The Prodigal Son Returns

But a question snaked its way up Bram’s spine. What would Grossdatti say if he could see his grandson now? Bram cast a glance down at the dust caked in the perfect break where his gabardine trousers met his matching two-toned wing-tip shoes. Fancy. Englisch. Twelve years as one of Kavanaugh’s boys had left their mark.

Was it those long-forgotten memories that kept bringing him back to the Stoltzfus farm? He liked the family. John seemed to be on his side, ready with advice, but the older man was almost too trusting. He’d hate to see what the Chicago streets would do to a man like that.

That little girl. Now, she was something, wasn’t she? Bram smiled. When she wasn’t screaming in terror, she was almost as pretty as her mother.

The smile faded. The mother. Ellie. She was worse than a bear defending her cubs. He had to get past that barbed-wire barricade she threw up every time he tried to talk to her. There was something about him that rubbed her the wrong way. If he figured that out, then maybe she’d be more civil.

Something else he couldn’t figure out was why he cared so much.

Bram chirruped at the horse to try to quicken its pace, but it had only one speed. The drive into Goshen was slower than he remembered, and it took even longer when he had to stop for a train at the Big Four Railroad crossing. The people in the cars stared at him as the train rumbled south toward New Paris and Warsaw.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to trade places with them. But it would be no use. The mob would find him, even if he went as far as Mexico. No, it would be better to keep on course. He’d run across Kavanaugh eventually, then Peters and the bureau would do their job. Maybe Mexico would be a good place to think about after that.

The train disappeared around the bend, and Bram urged the horse up and over the tracks, then on into Goshen.

Main Street was still the same as it had been when he was seventeen. He let out a short laugh at the memory. He couldn’t believe he had once thought of this place as a big city.

There was something new. He pulled the horse to a stop in the shade at the courthouse square and stared. On the corner of Main and Lincoln, right on the Lincoln Highway, stood a blockhouse. A limestone fortress. A cop behind the thick glass had a view of the entire intersection.

Bram tied the horse to a black iron hitching post and then snagged a man walking by. “Say, friend, can you tell me what’s going on? What’s that thing?”

The man gave him a narrow look that made Bram aware of how out of place his expensive suit was in a town like Goshen. “That’s our new police booth. The state police built it to keep an eye on the traffic through town and to keep gangsters from robbing our banks.”

“What makes them think Goshen is their target?” If the state police were working the same angle as the bureau, it sounded like Peters had good reason to think Kavanaugh had come this way.

“You remember back in thirty-three, when Dillinger stole weapons and bulletproof vests from some Indiana police facilities?”

Bram nodded. Oh, yeah, he remembered. Kavanaugh had gloated about that coup for weeks, even though he hadn’t been in on the heists.

“Well, one of those police armories is east of here a ways, and the other two are just south of here, along State Road 15.”

Bram looked at the street signs. He had just driven into town on State Road 15.

“To get to any of those places from Chicago, the gangsters had to drive right through here, right through this intersection and right past our banks. And then when Dillinger and Pretty Boy Floyd hit the Merchant’s Bank in South Bend a couple years ago, we decided we had to do something to protect our town.” The man nodded toward the policeman in the booth. “All he has to do is radio headquarters, and this place will be swarming with troopers.”

“So does it work?” Could one cop in a blockhouse discourage the plans of a gang intent on robbing one of these banks? One lone cop wouldn’t stop the gangs he knew.

“It must.” The man gave Bram a sideways look before walking on. “We haven’t seen any gangsters around here.”

Bram had heard enough. He walked across the street and found a spot outside a barbershop on Lincoln two doors from the corner, next to the stairway that led down to the ground-floor establishment. His favorite kind of lookout. Have a quick cigarette, watch for a while, make sure he knew the lay of the land before making his move. He shook his head. He was here legitimately; he didn’t need to take these precautions. But still he lit his cigarette, bending his head to the match sheltered in his cupped hand. Habit kept him alive. The bank could wait ten minutes.

He watched the quiet town, pulling the smoke into his lungs. Traffic in Goshen’s main intersection rose and fell like the waves on North Beach. Businessmen, lawyers and shopping housewives followed the traffic signals with none of the noisy chaos of the Chicago streets.

He threw the cigarette butt on the ground and screwed it into the sidewalk with his toe. Time to talk to the man at the bank. He took a step away from his cover, but slid back again as a Packard drove by on Main, heading south at a slow cruise. Bram watched the driver. No one he recognized, but he’d know that Packard anywhere. It was Kavanaugh’s.

But the big question was, what was he doing here? Bram waited, watching the cop in the blockhouse. He was no fool. Even though the Packard was out of Bram’s sight, he could tell the cop was following its progress through town.

Bram counted to fifty—enough time for the Packard to make a slow cruise around the block and come back. Would he come back, or was he cruising through on his way to Warsaw or Fort Wayne?

The Packard eased into view again, slowing to a halt at the traffic signal. Bram stepped farther into the shadow of the doorway when he saw Kavanaugh clearly in the backseat of the Packard and Charlie Harris in the shotgun seat. They didn’t look his way, but kept their eyes on the blockhouse. The cop inside leaned into his radio microphone just as the signal turned green. The Packard roared north, back toward South Bend.

