Seeds of Deception: A Kate Burkholder Short Story (5 page)

She hit the asphalt hard on her hands and knees, scraping both palms, both knees, and then rolling, striking her right shoulder. Then everything went still. She was lying in the middle of the road, just a few feet from the mouth of the covered bridge. Her dress had ridden up to mid-thigh. The fabric was torn where her knees had ground into the asphalt. Already she could feel the burn of the abrasions, the ache of the bruises that would bloom later.

Jacob’s bicycle lay on the asphalt a few feet away, bent at an unnatural angle. Standing over it, Billy Marquart and another boy Katie had never seen before smiled at her.

“Dang, didn’t know Amish girls could fly.” Billy smirked. “You okay?”

Katie got to her feet and brushed specks of gravel from her dress. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. Not because she was afraid Billy was going to do something else to her, but because she was angry he’d damaged Jacob’s bike.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, even though she was pretty sure he didn’t care one way or another.

“Looks like she’s got cut knees,” his friend said.

“I reckon the Amish don’t ride bikes any better than they drive cars,” Billy drawled and both boys broke into laughter.

“I hear they lie, too,” said the friend.

“Not to mention start barn fires,” Billy added. “You know your friend Mattie’s a fire bug, right?”

Two of the most important Amish tenets Katie’s parents had instilled in her young mind were forgiveness and nonviolence. Important as they were, they were the two things she had the most difficult time adhering to.

Katie stared at the two boys, her temper pumping as hard as her heart. In the back of her mind, it registered that she was outnumbered. That they were bigger and probably stronger than her, not to mention meaner. She didn’t like the way Billy was looking at her, with cruelty glinting in his eyes. But she refused to be cowed or bullied. At the very least she refused to let them see that she was afraid.

“If that bike is damaged, you’ll be paying for it,” she heard herself say.

Billy blinked, looking pleased and amused. Too late Katie realized she was giving him exactly what he wanted. He was looking for a fight. It didn’t matter to him that she was an Amish girl. That she was fourteen years old and thirty pounds lighter. At the moment, the only things that mattered were that she was an easy target, they were alone on a back road frequented by few, and this was a prime opportunity to exact revenge.

Billy raised his booted foot and brought it down hard on the front tire’s spokes.

“Stop it!” Katie cried.

“Why should I?” Billy shouted. “I ought to stomp this piece of shit bike into the ground just for the fun of it. You Amish bitches lied to the cops and got me into a shitload of trouble. They arrested me right in front of my old man and now I got juvenile court. Lying bitches.”

All Katie could think about was Jacob’s bike. Trying to think of a way to keep Billy from destroying it, she remembered the lighter and pulled it out, brandishing it like a prize. “But we didn’t give your lighter to the police. We protected you. They can’t prove you did it without the lighter. It’s evidence.”

She had no idea if that last part was true. But she couldn’t let him ruin Jacob’s bike. Her brother didn’t deserve it. And Katie didn’t deserve to spend the next six months paying for it.

Billy squinted at the lighter in her hand. “That ain’t my damn lighter. Pink? Are you shitting me?”

“Take it.” She thrust the lighter at him. “You can have it back. We won’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t want that.” He slapped it from her hand. It landed on the asphalt ten feet away. “It ain’t mine.”

“But…”

Again, he brought his foot down hard on the spokes of the front tire. Two of the spokes snapped. The sound of steel scraping against asphalt seemed unduly loud in the silence. He crushed the spokes so severely the wheel bent.

“Please!” Katie cried. “It isn’t mine!”

“Aw … too bad,” Billy whined. “Guess you’ll think twice about lying to the cops next time.”

“I didn’t say anything to them.”

“Lying bitch. You told them I started that fire. It was that bitch friend of yours who did it!”

His friend landed a kick on the bike’s housing and the chain snapped off.

Billy crossed to her and stuck his finger in her face. “Tell your slutty friend she’d better come clean to the cops or I’m going to make both of you pay,” he snarled. “Next time, I won’t stop with the bike. You got that?”

The urge to hit him was strong; Katie was furious and upset. But some sixth sense warned her that if she did, he would retaliate in kind and the situation would deteriorate into something even worse.

