The Prodigal Son Returns

Chapter Two

Bram kept to the shady south side of the gravel road, letting his pace settle into a steady walk that would eat up the four miles to Matthew’s place. It was pure luck his brother-in-law knew about that horse for sale. A week of walking was enough for him. Selling his Studebaker had been a hard sacrifice to make, but it had been a gift from Kavanaugh.

Too risky to keep.

Everything was risky since that night on Chicago’s West Side when Elwood Peters had told him his cover was blown.

Bram loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar to give himself some air. It had been just this hot that April night, but Bram had gone cold with Peters’s terse “You’ve been made.”

How had Kavanaugh known he was the source for the feds? He had been with the gangster for nearly all of the twelve years he had been in Chicago, from the time he had hit the streets with hayseed still stuck in his hair. Kavanaugh had taken him in, taught him some street smarts, shown him the ropes during Prohibition. Man, what a green kid he had been back then—but Kavanaugh liked him, said he had promise. Sure, some of the other guys had been jealous of him, but nobody messed with one of Kavanaugh’s boys.

But it was Elwood Peters who had made a man of him. The Prohibition agent had seen his potential and recruited him to be an informant.

Bram shook his head. No, Peters had done more than just recruit him. He had saved his life. Before Peters came along, Bram had been on the same track as the rest of Kavanaugh’s boys—just waiting for his chance to take the boss down. Even though he had seen what happened to the guy who made his move and failed, Bram didn’t care. What did he have to live for, anyway?

Then he had run into Peters. Over the past ten years, Peters’s job had changed from Prohibition agent, to Treasury agent, to the Federal Bureau, and he had taken Bram with him as his eyes on the street. It had worked out well for both of them.

Bram had shared everything with the older man—everything except his past and his real name. Peters knew him as Dutch, the name Kavanaugh had dubbed him with the first time they met. Bram had added a last name—Sutter—and from then on, Bram Lapp had disappeared into the hazy mist of fading years.

Until now.

Peters was sure Kavanaugh had moved his operation to northern Indiana after Bram’s information had led to the breakup of his gang in Chicago, but he needed to know where the boss had gone. Bram was supposed to go with Kavanaugh when he left town, but once his cover was blown, he had to change his plans. He’d be dead if Kavanaugh found him, but he couldn’t let the gangster escape, either. He’d never be safe until Kavanaugh was out of the way.

Killer Kavanaugh never gave up until he had his revenge.

And then Bram had come up with this new, harebrained idea. It seemed like such a good idea in Chicago—go undercover as himself, Bram Lapp, the green Amish kid from Indiana.

But he wasn’t green anymore. He had seen and done things the Amish kid he had been couldn’t imagine. He had the skills to keep himself alive on the Chicago streets, but would those same skills be useful to him here as he hunted for Kavanaugh’s new center of operations? They had to be.

Bram whooshed out a breath. Meanwhile, here he was slipping away into the life he had left twelve years ago. It wasn’t what he had expected. Not at all. The deeper he went into this cover, the more he was losing the edge he needed to keep him alive. But without the cover, without immersing himself into this community, it would be impossible to fade into the background the way he needed to.

And there was only one way to fade into this background: he needed to look and act the same as every other Amishman around. Any difference would make him stick out like a sore thumb.

The list. He ticked off the items in his mind as he walked. He had bought the buggy and horse. Next would be a place to farm, equipment and workhorses, and church every other Sunday. And clothes. This drape suit that helped him blend in on Chicago’s West Side stuck out too much around here. Besides, his jacket was ruined after sliding in the dirt with that little Amish girl.

That little girl was something else. So much like his younger sisters at that age...

Bram took off his felt hat and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get the air to his scalp. Why did remembering his sisters make him think of a wife and a family?

The curve of Ellie Miller’s neck eased into his thoughts. He closed his eyes to capture the moment she’d faced him on her back porch. One strand of soft brown hair had escaped from under her kapp and fallen softly along the side of her face. She’d have to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. What would it feel like if he did it for her? He saw the smile she would give him as he caressed her cheek....

Bram stopped the direction of his thoughts with a firm shake of his head. He knew a woman like that wouldn’t even look at him. Not Bram Lapp. Not with his past. And not with the job he had to do. No, a woman like that wasn’t for him. He’d rather take his chances alone.

