A Dark Path #10
I give his hand a firm shake. His wife, Susie, shoves a foil-covered pie at me. “Hinkelbottboi,” she says, using the Deitsch term for chicken potpie.
“Danki.” I take the pie, noticing that it’s still warm from the oven.
“If there’s anything we can ever do to thank you, I hope you will let us know,” Levi tells me.
I set the potpie on the credenza behind me. “Actually, there is something, Mr. Kuhns.”
The Amish man cocks his head. Not expecting me to take him up on his offer so soon. “What is it?”
I let my gaze slip to his wife and then back to him. “I’d like for you to start using a slow-moving-vehicle sign on your buggy.” I soften the request with a smile. “I can bring one out to you tomorrow.”
Blinking, he starts to mention something about ornamentation. Then his wife touches his arm and he falls silent. “We would appreciate that, Chief Burkholder,” she tells me. “Danki.”
The Amish couple step aside as Jeff and Monica Dennison move closer. I notice tears on Monica’s face as she rounds my desk. As her arms go around me, I hear a sob. I’m not much of a hugger, but I return the gesture.
“Thank you, Chief Burkholder,” she whispers. “Thank you to your whole department for bringing Kevin home to us. When I think of all the things that could have happened…” She shakes her head, leaving the sentence open-ended, as if not wanting to imagine the possibilities.
Jeff Dennison sticks out his hand. “It’s good to know our town—our children—are in such good hands.”
“I’ll pass the compliment along to my department,” I tell him.
Levi Kuhns puts his hands on his son’s shoulders and nudges him forward.
Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, but too intent on doing the right thing to let it show, Aaron steps toward me.
In the back of my mind, I recall the way he looked the night he jumped from that second-story window.
He’d been terrified, and yet he’d kept his head.
“How’s the ankle?” I ask.
“Just a sprain.” Looking down at the floor, the boy runs the toe of his boot over the scuffed wood planks.
Behind him, his mother clears her throat.
Aaron raises his gaze to mine. In the depths of his eyes, I see an earnestness that’s a little too rare these days. “I want to … um, apologize for causing such a big ruckus, Chief Burkholder. Me and Kevin shouldn’t have took off the way we did. I mean, without telling our parents.”
He slants a look at his friend and a smile whispers across their features, as if they’re remembering some secret adventure.
Blotting her eyes with a tissue, Monica Dennison nods at her son. “Go on, honey,” she says.
Kevin Dennison is a little guy with a freckled nose and his mom’s serious eyes. He comes up beside Aaron and visibly swallows. “I’m sorry, too, Chief Burkholder. I know everyone was real worried. I would have called, but I dropped my phone.”
He runs out of breath, getting himself worked up, so I jump in to help keep him on track. “There were some teenaged boys in the woods that night,” I tell him. “They admitted to scaring you. Chasing you on the trail.”
“Oh.” The two boys exchange a look.
Aaron speaks up again. “We didn’t mean to set that house on fire, either, Chief Burkholder.
We were cold, so I built a fire. I even checked the flue like Datt taught me to do.
” The Amish boy shrugs. “I think the chimney must have been clogged, because the smoke wasn’t going up right.
We fell asleep and when we woke up, the whole place was lit up. ”
“Apologies accepted.” I look from boy to boy, trying to keep my expression stern. It’s not easy. I’m no sucker for kids, especially when they’ve been as irresponsible as these two, but it’s not often that I see this kind of genuine contriteness.
“The house was a total loss,” I tell them. “The fire marshal is finalizing his report now.”
Kevin swallows again, flicks a look at his father. “Are we in trouble?” he squeaks. “I mean, are we going to have to pay for it?”
I wonder how much these boys have told their parents. “Did you boys run away? Or did you get lost?”
Aaron’s gaze hits the floor. Kevin picks at the bandage on his hand. After a too-long moment, Aaron raises his gaze to mine. “Both, I guess.”
I hear a quick intake of breath from Monica Dennison, telling me she didn’t know, but I don’t look away from the boys.
Ducking his head, Kevin makes eye contact with me. “Our parents said we couldn’t be friends anymore.”
“Why not?” I pose the question to anyone who is willing to answer, but I set my eyes to rest on Jeff Dennison.
Kevin is the only one who steps up. “Because Aaron’s Amish,” he mutters.
An uncomfortable silence ensues. I let the tension ride, give everyone a moment to think about its source.
Aaron shoves up the sleeve of his coat, revealing a small laceration that’s scabbed over. “That’s why we became blood brothers.”
Kevin does the same, revealing a similar cut. “We figured they can’t take that away from us,” he says. “Even if we get grounded for life.”
“I think there’s a lesson in there somewhere,” I say, borrowing Tomasetti’s words. “For all of us.”
I go to my desk and pull the graphic novel from the bottom drawer. “I heard something about a buck, too.”
A quiver goes through Aaron’s body. Kevin blinks, opens his mouth, closes it. They didn’t tell anyone, I realize.
“What buck?” asks Jeff Dennison.
“Apparently, Dane Henderson was keeping a buck in a pen at his place, which is against the law in the state of Ohio.” I motion toward the boys.
“Aaron and Kevin took it upon themselves to sneak over there and free the buck.” I hand the graphic novel to Jeff Dennison, then turn my attention to the boys.
“That wasn’t the right way to go about it, but I think your hearts were in the right place. ”
Dennison looks down at the novel. His brows shoot up at the sight of the flying buck. Emotion sparks in his eyes when he looks at the boys. I think about life lessons, and I get the impression that everything is going to work out.
“We’re happy to pay for the damage to the fence, Chief Burkholder,” Levi Kuhns puts in.
“That won’t be necessary,” I tell him. “When I explained the situation to Mr. Henderson, he agreed to waive his complaint.” It didn’t hurt that I also told him I would cite him for the wildlife violation if he pressed it.
“I think it’s safe to say all of us learned something important, Chief Burkholder,” Monica Dennison tells me.
At that, the parents and their children shuffle from my office.
When they’re gone, Lois comes to the doorway. “Nicely done,” she tells me.
I reach for my coat, shrug into it. “I’m a firm believer in that the things that make us different are also the things that make us stronger.”
“Amen to that.” She grins. “Don’t forget that scrumptious-looking pie, Chief.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”