She looked down at the bike. Tears burned at the back of her eyes at the sight of the mangled piece of steel, but she fought them. She would not give the likes of Billy Marquart the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her.

His friend landed a final kick to the handlebars, scraping off some of the paint, and the two boys walked away, laughing. Katie stood her ground, her bloodied palms and knees aching, not sure what to do next. She heard the engine of the ATV turn over. She glanced over her shoulder to see the two boys astride the vehicle, roaring through the bridge, screaming like banshees. Billy was driving and she knew he was going to take one last shot at her. For an instant, she considered stepping into the way. But she didn’t think that would stop him so she stood there helplessly and watched him run over the front tire of her brother’s bike.

When the boys were gone, she dropped to her knees and tried to put the broken pieces of the bike back together as best she could. The front tire was still attached, but it was badly bent. There was no way she could put the snapped chain back together. She didn’t think she could get it home. Jacob was going to be so angry with her.

She was thinking about dragging it into the weeds so she could come back for it later and somehow haul it to a repair shop when she heard the
clip-clop
of shod hooves against the asphalt. She looked up to see a horse and buggy approaching. Her heart stopped when she realized it was Jacob, and for a moment she thought she might actually be sick.

“Katie?” He stopped a few feet away and quickly climbed down. “What happened to you? What—”

She stood her ground as he ran over to her. He stopped a foot away from her, his eyes taking in her bloody knees and torn dress. Reaching for her hands, he looked at her palms, his expression anguished.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

All Katie could think was that he hadn’t so much as looked at the bike, even though it lay completely demolished a few feet away. He didn’t care about the bike, she realized—he cared about
her
. She didn’t like crying in front of others. Overt demonstrations of emotion weren’t the Amish way. But after the argument with Mattie and the incident with Billy Marquart, her emotions boiled over.

When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “Did someone hurt you?”

She shook her head.

They both knew someone had. She could tell by her brother’s expression that he knew the most serious wounds were on the inside where they couldn’t be seen.

“Who did this?” he asked again.

She swallowed the knot in her throat. “Billy Marquart.”

Her brother looked at the bicycle lying in pieces on its side, and for the first time in recent memory, she saw anger in his eyes. “What happened?”

She told him. When she finished the sobs came and she burst into tears. “I’ll pay for it,” she said. “I’ll … get a job. Get it fixed for you. I had no right to take it. I’m sorry.”

Jacob knelt beside the bike. “Help me load it in the buggy, and then we’ll go home.”

*   *   *

By the time they arrived at the farm, Katie had reined in her emotions. When Mamm arrived home, she sat Katie in a kitchen chair and cleaned the bits of gravel from her scraped palms and knees. When Mamm asked what happened, Jacob told her the truth—Billy Marquart had pushed her off the bicycle. He didn’t go into detail, and Katie didn’t elaborate. Later, while Datt and Jacob repaired the bike, Katie asked her father if they should report Billy to the police. Datt didn’t even look away from his work as he uttered the phrase she’d heard so many times.
This is an Amish matter.

Katie wanted to think it was over. She could put her encounter with Billy Marquart and her involvement in the barn fire behind her. But she knew that wasn’t true. The argument she’d had with Mattie hurt so much more than the scrapes and bruises. She couldn’t bear to let things stand the way they’d left them, angry and unsettled. The problem was, she wouldn’t see Mattie again until worship in two weeks. How was she going to wait that long to set things straight?

But the sense of urgency goading her wasn’t confined to her need to make things right with her friend. There was another facet to the situation she had yet to acknowledge—a problem she hadn’t yet fully defined in her own mind: Billy Marquart’s reaction to the lighter.

That ain’t my damn lighter. Pink? Are you shitting me?

Katie knew all too well that Billy was a bully and a liar and, as the Amish preferred to say, a
druvvel-machah
. But she also knew that sometimes, even liars told the truth. When she’d presented him with the lighter, he hadn’t hesitated or minced words when he’d told her it wasn’t his. In fact, he’d looked as surprised to see it as she’d been when she found it in the pocket of Mattie’s sweater. Katie had even
offered
it to him—a potential piece of evidence related to a crime for which he’d been arrested and charged—and yet he’d shown no interest. Not even to destroy it.

