Her Brother's Keeper (2 page)

sohn
—son

wie bischt
—How are you?

ya
—yes

yummasetti
—a traditional Pennsylvania Dutch casserole

Dear Ethan,

My therapist said that I should write you letters in an effort to process my grief. I don't know if it will help or not, but I'm willing to give this a try since I can't seem to move forward without knowing what happened to you. My heart is shattered.

I've sent letters to Hannah, and while your fiancée did write me back, her notes were brief and offered no explanation. None of my phone calls were answered or returned either. Since I'm not getting any answers, I've decided to spend some time in Lancaster County, to live among the Amish, as one of them. Yes, it's deceitful, but I have to know the truth. From what I've read about the Amish, they aren't very trusting and aren't fond of outsiders. Maybe this is why, after you became a member of their group, you detached yourself from the people who love you. Either way, I'm not above playing dress-up and telling a few lies to find out what happened to my only brother.

Even as I write this, ten months later, my grief overtakes me. Ethan, I miss you every single day. I don't know if the Plain People in Pennsylvania lured you into their world, twisted your thoughts, or what, but the Ethan I know is a survivor, a fighter. We had both been through so much, and yet . . . we lived to tell about it. We survived. What happened, Ethan?

Rest in peace, my beloved brother. I, on the other hand, won't rest until I know the truth.

Char

One

C
harlotte watched the taxi until it was out of sight, then she left her luggage on the sidewalk and made her way up the steps leading to the porch of the farmhouse. Two side-by-side front doors stood open, and through the screens, the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted outside. She took a deep breath. Based on her research, the Amish people knew how to cook, so that would be a perk while she was here.

She smoothed the wrinkles from her plain blue dress, put her sunglasses in the pocket of her black apron, and tucked a few loose strands of blond hair beneath the prayer covering she was wearing. Shaking her head, she eyed the black loafers and black socks that rose to just above her ankles, knowing she wouldn't win any fashion awards in this getup. She jumped when she heard footsteps, then took a step back when a woman about her
mother's age pushed the screen open and said, “You must be Mary.” The Amish woman put her hands on full hips, smiled broadly, and extended her hand.

Charlotte nodded, acknowledging the name she'd chosen to use while she was here—Mary Troyer. “Lena?”

“Ya, ya
. I'm Lena King.” She looked past Charlotte, raised a hand to her forehead, and peered. “
Ach, mei.
A lot of suitcases,
ya
?”

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at the three suitcases. “Yes, I guess so.” She fought to mask the tremble in her voice, reminding herself to use the little bit of Pennsylvania Dutch she'd learned. “
Ya. Ya
. A month is a long time.” She doubted she would stay anywhere near that long, but that's what Lena had insisted on via the letters they'd exchanged, so Charlotte had packed accordingly, just in case.

Lena scurried past her and quickly latched on to two of the suitcases. “Let's get these inside and get you settled. We are just so thrilled to find out that we have cousins down in Texas.” She grunted a little as she carried the luggage. Charlotte grabbed the third one and followed her. “We'd heard rumor that there were Amish folks in Beeville, Texas, but to find our kin there . . . well, just so
gut
to know, even if it is cousins several times removed.”

Charlotte recalled finding the small group of Amish people who had migrated to Texas from Tennessee. She'd built her secret identity based on information she'd gathered by spending time with them, and they'd directed
her to a resale shop where she'd purchased her Amish clothes. They'd been nice enough, if not a bit suspicious about all of Charlotte's questions.

Lena set the suitcases on the landing below the staircase, so Charlotte did the same with hers.

“Jacob can haul these upstairs when he gets home.” Lena smiled again. Charlotte knew Lena was referring to her sixteen-year-old son. “You must be hungry from your travels. Come, come.” She motioned for Charlotte to follow, and once in the kitchen, Lena pulled out a chair at the head of the table. Before them lay enough food to feed an army.

“I didn't know what you liked, so I made chicken salad, tuna salad, and egg salad.” She pointed to three more bowls on Charlotte's right. “That's barbequed meatballs, cheddar meat loaf, and my special chicken casserole.” She pressed her palms together and then pointed to the middle of the table. “That's bread I made this morning, and to the left is apple butter. Chowchow is in the other bowl.” She spun around, rattled off something in her native language, then returned with a glass she set in front of Charlotte. This was going to be an area of concern, her inability to understand or speak much of the dialect, which she'd read was an offshoot of German. She offered up the best smile she could, hoping to fake her way through the conversation.

“Everything looks very . . .
gut
.” She'd learned a handful of words most commonly used by the women
in Beeville. She'd camped out at a nearby hotel and visited the farmers' market daily for a couple of weeks in an effort to gain information. The women sold canned goods and homemade crafts. Charlotte always bought several jars of jams and jellies as unspoken payment for their help. She figured she had enough jellies for the next several years, but it had been worth it for the valuable information.

“I hoped that everyone could be here to welcome you, but it just didn't work out.” Lena sighed as she sat down to Charlotte's left. “After dinner, you should rest. Tomorrow, Hannah and I are adding to the flower beds. We like to spruce things up with Tiger Eyes every August. They only bloom for about eleven weeks, but they are always a nice addition when some of our perennials finish blooming.”

