A Sister's Hope (10 page)

Aunt Rosemary’s cheeks turned pink. “I may not be able to speak it as fluently as I did when I was a girl, but the language of my youth has never left me.”

Martha shifted uneasily in her chair. Was Dad trying to embarrass Aunt Rosemary? If so, it made no sense; the two of them had made their peace several months ago.

As if sensing her discomfort, Dad leaned closer to Rosemary and said, “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, sister. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

She smiled and patted his arm. “Pleasantly, I hope.”

He nodded. “You never cease to surprise me.”

Martha breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad things were still okay between Dad and Aunt Rosemary.

“Gemaeschde grummbiere.”
Ruth said when Sharon handed the bowl of potatoes to her.

Sharon tipped her head. “What was that?”

Ruth pointed to the potatoes. “Gemaeschde grummbiere—mashed potatoes.”

Abe’s youngest daughter, Molly, who sat beside Ruth in a high chair, bobbed her head up and down.
“Es bescht.”

Ruth nodded. “Jah, mashed potatoes are the best.”

Abe, sitting on the other side of Molly, spoke up. “If there’s one thing my little girl likes, it’s potatoes.”

“I like ’em, too, Papa,” nine-year-old Esta said. “So does Owen and Josh.” She looked over at her older brother, Gideon, and frowned. “I ain’t so sure ’bout him, though. Gideon don’t like much of anything these days.”

“It’s ‘I’m not’ not ‘I ain’t,’ Esta,” Abe said. “And let’s not get anything started between you and your
bruder
right now.”

“Argumentative kids—that’s one of the reasons my wife and I have decided not to have any children,” Ken said with a shake of his head. “I don’t think either of us has the patience for it.”

“Raising children isn’t just about dealing with arguments,” Mom said. “It’s a joy to watch your children grow up.” She patted Martha’s hand. “I wouldn’t trade being a mother for anything.”

A lump formed in Ruth’s throat. She had wanted to be a mother for such a long time, but the tragic accident that had claimed Martin’s life and left her unable to have any children of her own had ended those hopes. She glanced at Abe out of the corner of her eye and realized he was smiling at her.
Thank You, Lord, for bringing this kind man into my life. Thank You for giving me the chance to be a mudder to Abe’s special kinner.

As the family continued to eat their Thanksgiving meal, they talked
about the beautiful fall weather they’d been having, Martha’s dog venture, Cleon’s bee business, Dad’s woodworking shop, and Ruth’s upcoming wedding.

Finally, pushing his empty plate away from him, Dad announced, “Now that we’ve eaten such a good meal, I think we should take turns saying what we’re thankful for. I’ll get things started by going first.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m thankful we’re all in good health and able to be together today. God has walked by our side this past year, and I think our faith has been strengthened, despite the attacks against us.” He nodded at Mom. “Judith, why don’t you go next?”

Mom smiled and had just opened her mouth to speak, when—
ka-boom!
—an earth-shattering noise from outside rattled the windows.

Everyone jumped up and rushed out the door.

As they started down the driveway, Ruth saw smoke and flames shooting into the air.

“It’s my shop!” Dad hollered. “It’s been blown to bits!”

M
artha ran down the driveway after the men. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw what was left of Dad’s shop. Pieces of wood and burning debris lay everywhere.

“Someone, run to the phone shed and call 911!” Dad shouted as he, Cleon, Abe, and Ken raced for the two hoses connected to the water faucet near his shop.

“I’ll call on my cell phone,” Ken hollered.

Martha glanced around the yard, hoping to spot the person who had done this horrible deed. Except for her family and their Thanksgiving guests, who were now all gathered on Mom and Dad’s front porch wearing stunned expressions, she saw no one in sight. Whoever had blown up Dad’s shop had taken a chance doing it in broad daylight.

Martha’s heart nearly stopped beating. No. The person responsible for this attack must have known they were having their meal at Cleon and Grace’s place.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Martha said, “how can this be happening to us?”

Grace and Ruth joined her on the lawn, but Mom remained on the porch with Sharon and the children.

“I. . .I can’t believe this.” Ruth’s voice quavered, and her eyes widened with obvious fear. “Must we let these attacks keep going on until someone else is hurt?”

Martha put her arm around Ruth’s waist. “Ken’s called 911. I’m sure the sheriff will be here soon. Once he finds out what’s happened,
he’ll hopefully try to find out who’s responsible for blowing up Dad’s shop.”

Ray and Donna Larson dashed into the yard just then. “We heard an explosion and saw smoke and flames coming from your place!” Ray shouted. “I phoned the fire department right away!”