She was plenty angry with Billy for what he’d done to her brother’s bike; if he was guilty of setting the fire, she had no problem seeing him punished for it. But Katie wasn’t so sure he was the guilty party. That left her with an even more troubling problem—and possibly threatened her friendship with Mattie.

She didn’t want to believe Mattie had lied to her—lied to the police—to suit her own needs. But when Katie set her emotions aside and put all the evidence together, it was the only explanation that fit.

There was no way she would sleep tonight. She needed to speak with Mattie, and it wouldn’t wait until worship. Good or bad or somewhere in between, she needed the truth. Tonight.

*   *   *

The late summer night was cool, but the upstairs bedrooms were uncomfortably warm from the pie baking earlier in the day. Katie huddled beneath her blanket, fully clothed, sweating and nervous. At nine thirty, she heard her father come up the stairs and turn in. Mamm liked to read—the bible or sometimes a novel—and stayed up a little later. Katie waited, listening, her every muscle taut with tension.

Finally, at eleven, the stairs creaked. Through her partially open door, Katie glimpsed the flicker of the lantern in the hall. The door hinge squeaked as Mamm let herself into her bedroom across the hall. A
click
as it closed. Once again, the hall went dark. The house fell silent. In the bed next to hers, Sarah snored softly.

Still Katie waited.

At ten minutes after midnight, she tossed the covers aside. Sitting on the side of the bed, she quickly laced up her sneakers and tiptoed to the door. Beyond, the hall was quiet and deserted. She glanced left to see that Jacob’s door was open about a foot, no movement inside. Through the closed door of her parents’ room, she could hear her
datt
snoring. The sound reassured her as she crossed to the stairs. Cautiously, she made her way down them, avoiding the sixth step because she knew it squeaked. At the foot of the stairs, she went left toward the kitchen. Her hands shook as she tugged open the door, and then she was outside.

Around her, the night was windy, with just enough moonlight to keep her from running into things. Not giving herself time to debate the wisdom of what she was about to do, Katie jogged to the shed. She winced when the door squeaked, every sound seeming magnified in the silence of the night. A quiver of guilt moved through her at the sight of the bicycle. Datt and Jacob had spent the entire evening repairing it. The front wheel had been so badly damaged, they’d had to replace it. The chain had been repaired. Three spokes were missing from the rear wheel, and the paint had yet to be touched up. But the bike was functional.

Katie was loath to take it, yet again without her brother’s permission. But when she thought of Mattie and how they’d left things, she figured she didn’t have a choice.

“I’m sorry, Jacob,” she whispered as she pushed the bike through the door and toward the driveway. Somewhere in the distance, a dog began to bark. Upon reaching the gravel, she hopped onto the seat and pedaled down the lane as fast as she dared. The skirt of her dress swished around her legs. The blackberry bushes and trees growing alongside the lane blurred past as she picked up speed. The wind was a cold slap against her face. The rear tire nearly slid out from beneath her when she turned onto the road. A glance over her shoulder revealed a darkened house, and another layer of relief slipped through her.

She pedaled hard in the darkness, mailboxes and trees whizzing past. She watched for headlights of approaching vehicles or buggies, but the back roads surrounding Painters Mill were deserted this time of night. The biggest threat would undoubtedly come in the form of a wayward skunk. Katie figured she’d have a tough time explaining the smell to her parents. The thought sent a laugh to her lips, but it was a forlorn sound as she pedaled the dark, deserted road.

Five minutes into the ride, she passed Zimmerman’s apple orchard. The windows of the house were dark. The reflectors on either side of the driveway stared at her like glowing red eyes. Katie hadn’t planned on stopping. But she’d brought her flashlight along, and when she came to the intersection, she veered right.
Just a quick look-see
, she told herself.
No time to dawdle. Probably a waste of time, anyway.

The skeletal remains of the barn stood in silhouette against the moonlit sky. Katie stopped, her eyes skimming the scene. Someone had pulled the ruined tractor from the barn. It sat in knee-high grass like some massive beast downed by a hunter’s spear. Beyond, the endless rows of apple trees rustled in the breeze. The fire had long since died, but the smell of smoke lingered.