Wheels crunching through the gravel on the road behind him made Bram sidestep into the cover of some overhanging branches. Buggy wheels and horse’s hooves, not a car. He rolled his shoulders as he waited for the buggy to overtake him. He had to stop being so jumpy. No one knew he was here. Even Peters only had a vague idea of the direction he had gone.

“Bram!”

Bram waved as the buggy caught up to him, and his brother-in-law pulled the horse to a halt.

“You’ll be wanting a ride.” Matthew was a man to get to his point quickly.

“Ja, denki.”

The back of the buggy held boxes of supplies, and a frantic peeping rose from one as the buggy lurched forward.

“You bought some chicks?”

“Ja. I thought the Yoders might have some to trade for a couple bales of hay.” Matthew looked at Bram with a grin. “Annie loves getting new chicks.”

Bram let this idea settle in his mind. His sister hadn’t asked for chicks, as far as he knew. Matthew had gotten them because he thought Annie might like them. Was that how a real husband acted?

“Did you find the Stoltzfus farm?” Matthew asked.

“Ja. John had a nice gelding for sale, just as you said. I’ll pick him up on Tuesday.”

“I knew John would take care of you. He’s a good man.”

“Ja, he is.”

A good man. Bram hadn’t known too many of those. He slid a glance at Matthew. His little sister had found a good man.

Matthew pointed ahead with the buggy whip. “Looks like the Jackson place is for sale. It might be the kind of place you’ve been looking for.”

He stopped the horse at the end of the lane. The for-sale sign at the roadside looked new, but the graying barn and leaning fence posts were witness to the toll the recent hard times had taken on the English farmers. Forty acres, the sign said, along with the name of the bank that held the foreclosure. A too-familiar sign these past few years.

“The Jackson place? Do you know why they lost the farm?”

“I’m not sure, but I could see it coming. Ralph Jackson was too quick to spend his money as soon as he sold his crops, and then he’d buy the next year’s seed on credit. He only owned the place about five years, but it was long enough to work it into the ground.”

“It’s vacant. Let’s look around.”

Matthew pulled the buggy into the lane, and they walked to the barn. Bram examined the siding, the beams and the fences. The barn needed a lot of work, but the structure was sound.

“Forty acres is a good size,” Matthew said, looking at the land around them. “There’s a creek running through the meadow. Good cropland, too, with the right management.”

Bram turned to the house. It might be livable with some work, but he had the time. He needed a farm, and this one fit. All he had to do was go to the bank, sign the papers and hand over the cash, and it would be his. Another item checked off his list.

“The bank on the sign—isn’t it in Goshen?”

“Ja. I won’t be using my buggy tomorrow. You could take it into town if you want to talk to them about it.”

“I’ll go in the morning, first thing.”

Then again, maybe not first thing. This might be another opportunity to get John Stoltzfus firmly on his side, and he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity. He could stop by the Stoltzfus farm before he headed into Goshen tomorrow. A little more grease wouldn’t hurt, and besides, old John was pretty savvy. He’d have some good pointers on how to get this farm back on its feet.

It wouldn’t hurt to get another glimpse of Ellie, either. Even if she wasn’t for him, she was sure a beautiful doll, and looking didn’t cost a thing.

* * *

Ellie’s toes churned the loose black soil between the strawberry rows, soil that ran in muddy rivers as she splashed water on each plant. Her practiced steps kept just ahead of the mud, and she tipped the watering can in time to an Englisch hymn she had learned in school.

“‘I once was lost, but now am found...’” The fourth row finished, she stopped to ease her aching muscles and looked back at her work.

Ach, even with daily watering, the plants were barely alive. This hot, dry spell was unusual for May. One good rain would set the young plants off to a good start, but as Ellie glanced up at the clear blue sky, she knew it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Until then, it was up to her to keep them alive. She started down the next row, humming as she went.

A warm breeze carried her sisters’ voices to her and told her the scholars were home. Mandy and Rebecca ran up the lane to the big house, but Johnny trudged behind them, his head down. There must have been trouble at school again. Setting the watering can on the ground, Ellie closed the gate to the field and went to meet him as he walked alone to the Dawdi Haus.

“Hello, Johnny.” The six-year-old looked up at her when she spoke, his face streaked where one tear had escaped and made a track down his dirty red cheek. What happened this time?

“Are you all right?”

