46. Chapter 37
Chapter 37
J on saw the truck leave. He was a light sleeper, and the sound of the engine woke him and made him look out the window next to the bed. He'd gotten a glimpse, thanks to a motion-sensor light at the garage, of two men in the cab of the truck—Eddie and Elijah.
Why would they leave so late? They were normally asleep at that hour. Had there been a medical emergency? He'd lain there and worried. Then, about two in the morning, the truck returned with only one man—Eddie.
Jon hadn't been able to sleep after that. He told himself it was probably fine, and not his business. But stupid things occurred to him. That Elijah was leaving the farm, for instance. But if he was moving out, there was no reason for him to do it in the middle of the night. A family emergency came to mind, but even if Elijah's family had a crisis, they wouldn't contact Elijah, even if they had a means to call him, which they didn't.
Which left something medical. But if Elijah was hurt, surely Samuel would have gone too? But maybe not, if it wasn't that serious.
He managed to wait until 6:30 to call over there.
"Hey." Samuel answered the house phone. "I'm just makin' breakfast."
"Thanks. Um… I saw Elijah leave with Eddie last night. What happened?"
There was silence for a moment. Then Samuel said, "I'll come over in a minute with breakfast." He hung up.
Jon made coffee. He felt like the ragged edge of a torn piece of construction paper due to lack of sleep. His eyes were dry and gritty, his body felt weighted. What could it be that Samuel wouldn't say over the phone?
He startled at the rap on the door. "Come in!"
Samuel entered, carrying a foil-covered plate and a cup of coffee—his own. He looked like the next ten miles of bad road after Jon's ten miles of bad road.
Samuel set the plate on the kitchen table and, without asking, fetched utensils from the drawer. "Figured you'd have coffee already," Samuel said, looking at Jon's cup. He sat down in the chair Elijah usually sat in, sighed, and sipped from his mug.
Jon used his crutch to get to the table, coffee cup in hand, and sat down. "So?"
"You should eat while it's hot."
"Tell me what's goin' on, and I'll consider it."
Samuel gave an infinitesimal eye roll and sighed again. "Last night, Elijah woke us up. He had a nightmare about his grandfather, and he wanted to go over there. He seemed so shook, like he was convinced something awful had happened. You know how he is. You just…."
"Have to take him seriously. I know. Go on." The hair on the back of Jon's neck prickled.
"So Eddie took him."
"And?"
Samuel shook his head. "There was light in the house—lanterns. People were up. So something was wrong, for true. Eddie wanted to go in with Elijah, or at least stay and wait for him, but Elijah insisted he leave. Said he had his phone, and he'd call when he needed to be picked up. So Eddie left."
Jon couldn't wrap his head around it. "Eddie dropped Elijah off at the home of the family that shunned him and just left him there? In Ronks?"
Samuel frowned. "It's what Elijah wanted. And he never called."
"Shit." Jon tried to make sense of it. "Was his grandfather sick, do you think?"
"Don't know. But Elijah was sure worried about him."
Jon suddenly remembered the Amish mafia types that had come to harass Elijah. That had been at Thanksgiving. Something about Elijah joining up with them—oh yeah, to hurt his grandfather.
He struggled to his feet. "We need to go over and check on him."
"He hasn't called," Samuel said doubtfully. "I don't wanna get into his business."
Jon glared at him. "He was shunned . How would you feel if we took you to your family's house and just dropped you off?"
Samuel paled. "But he wanted to be dropped off."
"Yeah, because he was worried. We need to go check on him," Jon insisted, raking a shaking hand through his hair. "It's not that far to drive. And if he's not there…. I mean, what if his phone isn't working? What if it's out of battery?"
Samuel hopped up. "Okay! Okay, it's not a bad idea. We can check on him so."
"Good. I'm gonna take a shower. Leave in twenty?"
Samuel grimaced. "I should at least feed the animals, so more like an hour. And you should eat too."
Jon pushed down his frustration that he couldn't help with chores and thus speed up the process. "Fine. Just hurry. Please."
It was more like an hour and fifteen minutes before they left the farm. Eddie had tried to talk Jon out of going because of his ankle, but screw that; it wasn't happening.
The January day was frigid and dully gray, and the landscape on the way to Ronks was all bare trees and thin, crusty banks of snow. They had to pass through town and then get on the freeway. It was morning traffic, people going to and from jobs in Lancaster or on their way to Ephrata or surrounding burgs. The roads were wet from melted slush and gritty with sand from the snowplows. It was, in a word, dreary. Ominous even.
Was Elijah all right? He'd better be, and that was all there was to it.
Jon didn't know why he was so afraid, but he was. His skin itched, and his body felt wrong. He couldn't stop thinking about those four men who'd accosted Elijah in the parking lot. Bad brauchers. They wanted to hurt someone. And if Elijah got in the way of that, they'd target him too.
Images came to torment him. Flashes—purely from his own imagination—of that souped-up Dodge Challenger chasing Trish's little car. Of the guys calling out insults, obscenities, of Trish driving erratically, glancing fearfully over her shoulder….
He silently groaned and put his head in his hands. This couldn't be happening again. Not again. He couldn't be too late again. If his foot wasn't in a cast, if he'd been the one Elijah had asked to drive him last night, he never would have left Elijah there, no matter what he said. Never! And how long had he been there now? It was nearly nine in the morning, so eight hours? Anything could happen in eight hours. You could kill an entire family and bury them in eight.
