppy said, smirking with half her face.

“It's temporary, little sister. Imagine having a face like Paul Glick's, that never got better.”

“Aunt Bitsy,” Rose scolded. “That's not nice to say. Lily used to be very happy with Paul Glick's face.”

Aunt B looked toward the ceiling. “
Denki
, dear Lord, that Lily has seen the light. But what would You have us do about the Simons boy? Do you have time to give him a yeast infection?”

“Aunt Bitsy!” Rose said.

Rose never ceased to amaze Poppy. Griff Simons had given her quite a fright, and she was still willing to forgive him. Poppy would have liked another crack at his face.

Dorothy sniffed one last time for good measure. “Do you think Joann made it home okay?”

“Of course she did,” Rose said. “Luke will be over in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

Poppy couldn't even swallow. She and Luke had been getting along so well, but she'd never speak to him again if he yelled at her.

When
he yelled at her.

She nearly sobbed out loud.

Aunt B came back to the table and took Poppy's chin in her hand. “We should probably put some ice on that bruise. And your hand.”

“Okay,” Poppy said. Maybe ice would numb her to the pain. All the pain.

“When Luke comes to get Dorothy, we'll ask him if he can go to the phone shack and call a driver,” Aunt B said, laying her hand softly against Poppy's cheek. “I hate to tell you this since you took off the sling only this morning, but I think you're going to be in a cast at Lily's wedding.”

“I know,” Poppy said, whispering past the lump in her throat. She really should go upstairs. Her throbbing cheek and Griff's horrible smile and the thought of what might have happened and what would happen once Luke came battered her fragile self-control. The tears were mere seconds away.

Dorothy squeaked when someone knocked on the door. Poppy stiffened her spine and held her breath. She refused to indulge in the tears now. Luke would see nothing but obstinance.

Aunt Bitsy picked up her shotgun, opened the door, and trained it at Luke's chest. He didn't even flinch. Poppy's stomach plummeted to the floor. Luke looked as angry and riled as a mother bear. He was definitely going to yell.

“I'm glad you have a shotgun,” he said.

Bitsy nodded. “Only for emergencies. I don't believe in guns.” She propped her gun against the wall next to the door. “I'm not usually happy to see you, Luke Bontrager, but Dorothy needs her big
bruder
.”

He quickly glanced around the room, letting his eyes linger on Poppy's face for a split second. “Is everybody okay?”

Dorothy jumped from her chair and ran into Luke's arms.

Luke's eyes got a little watery, and he cleared his throat three times. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he said, lifting Dorothy off her feet and squeezing the air out of her.

She relaxed her grip around his neck, and he set her back on her feet. “I ripped my sleeve and fell down when he shoved me, but he didn't shove very hard.”

“Joann says you hit him.”

Her voice trembled, and Poppy thought Dorothy might start crying again. Heaven knew she had every reason to. “I'm sorry, Luke. I know I should have run away, but he hurt Rose. I had to help her, even though we shouldn't use violence.”

Nonviolence. One of the eighteen articles of the Confession of Faith—the one Poppy had always struggled with—especially when someone harmed the people she loved.

Luke tucked an errant lock of hair behind Dorothy's ear and attempted a smile even though Poppy could see the muscles of his jaw tense with anger. “You're a
gute
, brave girl for not running away.
Gotte
would not have wanted something bad to happen to Rose.” A dark shadow passed across his already dark expression, and he gathered his sister into his arms again. At least he wasn't mad at Dorothy. She desperately needed his comfort, not his censure.

“I hit him as hard as I could in the back,” Dorothy said. “But he didn't even notice.”

“Oh, he noticed, all right,” Luke said. “For sure and certain he'll have some big bruises tomorrow.”

“I'll pray extra hard for it,” Aunt B said.

Dorothy glanced at Aunt B. “You don't think hitting him was a sin?”

Aunt B shook her head. “I would have taken a chunk out of his arm with my teeth.”

Dorothy bloomed into a smile. “I had to help Rose. I just had to.”

Aunt B nodded. “You did a
gute
thing, Dorothy. I'll be grateful forever that you watched out for my girl.”

Luke gave Aunt B a soft look and cleared his throat again. Poppy's muscles went taut as his gaze traveled in her direction. She turned her face from him and stared at the sofa. Lord willing, he wouldn't even notice the bruise.

What a silly notion. Of course he'd notice. It was why he had come.

His eyes flashed with unmistakable outrage as he came to her and knelt next to her chair. With more tenderness than she would have expected from someone so angry, he gently took his finger and nudged her chin so she would look at him. She winced as the heat of his touch traveled all the way up her jawline. “
Ach
, Poppy. You should put some ice on that.”

“I don't need ice,” she said.

His frown cut deeper into his face. “I don't blame you for being mad at me. You put yourself in danger for my sisters again, and I wasn't there.”

Poppy lifted her chin to keep it from trembling. “Go ahead and yell at me.” Might as well get it over with. Like as not, the anticipation would be worse than the actual yelling.

He furrowed his brow. “Yell at you? Poppy, I am not going to yell at you.”

She wasn't sure what that meant. The silent treatment?
Gute.
She never wanted to talk to him again.