“Ja.” Johnny tipped his head down as he spoke, drawing the word out in his telltale sign that things were far from all right. There was only one way to get him to talk to her, and that was to pretend she didn’t notice his attitude.

“Run on into the house and change into your work clothes while I get your snack. Dawdi’s waiting for you in the barn.”

Johnny looked at the barn, then at his feet. His straw hat hid his face from her, but she knew the look he wore. Daniel had always had the same look when he’d tried to hide something from her, and Johnny was so much like his father.

“Johnny, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Dawdi doesn’t need me to help. He has Benjamin and Reuben. They always say I’m too little to do anything.”

“You may be littler than Benjamin and Reuben, but I remember when they were your age. They worked with Dawdi in the barn just like you do.”

“But it’s different for them. Dawdi is their dat.”

Ach, Johnny. What could she do for a boy who missed his own dat?

“Let’s go into the house and get your snack, then you can go out to the barn. Your dawdi likes having you work with him.”

Johnny took the first bite from his cookie while Ellie poured a glass of milk for him. Susan came out of the bedroom, her face flushed with sleep, and peered into Johnny’s face as she climbed into her chair.

“Johnny’s been crying.”

“Haven’t.” Johnny’s contradiction was muffled by the sugar cookie in his mouth.

“Ja, you have. You cried at school again.”

“Susan, that’s enough.” Ellie could see Johnny’s tears threatening to start again, so she pulled out a chair and sat next to him. “Were you dawdling again?”

Johnny took a drink of his milk. “I was looking out the window.”

Ellie sighed. Johnny was always looking somewhere else, forgetting whatever the task at hand should be, forgetting his schoolwork, his chores... She did the same thing, letting food burn on the stove while she looked out the window, letting the memories of her past drown the reality of the present.

“You have to pay more attention at school.” She forced the words out. It was her duty, even though she would rather just gather him into her lap the way she had when he was Susan’s age. She wished she could give him what he really needed, but that was impossible. She couldn’t erase the past year, and she couldn’t replace his father.

Levi Zook’s face chose that moment to intrude, but she turned the memory firmly away. The widower had made it clear he wanted Ellie to be the mother for his children. But with his own brood, Ellie knew he would never be able to fit Johnny into his life the way her son needed him to. If she ever married again, it would have to be to someone who would be able to take Daniel’s place in her life and her children’s lives...and there was no one who could do that.

Bram Lapp’s devilish grin popped into her thoughts. For sure, no Englischer could ever take her Daniel’s place, either.

Johnny stared at her, his eyes dark and distant, and she knew she had failed him again. When had her little boy turned into this sad, sullen child? She couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed, the last time she had seen him join in a game.

He stuffed the rest of the cookie into his mouth and went to the bedroom to change his clothes.

Ja, he needed his father. Someone like Daniel, who would give his life to a growing boy, who would teach him, protect him...

“Memmi,” Susan said, interrupting her thoughts. “That Englischer man that was here? He saved me from the horses.”

“Dawdi’s horses weren’t going to hurt you.” Ellie nibbled on a cookie. That same Englischer man had been intruding on her own thoughts all afternoon. Only a city man and her daughter would think Dat’s gentle draft horses would hurt them. They were too well trained.

“Ja, they were. When Henny Penny ran away, that man saved me and her from the horses.” Her eyes widened as she rolled her arm in the air. “He catched me and flew to the grass.” She took a drink of her milk and then looked at Ellie again. “He’s brave, Memmi.”

Ach, if she could have Susan’s confidence. If only she could just forget that Bram Lapp, but the Englischer’s grin danced in front of her eyes. He had really thought Susan was in danger from the horses. What kind of man would ruin his fancy clothes for a little girl and her pet chicken?

* * *

“It’s good to hear the children playing outside in the evening.” Mam rinsed another plate in the simple, immaculate kitchen of the big house.

“Ja, though I think they’ll be disappointed when they don’t find any lightning bugs.” Ellie dried the plate and placed it in the cupboard with the others. In Mam’s kitchen, nothing was ever out of place, from the dishes in the cupboard to Dat’s Bible and prayer book on the shelf behind his chair.

Mam chuckled. “Children always start hunting for them much too early in the year.” She scrubbed at a stubborn spot on the casserole dish. “What did you think about what Dat was telling us at supper?”