Charlotte stiffened at the mention of Lena's daughter, Hannah, but cleared her throat with a slight cough. “Hannah's a couple of years younger than me, right? Twenty-three or twenty-four?”

Lena nodded. “
Ya
. She's twenty-four.”

That seemed old to still be living at home.

“Hannah had wanted to be here, but Widow Hostetler called and needed someone to cart her to the doctor. She doesn't drive her buggy anymore.” Lena chuckled. “And we are all safer on the streets because of that.”

Charlotte bowed her head when Lena did. The Amish prayed silently before every meal, so Charlotte sat quietly with her eyes closed and waited.

“Did you say Widow Hostetler
called
?” Charlotte had seen the women in Beeville using cell phones, but she wanted clarification that she'd be able to use her phone while she was here. It was Charlotte's understanding that some Amish districts allowed the use of cell phones, while others did not.

“Ya
, our bishop allows portable telephone calls for emergencies.” She winked at Charlotte. “Funny how many emergencies pop up.” Lena frowned. “Oh,
nee
. Are you against the use of mobile telephones? Or does your district allow it?”

Charlotte swallowed a bite of bread, the tastiest she'd ever had. “Yeah.” She paused, kicking herself again. “
Ya
. We are allowed phones.” Lena handed Charlotte the bowl of chicken salad and Charlotte spooned a small amount onto her plate. Then she got two meatballs and a small scoop of chicken casserole.

“I hope you'll eat more than that.” Lena sat taller, her eyes wide. “That's not enough to feed a bird.”

To Charlotte, it looked like a ton, so she was a bit taken aback and not sure how to respond. “I-I've had a stomach bug recently.” One more lie to add to the collection.

Lena clicked her tongue a couple of times. “We've had something going around here too. Hannah took sick last week.”

Charlotte tensed again, knowing she would have to stop reacting every time Hannah's name was mentioned, but she couldn't shake the idea that maybe Ethan's fiancée
had something to do with his death. Or at the least, knew why her brother had killed himself.

“Save room for dessert,” Lena said as she motioned toward a chocolate pie at the far end of the table.

Charlotte fought a yawn before she nodded. She wasn't sure how she'd eat one more bite, and for a brief moment, guilt nipped at her for enjoying the food so much. She forced the thought aside and decided her lies were justified.

Lena excused herself to the bathroom, so Charlotte took a good look around at the modest surroundings. The table was in the middle of a large kitchen, and as she ran her hand along the table's edge, she took note of the fine craftsmanship. Eight oak chairs were around the table. On the counters were canisters, paper towels, a pitcher of tea, and a platter of cookies. Nothing decorative.

Charlotte took her napkin and dabbed at the sweat beads on her forehead. In Texas it would be unheard of not to have air conditioning. She doubted it got as warm here, but she was already dreading her time here without it. At least she didn't have to worry about her makeup running down her face since her role as a well-bred Amish woman didn't include cosmetics. She glanced at the back of her hands and recalled having the nail tech remove her gel fingernails and file them short.

She piled more butter on the homemade bread and let it melt in her mouth. She rarely ate bread at home, but it didn't taste like this. She closed her eyes and sighed,
letting the warm, buttery taste settle onto her palate. If she kept eating like this, she would be huge by the time she went home. Opening her eyes, she saw Lena come through the living room and stop at the window.

“Ach, gut,”
Lena said as she made her way back to the kitchen. “That's Hannah pulling in now. She's been eager for you to get here, to have someone close to her age to pal around with.”

“And I've been looking forward to coming,” Charlotte said, finding comfort in her truthful response. Running around with Hannah might shed some light on what happened to Ethan, but Charlotte bit her tongue and fought the tremble in her bottom lip as Hannah walked into the kitchen. She was just as beautiful as Ethan had said. On the outside, anyway.

Hannah wasn't in the mood to make small talk. She never was on the days she strayed off the beaten path. After she'd dropped off Widow Hostetler, she'd gone to her special place, the spot where she'd buried her memories of Ethan. He'd died almost a year ago, and she was sure she'd never find that kind of love again. But she was determined to be polite to this cousin they'd recently found. It seemed important to her mother to have discovered relatives all the way in Texas, but a month's visit was a bit long.

“This is Mary,” her mother said as she put a hand on Mary's shoulder. “It's her first time to Pennsylvania, so after we work in the garden tomorrow, maybe you can show her around.”

“Ya
. Of course.” Hannah eased into a chair next to Mary and across from where her mother took a seat. She bowed her head and offered thanks before she reached for a slice of bread. “Welcome, Mary. We've been looking forward to your visit.” She smiled at her cousin, but hoped she wouldn't be the only one entertaining Mary for a month. She was certain that was her mother's plan, for Mary to help Hannah find her way back into the world of the living.

“Tell us, Mary . . . what do you do best?”
Mamm
always asked this question, assuming everyone had a special talent. “Hannah is our seamstress. She sews much better than I do. Jacob tends the fields with his father, but he also takes care of the animals since he has a special knack for that. And
mei
husband is a masterful carpenter.”
Mamm
's eyes twinkled as she placed a palm on the table. “He made this table and chairs and most of our other furniture.”