22. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
" W hy don't you walk down to the bakery?" Jon suggested.
"That's OK. You need help with the feed bags."
Jon looked at his watch and sighed. "It takes them a good half hour to put together our mix. We got time. No point standin' here freezin'."
Elijah hesitated. Jon brought him into town on this errand for the first time today, and he wanted to show he could be a good helper and not get in the way. But he was probably right about having to wait, and it had been a while since he had the jingle of money in his pocket.
Eddie gave him a hundred dollars in cash that morning and said he'd be getting that every Monday from now on. Elijah had protested. He was getting room and board, he didn't feel right taking Eddie's money. But Eddie had grumbled that it was slave wages anyhow, given how much work he was doing, and that he'd pay more when he could.
Elijah had kept the money. He had no idea what the future held, but it was smart to save as much as possible. He knew in his gut he couldn't live off Samuel and Eddie forever, and even the smallest apartment in town would cost money. For now, though, something warm and sweet—or, even better—a bite of meat, would sure enough be a treat.
"Okay. I'll go. Do you want anythin'?" Elijah asked.
"Nope. Still full from breakfast." Jon patted his flat stomach. "You go ahead."
In the morning light, Jon looked so handsome in his sheepskin coat, leaning on the side of the truck with his long jean-clad legs and his breath frosty in the cold air, that Elijah didn't want to leave. He wanted to lean against the warmth of Jon's body and feel Jon's mouth on his, to know what it'd be like to kiss him. He'd only ever kissed Jacob, and Jacob hadn't much liked kissing. He just wanted the sex stuff.
What would it be like to kiss someone who really wanted to kiss him? Someone with lips that full and firm?
But that was dumb. Any such thoughts about Jon were foolishness. Whatever the voice had said that one day, when Elijah first saw Jon— this one's for you —it hadn't spoken up with an opinion since. He'd dreamed of Jon, sure. Sexy dreams. But they were vague and half-formed, and pretty much to be expected given his heart's tendre. Jon might be nicer to him now, but the feeling around it was more like a big brother, and a reluctant one at that. Anyhow, Jon showed no sign of having Elijah's nature.
So Elijah turned his gaze from how nice Jon looked and headed down the short side street to the main drag in Mount Joy.
It was a short walk to the bakery. He made note of the shops he passed. This was his home now, or, at least, it was for a spell. He could walk here from the farm if he needed to, if he wanted something. He passed a card shop, a Mexican cafe, a shoe repair. There was a bank and a church across the street. He hadn't been to church since he'd left the folk; he had no idea what an English church would be like, or if he'd be welcomed there—by the pastor or by God. The bank was also a mystery, but he'd need to figure that out eventually.
There was so much he didn't know about this world, about how the English lived. He'd been even more sheltered than most Amish, working with Dawdi. Other Amish men his age were married and running a household already.
At the bakery, he bought two sausage rolls. He stood outside relishing the taste of the juicy meat and pastry. Dang. Samuel was a good cook and a better baker, but Elijah sure enough missed meat.
At first, he didn't pay heed to the black car that pulled up at the curb. Not until the doors opened and four Amish men got out. In their black coats, pants, black hats, and white shirts they were hard to miss. They were young, around his age or a little older. And they were looking at him.
A bite of sausage roll went down the wrong way, and he coughed and tried to catch his breath. He briefly considered dodging into the bakery, but the men stopped right in front of him.
"Mornin'," said a blond man in German. Acne spread red dots below a few stray hairs on his chin. "I know you. You're Ruben Schultz's grandson, right?"
His voice was friendly, but Elijah didn't like the look in his eyes or the reference to his grandfather.
"You have the wrong person," Elijah lied. He wanted to walk away, but with his back to the bakery window, and the four men on all sides, there was no easy outlet.
"You sure enough are," said a dark-haired tall man, his lips in a sneer. "I seen you before. Elijah, it is, sure enough. Elijah Schultz."
"I don't do that work no more," Elijah said, his heart tripping. "Sorry. I have to go."
He tried to push past them, but the blond man grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute. We wanna talk to you."
"Yeah. Whatcha so nervous about?" said the dark-haired man.
Elijah took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. A steel cord gripped his bowels, but why? There was no reason to feel such fear. They were in broad daylight, on a busy street. They couldn't hurt him.
He looked each one in the face. It was hard to tell their exact ages, but none had full beards, so they weren't married. They were driving a car, but they looked a little old for rumspringa. He didn't know them. Maybe he'd seen the dark-haired one before? He leaned back against the shop window. "I gotta be to work soon," he said in a casual voice.
"Yeah? Where you workin'?" asked the blond man.
Scheisse . Elijah didn't answer.
"I'm Carl, by the way," the dark-haired man smiled. "These are my friends Mark, Matthew, and Ezra."