“Oh, no,” Dorothy cried out as she looked out the window. Whimpering, she ducked down on the window seat as if she were hiding. “He's coming. He's riding up the lane on a motorcycle.”

Aunt B rushed to the window to have a look. “And his
dat
.”

Luke frowned. “Who is it?”

“Griff Simons,” Dorothy said.

Luke shot to his feet. Poppy held her breath and tightened her grip around Rose's wrist. Aunt B grabbed her gun.

“Bitsy, don't,” Luke said. “He could take it right out of your hand.”

She scowled at him. “It's for show. I don't believe in guns, remember?”

Luke wrapped his hands around Dorothy's shoulders and pulled her away from the window. “Poppy,” he said, his eyes flashing with fury, “can you take Dorothy and Rose upstairs?”

They all jumped at the three loud, unapologetic raps at the door. Poppy and Rose stood up, and Poppy gathered Dorothy into her embrace.

Luke snapped his head around. “Poppy, take them upstairs.”

Poppy wasn't about to run away and let Luke and Aunt B fend for themselves. “Rose, take Dorothy upstairs.”

Rose eyed her doubtfully, too frightened to argue. Dorothy's safety was the most important thing to all of them.

Poppy gave Rose's hand a squeeze. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Rose nodded and shepherded the terrified Dorothy out of the room.

Luke's glare could have set the house on fire. “Poppy, you go too.”

Aunt B slowly opened the door and pointed the gun at the scowling middle-aged man standing there. Griff Simons stood behind him, and they both took up a lot of space on the porch. While Luke's glare merely annoyed Poppy, Griff's father was positively terrifying. Poppy momentarily thought twice about staying downstairs.

Griff's
dat
wore a leather vest and leather gloves that covered his knuckles but not his fingers. Aunt B's tattoo fetish paled in comparison to the tattoos covering Griff's
dat
's arms. There was more blue ink than skin. His head was shaved bald, and he had two or three days' worth of scruff on his face.

Poppy took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Not all people with tattoos were criminals or murderers. Surely Griff's
dat
wasn't as mean as he looked. Of course Aunt B's tattoos were always nice, fluffy, lovable temporary tattoos of kitties and butterflies and daisies. Skulls and spiders were a little more intimidating.

Griff's father squinted in the bright sunlight and scowled at the gun as if he'd seen scarier things in his fridge. “You're Amish. You're not going to shoot me.”

“Maybe I am, Kyle,” she said. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to whoever did this to my son.” Kyle Simons motioned to Griff's face, and Poppy couldn't help but feel a perverse sense of satisfaction. Griff's bottom lip was three times the size of his top one. His mouth looked as if it was sculpted into a permanent pout. She'd hit him hard, and she had a broken hand to prove it.

“Dad,” Griff mumbled, shuffling his feet and keeping his eyes trained on his shoes, “I already told you. I don't care. Let's just go home.”

Kyle snapped like a tree branch laden with snow. “Shut up, Griff. When someone pushes my son around, they answer to me.”

Luke immediately stepped forward and nudged Aunt B's gun aside. “You can talk to me. But outside. I won't allow you in the house.”

Griff's dad frowned. “It's better that way.”

With barely contained anger Luke glanced at Poppy. “Stay here.”

Poppy shook her head. “I'm the one they want.” Though she was shaking in her shoes, Griff and his
dat
would see nothing but contempt. Someone had to stand up for Dorothy and Rose. If the Simons were low enough to take satisfaction in bullying an Amish girl, then they would prove to be the weak ones.

Several emotions traveled across Luke's face before rage took over. “You stubborn, bullheaded girl. I don't care what you think. You will not put yourself in danger while I have the power to keep you from it.”

Poppy stepped back as if she'd been shoved. It didn't matter how nice Luke had been in the last few days. It didn't matter that he'd built them a chicken coop or painted their barn twice. He hated her, plain and simple. The heartache made her dizzy. If she didn't lash out at him, she'd melt under his hot glare. “You don't have any power over me, Luke Bontrager, and don't you forget it.”

Aunt B pinched her lips together as her eyes darted from Kyle Simons to Luke to Poppy and back again. “Wait there,” she said to Kyle as she slammed the door shut with the barrel of her shotgun. She turned to Luke and Poppy and rolled her eyes. “Maybe you two should work this out before it turns into a wrestling match.” She propped her gun on the floor and leaned her hand on the stock. “But make it quick. Kyle Simons is not a patient man.”

Luke scrubbed his hand across his forehead. “Poppy, Griff Simons hit you. His
dat
is even worse. Who knows what he'll do? Please stay in the house.”

“Why? Because you think I'm weak and helpless? Or because you think you know what's best for me?”

He shook his head. “If you did things my way, you'd be so much happier.”

“I won't be bullied into doing what you want.”

Luke erupted. “I wasn't there to protect you or my sisters,” he roared, “and I can't bear it.”

Poppy closed her mouth. There was real pain behind his words.

In an instant, he came to rest, folded his arms across his chest, and propped himself against the closed door, tilting his head back until it rested against the door and his gaze pointed toward the ceiling.