A Marriage for Meghan Read online

  “And if your daughter, Meghan, continues to improve as she has, we’ll most likely promote her into the position,” Paul concluded with the barest of smiles.

  “What? My Meghan?” Unfortunately, Gideon’s surprise was as obvious as a mule in the henhouse.

  “Jah, your Meghan. Many parents have observed her in action. She’s a good teacher, Bishop, especially presenting arithmetic lessons on the board and teaching the youngest to read English. She still needs to assume more control over the classroom. There’s too much daydreaming and whispering, but her handling of individual kinner is exemplary. But we’ll see how she finishes out the term before we offer her the job.” The board members nodded like pecking hens, in perfect unison.

  Gideon closed his gaping mouth. “I shall pray for her continued improvement and offer whatever help she needs.”

  “As we all shall. Now, let’s get in line to eat. My wife brought a big roaster of Wienerschnitzel that I hope isn’t all gone.”

  Gideon walked toward the food stand with his fellow brethren, speechless from the impromptu board meeting.

  Now, if I can just keep her on the straight-and-narrow path until June…

  Fifteen

  No matter how she rolled her eyes or shook her head, Catherine couldn’t get Meghan to stop talking. She was half tempted to pinch her sister’s arm the way she’d done when they were children. All the way home from the fund-raiser, Meghan rattled on and on about the auction’s enormous turnout, how helpful the students had been, and about Thomas Mast’s purchases for his family back in Cleveland. Bragging about the amount of money raised sounded prideful, but Catherine could see that Meghan’s comments about the clever FBI agent rankled their father. In her exuberance, Meghan failed to realize daed’s nerves were fraying. And that never was a good idea when everyone was as tired as they were now.

  “Thomas is taking home two books about the Amish,” said Meghan, ignoring Catherine. “One is a fictional story about the Anabaptists back in Europe, and the other is a book of photographs taken right here in Wayne and Holmes Counties.”

  Catherine knew what was coming as sure as thunder followed lightning.

  “Ach, pictures shouldn’t be taken of Plain folk,” said Gideon from the front seat of the buggy. “It’s an abomination. Just the other day I yelled at a carload of tourists taking photos of kinner walking home from school.”

  “You yelled, Gideon?” asked Ruth, raising an eyebrow.

  He blushed. “Well, I said firmly that the children’s images should not be captured.”

  Meghan clucked her tongue. “Daed, don’t worry. A well-known Mennonite photographer published the book. He only photographs people from the back or at least from far away, so no one is easily recognized. Mainly, it’s lots of houses, barns, and rolling farm fields. He’s particularly fond of sunsets, snow-covered barns, and cows chewing their cud along the fence line.”

  Ruth and Catherine laughed, while Gideon issued a final “harrumph” on the subject. “Agent Mast will be leaving soon?” he asked.

  “Jah, he would have left today, but he wanted to speak to you and mamm first. And we were already headed toward the school. He’ll probably leave tomorrow, on the Sabbath.”

  “He’ll be glad to get back to his conveniences, I’m sure,” said the bishop.

  Her father no longer sounded quite so peeved, but Catherine changed the topic anyway. “I’d like you to look at some samples of new textbooks that came in the mail. If the school board approves them, I hope to place the order before leaving my position in May.”

  “Not tonight, daughter. Maybe on Monday,” grunted Gideon.

  With the school only a mile away from their farm, the horse soon trotted up their driveway, bringing the successful but tiring day to a close. “Need my help, ehemann?” asked Ruth, as the buggy rolled to a stop.

  “Nein, you go on to bed. Our boys came home early for the afternoon milking and other chores. If I walk slowly, they should be finishing up about the time I get to the barn.” He helped his wife down, while his daughters scrambled out the back. They began unloading hampers and crates of supplies with youthful energy.

  “I’ll make us a cup of tea. It’ll be waiting for you in the house.” Ruth trailed her girls to the house at a far slower pace.

  Inside, Catherine watched Meghan fly around the kitchen like a bumblebee, but she waited until mamm left the room to inquire. “What is your big hurry, Meggie? I can’t believe you’re not tired.” She filled the empty roasting pans with water to soak and began washing coffee carafes.

