A Sister's Test (29 page)

Abe nodded and forked a piece of gingerbread into his mouth. “This is sure good.”

“Danki.”

Ruth swung her legs over the side of the sofa. “I’m feeling kind of tired. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go up to bed.”

Before either Mom or Abe could comment, she skirted out of the room.

Martha’s heart pounded as she tied her horse to the hitching rail and headed for John Peterson’s woodworking shop. She had stopped by the Friesens’ to speak with Luke and had been told by Luke’s folks that John had asked Luke to work today. Deciding this would be a good chance to see how Flo was getting along, as well as to speak with Luke, she’d headed over to John’s.

She found John sitting at his desk, talking to a customer. Luke sat on a stool in front of one of the workbenches, sanding the arm of a chair.

He looked up and smiled when she approached. “Wie geht’s, Martha? What brings you over here today?”

“I’m doing okay, and one of the reasons I came by is to ask John how Flo’s getting along.”

“See for yourself.” Luke pointed across the room to where the female beagle lay near the potbellied woodstove. “She’s happy as a pig with a bucket of slop.”

Martha smiled. “Glad to hear she’s adjusted so well.”

“From what I could tell, she took to John right away.”

“That’s good to hear.” Martha shuffled her feet a few times, trying to think of the best way to broach the sensitive topic on her mind.

“You’re lookin’ kind of thoughtful. Is there something else you wanted to say?”

“Well, I was wondering. . .” She leaned closer to Luke. “Do you
still have that truck you keep parked in the woods?”

His eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “How do you know about that?”

“Ruth told me.”

He grunted. “So she couldn’t keep a secret, huh?”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is whether you still have a truck hidden in the woods.”

His only reply was a quick nod.

“And your folks don’t know about it?”

He shrugged. “Can’t really say, but they’ve never mentioned it, so I don’t think they know.”

Martha shifted her weight again.

“Anything else you want to know?”

“Actually, there is. I was wondering what you did on Christmas Eve.”

“Had supper with my folks.”

“Were you there the whole evening?”

“All except for the short time I drove over to the Kings’ place to borrow something my mamm needed.”

“Did you drive there in your truck?”

“Now how would I do that when it’s parked in the woods? I took one of our buggies over to the Kings’. Jah, that’s what I did, all right.”

“What time was that?”

“Around four, I think.”

Martha felt a sense of relief. If Luke had been home all evening except to make a quick trip to the Kings’ at four o’clock, there was no way he could have been driving the vehicle that rammed Martin’s buggy sometime after six. She was sure Ruth was just being paranoid about this situation and would change her mind when she heard what Luke had said.

“I’d best be going,” she said, turning away from him.

He tapped her on the shoulder. “What about John? I thought you came to ask him how Flo’s doing?”

She nodded at the sleeping dog. “I can see for myself the answer to that.”

“Oh, right.”

“See you later, Luke,” Martha said as she rushed out the door.

W
on’t you have a couple of cookies to go with your tea?” Mom asked as she took a seat on the sofa beside Ruth one morning in late February.

Ruth shook her head. “I’m still full from breakfast.”

“But breakfast was a few hours ago, and you hardly ate a thing.”

Ruth set her teacup on the table so hard that some splashed onto her hand. “Ouch!”

“Did you burn yourself?” Mom leaned over and took hold of Ruth’s hand. “Maybe I’d better get some aloe to put on that.”

“Don’t bother. It’ll be fine.”

“It might leave a scar if you don’t tend to it right away.”

Ruth pulled her hand away.

“At least let me get a cold washcloth.”

Ruth studied the red blotch on her hand. “It’s nothing serious. I don’t need a washcloth.”

Mom shrugged.

They drank their tea in silence, then Mom looked over at Ruth and smiled. “It might be fun if we went to Berlin later this week. We could do some shopping and have lunch at—”

“I don’t feel like shopping or going to lunch.”

“But you’ve been cooped up in the house for so long. Some fresh air might do you good.”

“I went out to the chicken coop to gather eggs yesterday. The air was cold, and I didn’t like it.”

Mom laid her hand on Ruth’s arm. “It will get better. Give it time.”

Ruth fingered the edge of her empty cup. “The weather always improves when spring comes.”

“I wasn’t talking about the weather. I was referring to the distress you’re feeling over Martin’s death. It’s going to take a while, but eventually you’ll work through the pain and move on with your life. I think it would be good if you talked about the way you’re feeling.”

Irritation welled in Ruth’s chest. She didn’t want to talk about her feelings. She just wanted to be left alone. “Why must you hover over me and try to make me say things I don’t want to say?” she snapped.

Mom pulled back as if she’d been stung by a bee. “I’m just concerned.”

Ruth gave no reply.

“Maybe I’ll go over to Grace’s house for a bit,” Mom said, rising to her feet. “I’d like to see how the boppli’s doing and find out whether Grace has been able to get his colic under control. Would you like to come along?”

Ruth shook her head.

