“Mattie told me you’re w-working at the feed store,” I said, hating that I’d stuttered.
“Helping Datt, too. Saving my money. We built a hog barn, you know. Going to buy some sows down to the auction in Kidron.”
Leaning forward, he began to unlace his boots.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“What do you think?” He didn’t look at me. “It’s a hundred degrees. I’m going to cool off.”
“You can’t come in here.”
“Just going to get my feet wet.”
I looked around, not sure what to do. I wanted to grab my towel and dress, and run home. But even as the thought flitted through my brain, I acknowledged that I wasn’t being quite honest with myself. I might be terrified by the prospect of him coming into the water, but a small part of me thrilled at the idea.
Tossing his boots aside, he stood, his feet bare, jeans rolled up to his knees. He made a sound of pleasure as he entered the water.
I couldn’t look at him. Instead, I swept my hands through the water, watching the white flash of them beneath the surface.
“You been playing any baseball?” he asked.
I glanced up to see him wading toward me. “I’m too old to play a kids’ game.”
“Yeah? Tell Barry Bonds that.”
I had no idea who that was. I didn’t care. His jeans were getting wet, the water reaching his thighs. “You’re going to get your clothes wet,” I told him.
“That’s sort of the plan, I guess.”
“Your mamm’s not going to be happy with you.”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, will it?”
“It’s not proper for you to be here.”
He stopped a couple of feet away, looking at me as if I was some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “You weren’t too worried about proper the day I saw you out on Dogleg Road, were you?”
My face heated. I dropped my gaze to the water. My heart was beating so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. I thought about ducking under the surface and swimming around him, going to shore, grabbing my clothes and running.
“Haven’t seen you around much this summer, Katie,” he said quietly.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah? Doing what?”
Avoiding you. “Chores,” I blurted. It wasn’t true. In fact, chores were the farthest thing from my mind. The last thing I wanted him to know was that I’d spent most of the summer pining for him. That I missed him so much it hurt.
He stood there with his arms at his sides. Head cocked, studying me. I didn’t have the courage to meet his gaze, though for the life of me I couldn’t name what I was so afraid of. I’d known Jonas since I was six years old. He was the same Jonas I’d always known. Just last summer, I might’ve splashed his face or maybe reached down for a mudball and thrown it at him.
“There’s a singing after worship next church Sunday,” he said.
I watched a water spider skate across the surface.
“I could drive you home afterward,” he offered.
“Mamm says you’re too old for me,” I murmured.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. Looked back toward shore. “My datt’s eight years older than my mamm. They get on just fine.”
I looked down at my hands, pale blurs in the blue-green water. I watched the water spider. Listened the chip of a cardinal. The next thing I knew, water spattered my face.
I wiped my eyes. Jonas laughed, lined up for another attack. I felt the grin emerge. Heard the laugh escape my mouth. Before he could move, I swept my hand across the water and got him good.
“Hey!”
For several seconds, we were kids again. Laughing and splattering in a competition to out-splash the other. I swept my hand in a wide arc, a perfect alignment for the mother of all splashes. But he caught my wrist and stopped me.
“Not bad for a girl who’s too grown-up to play baseball.”
He was looking at me funny. Blinking as if I’d done something to surprise him and he wasn’t sure how to respond. His fingers were wrapped around my wrist and his skin was warm against mine.
He tugged me toward him. I knew better than to allow it, but I went. We stood a scant foot apart. Looking at each other. Nothing but water between us. I was aware of his hands moving to my biceps, gentle and yet insistent. I could barely look at him, and yet I couldn’t look away.
Water gathered in his lashes and dripped from his chin, off the tip of his nose. “Let me drive you home after the singing.”
“Mamm won’t let me.” The words were little more than a whisper. “I have to go.”
“Me, too.”
Neither of us moved.
I knew he was going to kiss me an instant before he angled his head and pressed his lips to mine. They were cool and wet and tasted of creek water and mint. I knew it was wrong, but I raised my face to his and he deepened the kiss. I felt his hands loosen and slide over my shoulders to my back. He pulled me closer and then his body was flush against mine. I felt the solid pressure of him in a place I’d never acknowledged and for the first time in my life I understood how men and women did the things they did.
I didn’t mean to put my arms around him. I couldn’t believe how large and hard his shoulders were. All of it was foreign and forbidden, but I wanted him even closer.
After a moment, he pulled away. He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to mine. “I’ll drive you home from the singing.”
“I’ll find a way,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 26
There is a saying about assumptions and for the most part it holds true. When I arrived in the Kishacoquillas Valley to look into the death of Ananias Stoltzfus, I’d been operating on the notion that he was a kindly and much-loved bishop, a man revered by all. I believed that his untimely death had left a wound on the community and an ocean of broken hearts in its wake.
From the outside looking in, those things may have been true, at least in a topical sense. As bishop, Stoltzfus touched many lives in posi- tive ways—baptisms, communion, and marriages. But a number of people who came in contact with him—for some transgression or perceived wrongdoing—were met with the kind of heavy hand that could alter the course of a life—or ruin it.
Ananias Stoltzfus enjoyed hurting that young man.
He relished the tears.
I saw the pleasure of it in his eyes.
Bishop Yoder knew what kind of man Ananias Stoltzfus was. He disagreed with many of his decisions. There was friction between the two men. Was it enough to drive Yoder to commit an act of violence? Did he take it upon himself to permanently remove the man who was hurting his brethren and sucking the lifeblood from the community?
Yoder isn’t the only one who might have benefited from his death. Roman Miller—who has access to a dark pickup truck—was forced to leave the Amish and join a local Mennonite church. Levi Schmucker was accused of sexually abusing his daughter. He suffered serious physical injuries and was forced to abandon his family and leave town.
And what about Jonas? a little voice whispers.
His father was excommunicated and silenced. After Ezra’s death Jonas blamed Ananias. Jonas wrote a threatening letter and they argued publicly. The rise of doubt that follows is a physical pain.