  With her kapp askew and several tendrils loose from her bun, Meghan flashed Catherine a smile. “I need to visit the dawdi haus tonight before Thomas goes to sleep. Joanna said he left his sack of books at the checkout table because his hands were full with the clock and candles.”

  Catherine frowned. “Can’t that wait until tomorrow? You’ll probably see him either at breakfast or when he comes to the house to say goodbye.” After the scene her schwester made in the entranceway to the tent, Catherine didn’t think Meghan should schedule evening visits to see Agent Mast.

  “I want to do it now, Cat, before I forget. The books are in my tote bag. He’s probably packing up tonight.” Meghan turned back to the pantry, replacing unused paper plates and cups.

  Catherine resisted the inclination to treat her younger sister a child. Meghan was a grown woman and should be trusted to make her own decisions. “Good idea,” she said. “But I’ll go with you because I wish to talk to him before he leaves.”

  Within ten minutes they had tidied the kitchen and were on their way to the small white house. A kerosene lamp still burned in the living room, indicating their tenant hadn’t gone to bed. Catherine rapped lightly on the door.

  Thomas answered within moments. “Meghan, Catherine. You were both so busy today, I thought you would have fallen asleep on the drive home and needed to be carried upstairs like bopplin.”

  Meghan pulled the plastic sack from her tote. “You shouldn’t pay good money for books and then leave them behind, Thomas.”

  “Thanks for these. Come on in.” He took the bag from her and set the books on a chair. “How about a cup of tea? The kettle is still hot.” He walked across the room, not noticing the odd expression exchanged by the two sisters.

  “Tea sounds great,” said Meghan as they followed him into the kitchen. Another kerosene lamp burned low in the center of the table. Thomas turned up the flame before rummaging in the cupboard for mugs and tea bags.

  “How did you like the fund-raiser?” asked Catherine, while Meghan opened his refrigerator and began studying the contents. She seemed fascinated with everything connected to this Englischer, even his selection of cold cuts and dairy products.

  “I loved it—especially the bake sale. I bought four pies and three plates of cookies that I’ll take back to my office.” Thomas filled mugs with hot water and carried them to the table. “Can I help you find something, Meghan? I didn’t think you took milk in your tea.”

  With a blush Meghan closed the refrigerator door and sat down. “No milk. I wanted to see if you bought any of the peach pies I baked.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes with the same effectiveness she had had on the drive home. “All peach pies taste the same, dear one.”

  “I bought one of yours and one made by a Rosa Miller. I’ll run my own taste test and report back to you.” Thomas pushed the box of tea bags across the table.

  Catherine was eager to change the subject. “What else did you buy besides bakery? Did you bid on furniture? We had some beautiful oak pieces there.” She selected some chamomile tea and passed the box to her sister.

  “I spotted a desk similar to the one your uncle made. It had plenty of cubbyholes and drawers, but I didn’t know how to get it home.” Thomas dunked a bag of Earl Grey up and down in his cup.

  “You could have hired that Mennonite driver with his truck,” volunteered Meghan cheerily. “He was taking delivery orders.”

&
nbsp; “Well, I really don’t have room in my condo. So I spent my time loading heavy pieces with James and John and their freinden. Then I parked cars over in the field like a valet when they ran out of spaces nearby.” Thomas blew across the surface of his tea for several moments before noticing Catherine and Meghan staring at him. “What’s wrong? Your brothers asked me to help. I wasn’t butting my nose in like a typical Englischer.”

  “You used the word freinden,” said Meghan. “That’s Deutsch for friends.” She studied him like a hawk eyeing tasty prey.

  “And before that you said bopplin instead of babies,” added Catherine, looking equally suspicious.

  “Did I?” he asked. “I must have remembered those words. I don’t think I heard your brothers use either of them.”

  Catherine locked gazes with her sister, both sets of eyes luminous in the lamplight. “What do you mean? How could you possibly remember them?”