Mom held out her hand. “I’m sure Grace would like to see you. And the boppli is growing so much these days. Why, in no time at all, he’ll be crawling.”

Ruth gritted her teeth. “I can hardly look at Grace’s baby.”

Mom’s mouth hung open like a broken window hinge. “Oh, Ruth, how can you say such a thing?”

“You want me to be honest, don’t you? Isn’t that what you said a few minutes ago—that I should talk about my feelings?”

Mom nodded slowly.

“Seeing how happy Grace is with her boppli only reminds me that I’ll never have any bopplin of my own.”

Mom seated herself on the sofa again. “I think I understand a little of how you feel.”

“Oh?”

“I miscarried a son before Grace was born, and every time I saw my sister, Clara, holding her baby, I wept.”

“But you had other children later on.”

“That’s true, but—”

“So your situation isn’t the same as mine.”

“Not exactly. When that miscarriage occurred, I didn’t know whether I could ever get pregnant again. I grieved until I came to realize that I couldn’t change the past any more than I could control the future. I had to go on living and look to God for my strength.” Mom touched Ruth’s arm. “My advice is for you to take small steps toward doing some of the things you used to enjoy.”

“There’s nothing I want to do.”

“What about little Esta?”

“What about her?”

“Don’t you want to continue your friendship with her?”

Ruth shook her head. “Esta doesn’t need me now. She’s got her dog, and Anna’s her friend. She seems to be happy and well adjusted.” She released a deep moan. “Truth is, no one needs me, and I have nothing to live for.”

“Please don’t say that. We all need you—me, your daed, Martha, Grace, and Grace’s two precious kinner.”

Ruth shook her head. “You and Dad have each other; Grace has Cleon and their little ones; Martha has her dogs. I have no one.”

“You have us.”

Ruth gave no response.

With a shake of her head, Mom stood. “I’m heading over to Grace’s now. If you change your mind, that’s where I’ll be until it’s time to start lunch.”

Ruth leaned her head against the sofa cushions and closed her eyes. When she heard footfalls on the hardwood floor, she knew her mother had left the room.

She was tired and wanted to sleep, yet sleep wouldn’t come. Some folks in their community had referred to Martin’s death as an accident, but it was no accident. Ruth knew whoever had hit their buggy had done it on purpose. The bitterness she felt over this reality mounted with each passing day. She and Martin had been married less than two months, and he’d been snatched away from her in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t fair. They’d made so many plans—plans to have their families over for supper, plans to build a house of their own, plans to have a baby. Someone needed to pay for Martin’s death. No one should be allowed to get away with murder.

Ruth thought about how Martha had gone to see Luke a while back and how he’d told her that he hadn’t been driving his truck on Christmas Eve.

“I don’t believe him,” she mumbled.

“Who don’t you believe?”

Ruth’s eyes snapped open. Sadie Esh stood just inside the living room door.

“Ach, Sadie, you scared me! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Let myself in through the back door. When I didn’t see anyone in the kitchen, I came out here.” Sadie glanced around the room. “You seem to be alone, Ruth. Who were you talking to, anyway?”

“Myself.”

Sadie lowered herself into the rocking chair. “I do that sometimes, too.”

Ruth sat staring at her tightly clasped hands.

“The reason I came by was to see how you’re feeling and ask if you might consider coming back to work at the bakeshop. The woman who was hired to take your place when you got married had to quit, and the Clemonses haven’t found anyone to replace her yet.”

Ruth shook her head. “I’m not up to that.”

“Maybe in a few weeks?” Sadie asked with a hopeful expression.

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you still feeling tired and sore from your surgery?”

Ruth shrugged. “Tired, but not sore anymore.”

“What are your plans for the future?”

“I have no plans.”

“Oh, but—”

“Nobody around here understands how I feel. No one seems to care that Martin was murdered.”

Sadie’s eyes widened. “Murdered? But I thought you were involved in an accident.”

“Someone rammed our buggy from behind, and they kept doing it until the buggy flipped over.” Ruth nearly choked on the sob rising in her throat. “I think whoever did the other attacks against my family is the same one who rammed our buggy. I think if Dad had let the sheriff know about things sooner, Martin would still be alive.”

“Have there been any more attacks since your buggy was rammed?” Sadie asked.

Ruth shook her head. “I think whoever’s at fault is lying low because the sheriff’s been patrolling our area more since Christmas Eve.” Tears slipped out of her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. “Every time I see a buggy going down the road, I’m reminded of the night Martin was killed.” She placed both hands against her stomach and gritted her teeth. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive the one who did it, either.”

“I’m at my wit’s end trying to help Ruth deal with her grief,” Mom said when she and Grace took a seat at Grace’s kitchen table. Grace had just put the baby down for a nap, and she hoped that she and Mom could visit without interruption.

“Ruth’s grief is understandable.” Grace handed her mother a cup of coffee. “I grieved for a time after Wade died, and even more after his folks took Anna from me.”