He knew, logically, he was being triggered, that this wasn't Trish all over again. But that didn't make it feel any less terrifying or stop his heart from pounding sickly in his chest.
"Jon, Elijah's fine." Jon looked up to see Eddie watching him in the rearview. "He's got a good head on his shoulders. He can handle himself."
Jon nodded. He knew Elijah was a survivor and much tougher than he looked. Not to mention, he could read people's motives like a menu and had instincts that were damn near supernatural. But that didn't mean bad people couldn't hurt him.
They could. And bad people did.
Ironically, it was his terror that made him realize that he loved Elijah. Was in love with him. Somewhere, at some point, while he'd been busy telling himself his heart was damaged for good, and that he couldn't love again, his heart had quietly taken Elijah in. And Jon hadn't even known it.
It couldn't be too late this time. He wouldn't let it be too late.
They left the freeway, finally, and headed into the countryside. The landscape became a wintery Norman Rockwell painting. They passed bucolic farms. Smoke curled from chimneys, snow dusted rooftops, and Amish in black coats, hats, and gloves, were out doing the morning's work.
"We're close," Jon said, recognizing a farm with a big yellow chicken house and windmill.
"Yeah," agreed Eddie. He turned right onto a dirt road.
He slowed as they approached Ruben Schultz's farm. Two black buggies were near the barn, their horses unharnessed and maybe inside. A group of five solemn-looking Amish men stood huddled on the stoop at the back door, their breath frosty in the morning air.
Jon swallowed. Had someone died? There was a feeling of mourning about the place.
Eddie looked at Samuel. "Should I pull in?"
"Go ahead," Samuel said.
Eddie turned. The gravel of the driveway crunched under the truck's tires. He stopped behind the buggies.
By the time they got out of the truck, Jon using his crutches, two of the Amish men were striding toward them. They were older, maybe in their fifties, with dark hair only lightly peppered with gray, big beards, and grim faces under black hats.
"This is no time for visitors," one said, his tone dogmatic. "Please leave."
"We're friends of Elijah's," said Samuel, his voice falling into a stronger Pennsylvania Dutch cadence than usual. "Come by to check on 'im, no?"
The mean man scowled. "You've no business here, anymore 'n he does."
Jon stepped forward. "He was dropped off here this mornin'. We need to see him."
"He is busy," said the other man. His tone was more conciliatory. "Can't be disturbed. Tis best you leave now. Please."
Eddie and Samuel looked at each other like they might capitulate. But Jon wasn't having it. "No, Sir. We're not goin' until we see Elijah and make sure he's okay."
The mean man sneered. "We're not butchers, ya know. He come of his own free will."
Jon focused on the second man, who seemed more reasonable. "I'm sure you wouldn't leave someone behind, if you were worried about him."
The man stared back for a moment, then said, "Stay. Go. Tis not safe here, but you've been warned. Do as you will. No one is goin' in that house, though. Elijah will come out when he comes out."
" If he comes out," muttered the mean man, but the other one shushed him and tugged on his arm, and they both went back to the stoop.
Quiet words were exchanged with the others, but Jon couldn't make it out. One young man sent a dirty glance Jon's way, and Jon could swear he had to be Elijah's brother. He had the same big dark eyes, only his were set in a much less pleasing face.
"He's right, Jon," Samuel said quietly. "They won't hurt him. It's not the Amish way."
"They could keep him, though," Jon said. "Against his will."
"Not against his will." Samuel wrung his hands. "I'm surprised they let him step foot in the house at all. They're more likely to cast him out than hold 'im back."
Then why is he still in there? Jon wanted to ask. But he knew Samuel didn't have the answers.
He considered pushing his way into the house. He could see himself going room to room calling Elijah's name, like in some romantic movie. But the men at the door looked strong. And maybe they were pacifists and wouldn't punch his face. But they could block his way. Besides, he didn't think acting violently with Elijah's family was the way to endear himself to the guy.
"What do we do?" Eddie asked, low. "Come back later?"
"No," Jon said immediately. "I'm not goin' anywhere until I talk to Elijah."
Samuel studied the house some more, then looked at Eddie. "Something's wrong, for true. They're holding vigil, and they're afraid. Really spooked."
Now that Samuel said it, Jon knew he was right. The men were tense and pale, and it wasn't because of the strangers in their driveway. Their gazes darted around like they expected something to jump out at them, though what, Jon didn't have a clue.
"So we wait?" Eddie asked, sounding uneasy.
"We wait," Jon said firmly.
He eased one of his crutches a bit to the right and planted himself firmly, prepared to stand there as long as was needed. He had the clearest sense of purpose he'd had in a long time. And that purpose was to stand there for Elijah. To be there to protect him in whatever way he could. Even if, at the moment, that only meant being a visible presence that gave a message to the men at the house that Elijah had people, and that, if anything happened to him, there'd be hell to pay.
He had a distant glimmer of future times when he would stand there for Elijah, whatever Elijah needed to do, whatever magical mission, or dangerous internal journey he was on, that he, Jon, was meant to stand at the gate and wait for him. To have his back. To make sure Elijah could find his way home.
The thought brought heat to his eyes and a lump to his throat. He was grateful to have that clarity in that moment, to get that glimpse of the road ahead. But that could be pondered later. Right now, it was time to stand.