  Thomas took a long swallow of tea as the wall clock tick-tick-ticked the passing seconds of the April evening. Finally, he set down his cup and looked from one to the other. “Every now and then Deutsch words come back to me because so many sound like their English counterparts. Maybe it’s a person’s accent or something I hear on television that triggers the memory. But basically, I remember Pennsylvania Dutch words because I was born Amish—somewhere in Lancaster County. I don’t know where exactly.”

  Meghan leaned across the table. “You’re Amish, Thomas?” Her tone conveyed sheer wonder.

  “I was Amish. My parents left the Order when I was nine years old. And please don’t ask why. All I know is they disagreed with something in the Ordnung. They tried to work around some rule, but in the end they chose to leave their faith and community. I’m sure it was a very difficult decision.”

  “They jumped the fence? Oh, my. How awful for you.” Meghan looked scandalized.

  Catherine felt as though she’d slipped and fallen on hard ice. Without meaning to she internalized what Thomas had said. What if my parents had left the Order? What would my life be like without grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all the cousins? Would I have turned out like those loud girls I see primping in restaurant restrooms?

  She shook off her self-absorption. “Oh, Thomas. That must have been so hard for you.”

  He gazed out the window at total darkness. “I remember I hated my new school at first because it was so different from the Amish school. I couldn’t seem to fit in with other kids. And I missed my grandparents too. I wrote them letters and they wrote back. They kept asking me to visit with my sisters. But after a while their letters stopped. Maybe my parents just stopped giving them to me because my grandparents desperately wanted us to move back.” He picked up his mug and downed the contents. “Anyone for a refill?”

  “No more for me,” said Catherine. “We really should be—”

  “I’ll have more, danki,” Meghan interrupted. She quickly gulped down her tea and then handed the empty mug to Thomas. “That’s why you’re so fascinated with everything on our farm—like milking cows and how to plant soybeans and how to press apples into cider without electricity. You remember your childhood and would love to go back to those happy days.” Her face was bright with ideas.

  Thomas released a wry laugh, refilling his and her mugs with hot water. “I do remember a pleasant childhood, but I was happy growing up in Cleveland—once I made new friends and adjusted to a different kind of neighborhood. You’re right, though. I am curious about your lifestyle, Meghan. But I’m also comfortable being English.”

  Meghan’s expression remained skeptical.

  Catherine had a few questions of her own. “What about your Pennsylvania kin? They must have been brokenhearted after you all left. Have you ever gone back to Lancaster?”

  “No, never. That part I’m not proud of. My grandparents are getting old. I should visit them before it’s too late.”

  Silence spun out as soft light from the kerosene lamp danced on the walls. “You’re a grown man,” said Catherine. “Your parents cannot stop you.”

  “Nor would they want to. I blame only myself. I got involved with sports in high school, and then I went away to college and after that the FBI Academy. Since I was assigned to Cleveland, all I do is work, work, work.” He slicked a hand through his tousled hair. “I could have driven to Lancaster any weekend I was at the academy. It’s not that far. I could have looked for their farm while I was in Virginia, but I was a little afraid and a lot lazy. Like I said, I’m not proud of myself.”

  “All of us have tendencies we’d like to change,” murmured Meghan. “Just take your metamorphosis one day at a time. That’s what daed told me to do.” She blushed and stared into her mug of tea.

  “That’s good advice. I’ll try not to forget it.” Thomas selected another teabag from the box.

  “What about the faith you had been taught?” asked Catherine.

  “I still know God, even if we’re not on a first-name basis at the moment. That’s another thing I intend to change when I get home. I’ve been thinking quite a bit while I’ve been here, while you thought I was only sniffing flowers.” He aimed a smile at Meghan. “There’s a church within walking distance of my condo. I’ve always wondered what it looked like inside.”

  Catherine opened her mouth to encourage his spiritual reconnection, but the jangle of his cell phone nearly knocked them all off their chairs.

  “Thomas Mast,” he answered. He reached for pen and paper on the counter while listening mutely. “Give me that address again.” He jotted something down. “Thanks, I’m on my way.” Snapping the phone shut, he turned back to them, his smile gone.