Mark and Matthew were probably brothers. They both had doughy faces and stiff, straw-like brown hair that stuck out from under their hats. Elijah nodded at them in acknowledgment. He still didn't understand. He'd never had much in the way of friends in the Amish community. Once he'd been chosen to work with Dawdi, the other kids had avoided him, their mamas hurrying them away as if he had a disease. Everyone feared the brauchers.
What did these four want?
"We heard you been shunned by your dawdi," The blond, Ezra, said. He tsked and shook his head.
"Yeah, that's cold," said Carl. "Real cold."
Elijah kept his expression calm, but he wondered if they knew why he'd been shunned. Was there a rumor about him and Jacob? His face burned, sharp and stinging in the frigid morning air.
"Tossed you out like garbage, huh?" Ezra said sympathetically. "That old man, he ought to be taught a lesson."
"Bet you'd like to get him back for what he done," said Carl.
Elijah blinked. "Nah. Nah, I—"
"Twist him up," Ezra gave a dark smile. He lowered his hand to below his navel, made a fist, and wrenched it.
Carl nodded. "Yeah, the grip'd get him back. Make his garden wither up too. Would serve him right. We can help. 'Tween the five of us, we can fix him real good."
Mark and Matthew nodded eagerly. "Bet you want revenge," said Mark.
"What?" Elijah shook his head in confusion. "I don't—"
"I would," said Carl. "I do. You ain't the only one that nasty old man done wrong."
Panic settled into Elijah's bones along with a dark knowing that bloomed there. He knew who these men were. What they were. He felt sick.
"Gotta get to work," he muttered. He pushed between Mark and Matthew. They tried to block the way, but his fear gave him strength, and he'd surprised them. He broke into a run and sprinted down the block toward the feed store. They called out after him.
"See you again, Elijah!"
"You're gonna want our help!"
He turned the corner to the side street. Down the block, he saw Jon pushing a loaded dolly towards the pickup truck. Elijah glanced back over his shoulder, but no one was following him. He slowed to a jog, his pulse pounding.
Jon heaved the first bag into the truck as Elijah arrived. He glanced at him, then did a double take. "What's wrong?"
"Nothin'." Elijah wanted to lean over to catch his breath, but he stopped himself. He tried to get his fear under control.
Jon didn't believe him. He looked past Elijah, scanning the street. "What happened? Did somebody say somethin' to you?"
"Nah. Just wanted to get back here. Let me get these." Elijah hefted a fifty-pound feed sack off the dolly and onto his shoulder. He put it in the truck.
Jon put his hands on his hips, frowning. "Did you get somethin' to eat?"
"Ja." Elijah realized now that he had no idea what had happened to his little white sack with the second sausage roll. He must have dropped it at some point. But he wasn't going back to that bakery. Maybe ever.
Elijah lifted another sack.
Jon shook his head with an expression that said Elijah was crazy, but he went back to moving feed sacks, thank God.
As Elijah worked, his mind worked harder.
Brauchers. Those four were bad brauchers.
How had they found him? What did they want?
They want to hurt Dawdi. The voice spoke clearly in his head. When it was so audible like that, coming from out of the blue, he knew it was absolutely true.
They wanted to hurt his grandfather? Why? Maybe Dawdi had acted against them. If they were bad, and he knew of them, he might well have. But why had they come to him, Elijah? Did they really think he would join them in hurting his own grandfather?
There was no answer. He tried to remember if Dawdi had ever made mention of them, but he didn't recall so. Grandfather often talked about bad braucherei. That is, brauchers, whether men or women, that had gone wrong, their power twisted up for dark ends, for the devil's work. That was always the danger. The most important thing. The fate to be avoided at all costs. It would be better if you'd never been born.
The image of Ezra wrenching his fist in front of his guts with that cruel look on his face came back with a fresh pang of fear.
Would they do that to him because he refused to help them? Were they doing it even now? He had an image of the four of them standing in a circle, holding hands, sending evil his way.
But no. No. That was fear talking. He'd not done them any harm. He shouldn't anticipate such awful things. That only gave them the power to come to pass.
One thing for sure—he wanted nothing to do with it—not with them, not with braucherei, nor any of it. He'd promised. He'd promised God, and Samuel, and he'd promised himself.
He renewed that vow now. He would never be like them. If he had to live the life of a pauper ’til his dying day, he would never, ever use braucherei again. He was almost glad, now, that Jon had caught him making that remedy. Remedies were one thing. They weren't real power, only mixes, concoctions. But he shouldn't even do that, and he wouldn't.
The thought of ever being like those men terrified him.
On the way home, Elijah glanced in the truck's side mirror and saw a black car following them. Terror washed through him, and he gripped the passenger door handle hard. He still was trying to figure out what to tell Jon when they pulled into the driveway at Pig Bottom Farm. But the black car didn't turn. The driver gunned the engine, and the car sped off.
Elijah prayed he'd never see them again.