“My cousin phoned them, too, for all the good it will do,” Martha said with a shake of her head. “Dad’s shop is gone.”

Ray turned to Donna. “You stay here with the women. I’d better go see if I can lend Roman a hand.”

“I don’t know what Dad’s going to do without his shop,” Ruth said to no one in particular. “How’s he going to earn a living with no place to do his woodworking?”

“Maybe he’ll decide to move,” Donna spoke up. “I’d certainly encourage Ray to move if something like this happened to us.”

“Dad will never move,” Grace was quick to say.

Martha couldn’t stand there and listen to the women’s conversation any longer. She needed to see how things were going with the men. With a quick, “I’ll be back,” she sprinted down the driveway. Halfway to the shop, she heard sirens blaring in the distance. A few minutes later, two fire trucks pulled in, with Sheriff Osborn’s car and John Peterson’s rig right behind them.

The next few days went by in a blur. As upset as Roman was over losing his shop, he took comfort in knowing no one had been hurt. He’d been overwhelmed when his friends and family had rallied around, offering supplies and money so he could start up his business again. With winter around the corner, he’d decided to temporarily use one section of the barn as his shop and to rebuild in the spring. The sheriff had promised to do a thorough investigation and said he would keep a closer watch on the Hostettlers’ place.

“I hope he means it this time,” Roman mumbled as he headed for the barn on Saturday morning. The sheriff had made that promise before, but had he?
No!
He’d used the excuse that he was either too busy or couldn’t spare the men to patrol the area regularly. Roman
had begun to think the sheriff didn’t care. But when he’d shown up on Thanksgiving Day, he’d acted genuinely concerned—even said he was thankful no one had gotten hurt.

When the attacks had first begun, Roman hadn’t wanted to involve the sheriff. He’d figured they’d been random acts by rowdy kids looking for a good time. But as the attacks continued, he’d become more concerned. Of course he hadn’t told Judith or his daughters the way he really felt. He was trying to set an example—show them how strong his faith was and that he was trusting God to protect them. Despite Roman’s resolve to remain strong, his nerves were beginning to wear, and Judith’s were, as well. Since Thanksgiving, she’d had trouble sleeping. She’d also been acting jittery as a June bug. He wondered how much more she could take.

Roman glanced at the field behind their place. The cows and horses grazed peacefully, basking in the early morning sun. A few dried-up wildflowers lined the fence, and birds chirped from the trees.

If only life could be calm and undisturbed like the scene set before me,
he thought regretfully.
If we could just put the past behind and forget about all the frightening things that have been done to us.
He grunted.
Guess that won’t happen until this horrible nightmare ends—if it ever does.

As Roman stepped into the barn, two pigeons that had been roosting in the hayloft swooped down and landed on the floor. His heart leaped into his throat, and he jumped back.
Get a grip,
he told himself.
You can’t let every little noise set you off.

He moved to the nearest shelf, grabbed a book of matches, and lit a lantern.
I just need to continue to pray and seek God’s direction.

As Rosemary stood in her driveway, saying good-bye to Ken and Sharon, a lump formed in her throat. Moving away from her only son was harder than she’d thought it would be. Even so, her place was here in Holmes County right now. Her Amish family needed her more than ever.

“I wish you’d forget about staying here and come home with us,”
Ken said with a worried expression. “I’m concerned for your safety, Mom.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “The attacks have only been made on the Hostettlers, not me. Besides, I’m trusting God to protect me.”

Sharon slowly shook her head. “Look where trusting God’s gotten the Hostettlers.”

Rosemary clasped her daughter-in-law’s hand. “There are times when it seems as if God has abandoned us, but that’s when we need to draw closer to Him.”

Ken nodded as he put his arm around Rosemary. “You’re right, Mom. It won’t be easy not to worry about you, but if you’re determined to stay here, then Sharon and I will remember to pray every day—for you and for your Amish family.”

Rosemary smiled as tears clouded her vision. “I’ll be praying for you and Sharon, too.”

Ken looked over at Sharon. “If you’re ready, I guess we’d better hit the road.”

She nodded. “I’m ready.”

Rosemary gave them both another hug, and as their vehicle pulled out of her driveway, she heard a cow’s mournful
moo
in the distance. A sense of unease tightened her stomach. Did she really have the faith to believe everything would be all right?

Proverbs 29:25 popped into her mind:
“The fear of man bringeth a snare: but whoso putteth his trust in the L
ORD
shall be safe.”

She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Help us all to trust You completely, Lord.”