  In that instant Catherine knew the news wasn’t good. “What’s wrong? What has happened?”

  “That was Sheriff Strickland on the phone. The Clinton Township Fire Department has been called to a farm on County Road 38. That’s not far from here, right?” He pushed his chair under the table.

  Both women rose to their feet, shaking their heads no.

  “A barn is burning…an Amish barn. It’ll probably be a total loss by the time the fire trucks arrive.”

  “Maybe a load of hay had been stored away damp,” suggested Catherine. “Occasionally, it happens with new farmers who aren’t familiar with spontaneous combustion.”

  “The local fire department also called the arson investigator. The ground around the barn’s foundation reeked of gasoline.”

  Neither woman commented on that tidbit of news.

  “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to meet the sheriff at the scene of the fire.” Thomas set down his mug and strode to the door, grabbing his jacket from the peg.

  Catherine scrambled behind him with Meghan on her heels. “I’m riding along with you. My father has already gone to bed. If this family is Amish, I’d like to find out what happened to tell him tomorrow.”

  “I’m coming too,” said Meghan. “Maybe I can help round up any animals running loose.”

  Meghan chasing down stampeding cows didn’t sound likely to Catherine, but she said nothing. Thomas looked at each one and shrugged his shoulders. “All right, ladies. Let’s go.”

  The three ran to his car. Catherine jumped into the backseat while Meghan climbed in front. For a while no one spoke. Instead, they stared at the yellow glow reflected against the night sky.

  “Oh, my,” whispered Meghan as the glow intensified. “This feels like the horrible night someone burned the Yoder produce stand. I thought I would be sick to my stomach.”

  Thomas glanced at her, and then he met Catherine’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Catherine felt a chill all the way down to her toes. She knew exactly what he would say.

  “Do you understand what this means?” he asked.

  Meghan looked perplexed, but Catherine nodded. “That you might have arrested the wrong man. He couldn’t have started this fire if he’s sitting in jail.” She rubbed her arms, wishing she’d brought a shawl or sweater.

  Meghan turned sideways on the seat. “Maybe
his friends did it as some sort of retaliation because they’re angry.”

  Thomas glanced at her again. “Please fasten your seat belt, Meghan. But your supposition is highly possible. The same idea occurred to me a minute ago.”

  “Look!” Catherine said as they rounded a corner. She pointed toward the fully engulfed barn coming into view. “They weren’t able to bring the fire under control.”

  Thomas slowed behind a procession of cars and buggies that either came to help or gawk at the spectacle. Pulling a battery-powered flasher from the glove box, he switched it on and set it on the dashboard. He passed other vehicles but approached the farm without speeding. “There are too many people in the area,” he muttered. “And more are coming by the minute.”

  Meghan craned her head out the window. “Jah, they’re Amish,” she said, sounding on the verge of tears.

  “I believe this is the home of Josiah Esh,” said Catherine as Thomas parked near a police cruiser.

  “I hope all the animals got out in time.” This time Meghan started to cry.

  “At least the firefighters kept the blaze from spreading to other buildings,” said Thomas. His comment sounded hollow in the cold night air.

  Catherine and Meghan walked toward a cluster of Amish women. They stood silently watching a hundred-year-old landmark turn to ash and embers.

  Thomas headed toward the fire marshal, the arson investigators, and the sheriff. Soon he would help gather crucial evidence to connect this cowardly act back to the perpetrators. But just for a moment, he paused to watch flames leaping toward the night sky, feeling an emotion that bordered on hatred.

  Who would do something like this? He would stay the rest of the night if necessary. He would stay the rest of his life in Wayne County if need be. And when he returned to the Yost farm, he would unpack his suitcase and box of files because he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Sunday

  When the bishop awoke the next morning, he stretched his arms and legs like a cat under the quilt. The day lay before him like a gift—a gift of rest and restoration. It was the Sabbath and also a nonpreaching Sunday. After the exhausting but productive fund-raiser yesterday, he knew the district would be happy to sleep in a bit. John and James would already be up to tend livestock, but Gideon enjoyed a few quiet moments to plan his day.