“About Bram Lapp? I don’t know.”

“It isn’t unheard of, what he’s doing.” Mam rinsed the casserole dish and laid it on the drain board.

“Just because it happens doesn’t mean that it’s right.” Ellie was surprised at the anger behind her words. “A person shouldn’t flip-flop when it comes to Gott.”

“I’ve seen others come to their senses after a taste of worldly life.” Mam swished the water in the dishpan and found a stray spoon.

“Twelve years is a bit more than a taste.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes while Ellie wiped off the table, thinking back twelve years. She had been fourteen, just finishing up at school and beginning to notice the boys, wondering which one would be her husband. If she had met Bram then, would he have given her one of his grins? The thought brought a smile to her face.

Bram must be a few years older than her. Since Dat had said he had gone to Chicago while in his Rumspringa, he would have been around seventeen back then, which would make him twenty-nine now. Amish men usually didn’t stay bachelors that long, but she didn’t know about the Englisch. Maybe their custom was to wait longer before marrying.

“Do you know his mother or any of his sisters?” Ellie straightened the chairs around the big table.

“I knew his mother years ago—we were girls together—but I lost touch with her after she married and moved to the Shipshewana district. I heard she passed on a few years ago, and her husband, too.”

“So if he’s from Shipshewana, why isn’t he settling up there?”

“Maybe he’s looking for a wife.”

Ellie shot a glance at her mother. For sure, the corners of her mouth were turned up in a sly grin. She sighed. Lately Mam thought every unattached man could be a new husband for her, but Ellie hadn’t told her that she never intended to marry again.

“We don’t know what he’s looking for. He could be here to...to...”

“To what?” Mam’s face was serene, innocent. How could she not know what the plans of an Englischer from Chicago might be? She must have heard the

stories about gangsters and speakeasies. There were all kinds of worldly evils in a city like Chicago.

“Ach, I don’t know.”

“Daughter, we need to give the man a chance. Dat asked us to treat him as a friend. Surely we can do that much.”

“Ja, I suppose...”

A friend. Ja, he was friendly enough, but could anyone trust an Englisch man? An outsider?

Chapter Three

The next morning’s sunshine brought a promise of another hot day to come. Why was it that weeds always grew no matter what the weather, while the garden plants wilted in the heat? Ellie’s hoe chopped through another clump of crabgrass growing between the rows of beans.

“See? This one is a dandelion.”

Ellie glanced at Susan and Danny just in time to see the baby put a yellow flower in his mouth.

“Ne, ne, don’t eat it!” Susan’s voice was full of disgust.

Ellie smiled as she watched Susan rescue the flower from Danny’s mouth. What a help she was. Daniel would have loved to see how his little dishwasher was growing.

The sound of buggy wheels in gravel interrupted her thoughts. If visitors were stopping by, Mam might need some help.

“Who’s that?” Susan asked.

“I’m not sure.” Ellie straightened up and shaded her eyes from the morning sun as the buggy stopped at the barn. “It looks like Matthew Beachey’s, but that isn’t Matthew driving.”

The Englischer, Bram Lapp, climbed out and headed for the barn.

“Ach, it’s that man who was here yesterday. He must want to talk to Dawdi again.”

She went back to her hoeing, but found herself working with only half her mind on the weeds.

Why was he here? He said he wasn’t going to pick up the horse until next week. And a buggy? It just didn’t fit with what she knew of the Englisch. Ja, she remembered, he wasn’t really Englisch, but if he wasn’t, then why was he still wearing Englisch clothes? But the Englisch didn’t drive buggies. When they drove a horse it was with a wagon or cart, not an Amish buggy. And if Dat was right and he was trying to become part of the community again, then why was he still wearing Englisch clothes?

Ellie gave a vigorous chop with the hoe that took out a dandelion and three bean plants. She was thinking in circles again. She stopped hoeing and sighed. Dat had asked them to welcome the man, but Ellie’s first reaction was to ignore him, just as she ignored all Englisch.

Ja, he was friendly and attractive. But so Englisch.

She tackled the weeds again.

The Englisch were just like these weeds. If you gave them a chance they might choke a person, distract them from the Amish life—the Plain life. She had seen it happen to other people who had opened themselves to their Englisch neighbors, but it wasn’t going to happen to her family. It didn’t matter that this man wanted to become Amish again. The Englisch influence was like a dandelion root: you could try to chop it out, but if you left even a little bit, it would grow again and take over. How could a person turn from one to the other?

Ellie moved to the next row. The squash vines were healthier than the beans. Once they grew a little larger, they would cover the ground with their broad leaves, and the weeds would lose their hold. That was what she loved about her life. Peace, order, community—the Ordnung—were a protective covering that kept worldliness from taking root. Once she got rid of these few small weeds, the squash vines would grow unhindered through the rest of the summer.

* * *

Bram headed to the buggy he had left outside the barn humming “Blue Moon” under his breath. He stopped with a soft whistle. If he wanted to keep on John Stoltzfus’s good side, he’d have to forget those songs for a while. In fact, he had a lot of habits from Chicago that would have to go, but that was part of the job.

John had given him some good, sound advice about the farm he wanted to buy. The man really knew his business. He’d answered Bram’s questions for almost an hour and never seemed to be in a hurry. The older man’s excitement about the prospects the farm held made Bram wish...what? That he wasn’t just buying it for a cover? That he could build it into the kind of place he could be proud of?

Bram stopped, resisting the urge to look back at the barn. With someone like John Stoltzfus around, he’d be able to make something of that farm. Who knew—with someone like John, maybe he could even make something of his life.

He pushed the thought away. Too little, too late. With any luck, he’d find Kavanaugh and be taking off before midsummer anyway.

When Bram reached the hitching rail, the two children at the edge of the garden caught his eye. That little girl was the one from yesterday. She was pretty cute when she wasn’t screaming her head off. He chuckled as he watched her try to catch a butterfly that danced among the flowers.

His breath caught when he saw the mother. Dressed in brown again today, Ellie had her back to him. He was glad he wasn’t one of the weeds she was hoeing. He’d never survive an attack like that. Her movements were brisk, businesslike, but at the same time Bram found himself caught up in the rhythm of her slim form as she worked.

How did she manage, raising her children without a husband? Bram understood the loneliness of living alone, but to add the responsibility of children to that was beyond him.

Bram found himself drawn to her like a butterfly to a flower. He shook his head. No, he couldn’t get involved with a woman like that. A woman like that meant home, responsibilities, commitment. A woman like that deserved better than what he could ever give her. A woman like that would be too hard to leave when his job here was over.

But still, he couldn’t ignore her. They were going to be part of the same church, the same community. They could at least be friends.

The little girl’s laughter carried toward him on the warm breeze, making his decision for him. He had to get to know her somehow.

* * *

A man’s laugh broke through Ellie’s thoughts, and her stomach flipped when she recognized the Englischer’s voice behind her. There he was again! That man was as persistent as a dandelion and much more dangerous.

He squatted next to the children at the edge of the garden, smiling as Danny held up a grubby fist full of wilted weeds and babbled at him. Susan, usually the one to hold back, had her hand on his knee, ready to add her part of the story.

Ellie gripped her hoe. She needed to stop this now, before he wormed his way into their lives, but how?

Bram turned to Susan, laying his hand on hers as he said something that made the girl giggle. Ellie’s breath caught at the rapt expression on Susan’s face. Somehow the man had broken through her shyness. She smiled as Susan laughed again and gave Bram the dandelion she held in her hand.

Ellie gave herself a mental shake. Ach, what was she doing? What nerve that man had, going behind her back to push his Englisch ways on her children!

Ellie dropped the hoe and hurried to the edge of the garden. She scooped Danny up from the ground and took Susan’s hand.

“Come, children, it’s time to go into the house.”

“You don’t need to take them in. Susan was just telling me about her pet chicken.” He smiled at her daughter, his hand resting on the girl’s shoulder. “She likes animals, doesn’t she?”

“As long as they aren’t horses.”

Bram’s dimple flashed, and Ellie started to return his grin before she caught herself. His face was so open and friendly, his blue eyes deep and inviting, his smile intimate as he watched her.

As lovely as a dandelion blossom in spring, she reminded herself. Lovely and insidious, with the ability to turn the whole garden to weeds. With an effort she held her shoulders a little straighter.

“I must take the children in now.” She kept her voice controlled and polite, then turned and walked away from him. Her face was burning. She hated to seem so rude, but an Englischer was an Englischer, and her job was to protect her children, wasn’t it?

The back door of the little house was safely closed before she let herself look through the small porch window. The man—Bram—stood where she’d left him, watching. Why did she feel as if she had taken the hoe to one of her squash plants instead of a dandelion?

“I like that man,” Susan said. “Can he come back again?”

“We’ll see. Let’s wash our hands, and then you can play with Danny while I make a pie for supper.”

Susan climbed onto her stool and pulled at the small hand pump that brought water to the kitchen sink.

“He’s a nice man.” She wiggled her fingers under the running stream.

“Ja, I guess.”

“He isn’t afraid of horses.” Susan’s eyes grew large as she said this. “He told me Dawdi’s horse isn’t scary, and he’ll let me pet it.”

“When will this be?”

“Next week. He said he’ll come back and I can pet Dawdi’s horse.”

Ellie dried Danny’s hands and set him on the floor.

“Susan, take Danny in the front room and help him find the cows.”

Ellie rubbed at the spot between her eyes where a headache was threatening. How had he convinced Susan to look forward to petting a horse?

Movement out by the garden drew her eyes to the window over the sink. He was leaving. She watched until the buggy left the drive and turned into the road. How dangerous was he? Ellie tucked a loose strand of hair under her kapp. Well, he was Englisch, wasn’t he?

Wasn’t he?

She got out a mixing bowl to make piecrust, then dug into the flour canister with more force than she meant to. Flour spilled onto the counter and floor, wasting it. Ellie bit her lip as tears threatened to come.

Why was a simple thing like making a piecrust so hard? Nothing had been right since Daniel died.

Ellie wiped up the spilled flour. She had to keep everything balanced, normal.

What was normal, anyway?

Just do what needs to be done; keep to the routine. That was something she could do. It was when something unusual happened that her life tilted.

That Englischer. He upset everything.

Ne, that was unfair. He was just the little nudge that sent her stack of balanced plates teetering. It wasn’t him; it was her own fault.

Ellie crumbled lard into the flour with her fingers and then added an egg and a teaspoon of vinegar.

Her thoughts found their familiar rut and followed it stubbornly. Her pride had urged Daniel to buy the extra land. The extra land that needed more work and new, green-broke horses.

Her pride, her hochmut, had caused her to plead with Daniel, to force him to see things her way. She had wanted the larger farm, and she had urged him to buy the new team so he could work more land. If she had just kept to her place, listened to him...but no, she had to keep after him until he agreed to her ideas. If it hadn’t been for her nagging, he never would have bought that half-trained team.

The half-trained team that spooked easily. Too easily. A loose piece of harness, a horsefly bite, a playful barn cat... She’d never know what had set them off that day. All she knew was by the time she’d reached the barnyard with Susan, Daniel was already under their hooves, his body broken and bloody.

Her stubbornness had cost her the only man she had ever loved.

She worked the stiff dough with her hands until it was ready to roll. The rolling pin spun as she spread out the crust.

Ach, ja, the punishment for her disobedience had been bitter.

But now, wasn’t she sorry? Hadn’t she prayed for forgiveness? Gott had to be pleased. What more could she do? She went to church, wore her kapp, followed the Ordnung...

The piecrust was a pale full moon. Ellie eased it off the wooden breadboard and laid it on the pie plate.

She must try harder. The Ordnung, the church rules, was there to keep her close to Gott. She just had to obey them perfectly, and everything would be all right.

No matter how handsome that Englischer Bram Lapp happened to be.

She knew what was most important.

The crust eased into the pan. She trimmed the edge with a knife and then crimped the edges with her fingers. Neat. Perfect. And empty.

* * *

Bram swayed with the buggy, letting the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves set the pace of his thoughts. He’d known moving back to Indiana wouldn’t be easy, but he’d never expected to plunge into a pool with no bottom. Nothing was the way he remembered it. The life he knew as a boy on his father’s farm held none of the peaceful order he had found here.

From the simple white house nestled behind a riotous hedge of lilacs to the looming white barn, the Stoltzfus farm was the image of his grossdatti’s home, a place he thought he had forgotten since the old man’s death when he was a young boy. A whisper of memory rattled the long-closed door in his mind, willing it to open, but Bram waved it off. Memories were deceptive, even ones more than twenty years old. They covered the truth, and this truth was that he had a job to do. Grossdatti and his young grandson remained behind their door.