It looked as if that police booth worked. Bram gave a low whistle. He never would have believed it if he hadn’t seen it. Maybe Kavanaugh wouldn’t think hitting this place was worthwhile. Maybe they wouldn’t be back. Maybe Kavanaugh would keep heading east, and Bram could get out of this backwater and leave the past behind him for good.

Bram looked at the two banks, sitting diagonally across the intersection like two fat, stuffed ducks. Kavanaugh leave these two beauties alone just because of some cop?

Yeah, and maybe there were snowball fights in hell.

Chapter Four

Bram backed Matthew’s team into place early Wednesday morning, watching as they felt their way past the wagon tongue and stopped just as their tails met the singletree. This was a well-trained team, all right. He’d do nicely to look for one as good. That would be another day, though. Today he was looking at equipment at the auction house in Shipshewana.

The farm’s price had been lower than he expected, and he had needed to use only about half of his cash reserves. There was plenty left over to buy whatever else he needed to complete his cover.

He climbed into the wagon seat and then steadied the horses as they shifted, eager to be off. Now he had to wait for Matthew. That man spent so much time with his wife—if Bram didn’t know better, he’d think they had been married for only a few days instead of nearly a year.

His Dat had never spent more time in the house than he needed to. The house and kitchen were Mam’s place, and Dat stayed in the barn or the fields. Whenever Dat was in the house, Mam crept around as if she was walking on eggshells, but it didn’t do any good. It didn’t matter how hard she tried—she could never do anything good enough for Dat.

He rubbed his chin as Annie’s laughter drifted through the morning air. Mam and Dat had never acted like these two, that was for sure. He couldn’t remember ever hearing Mam laugh, or seeing her smile, but Annie brightened up every time Matthew walked in the door.

“Sorry,” Matthew said, finally reaching the waiting wagon.

“You’re sure Annie will be all right?” Bram laid on the sarcastic tone in his voice, but Matthew didn’t seem to notice.

“I think she’ll be fine for the day.” He picked up the reins, and the horses leaned into the harness with eager steps. “Mam is coming over later to help her get ready for tomorrow’s sewing frolic.” Matthew grinned at Bram. “Annie’s really looking forward to it.”

Matthew’s excitement was so contagious, Bram couldn’t help his own smile. He could do with a bit of whatever made his brother-in-law so happy.

“Giddap there, Pete. Come on, Sam.”

“You say this auction is big?”

“Ja, for sure it is. Every week, too. It’s one of the biggest in the state, and people come from all over.”

Bram shot a glance at Matthew.

“From all over? Englischers, too?”

“Ja, some Englischers, especially these last few years with the hard times. But mostly Plain folk—Amish, Mennonite, Brethren.”

Bram shifted his shoulders. His new Plain clothes felt comfortable, something that surprised him. He rubbed at the right side of his trousers, where he had inserted a pocket holster under the seam last night after Matthew and Annie had gone to bed. His pistol rested there, out of sight but not out of reach. Who knew who could be hiding in a crowd?

As they drew closer to Shipshewana, the traffic got heavier, and by the time they turned onto Van Buren Street, they were part of a line of wagons, buggies and cars headed for the field behind the sale barn. Matthew pulled the horses up at a shady hitching rail at the edge of the field. Auctioneers’ voices drifted out of the barn, quickening Bram’s heartbeat with their cadence.

“It sounds like things have started already.”

“Ja, the livestock auction started at six o’clock. The equipment sale starts at nine, so we’re in plenty of time.”

“Good. I’d like to look things over before the sale starts.”

Matthew led the way to a line of plows, cultivators and other farm equipment outside the sale barn. The first thing he needed to do was to plow his fields, then plant. Matthew said he’d loan Bram his team, but time was pressing. This work should have been done a month ago.

“Here’s a good-looking plow.”

Bram ran his hand over the seat of the sulky plow. The paint wasn’t even chipped. The blades had a few scrapes, but the whole thing looked new.

“This one hasn’t seen much use, has it?” Matthew walked around to look at the other side. “It’ll go for a pretty penny.”

That didn’t bother Bram. He had enough money for anything up for sale here.

“Good morning, Bram. Matthew.”

Bram turned to see John Stoltzfus heading their way. John’s familiar face sent a pleasant nudge to Bram’s senses, and he smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time being recognized didn’t send him reaching for his gun.

“Are you looking for a plow, Bram?”

Even though John’s voice was friendly, his question merely curious, Bram’s nerves arose. He did a quick check of the crowd around them. Everyone seemed to be focused on the auction and farm equipment. He turned his attention to John.

“Ja. I’m getting a late start on the farm, and I need everything.”

“You’re planning on buying all the equipment you need?”

“Well, I need a plow first. I’ll start with that.”

“It looks like you might have found one,” John said, taking a look at the sulky plow. “But don’t buy everything at once. You have neighbors, you know. I have a harrow you can use.”

“And you can use our planter,” Matthew said.

John turned to Bram. “All you need to do is let the church know, and we’ll have your whole farm plowed, planted, cultivated and harvested before the day is over.”

Matthew and John both laughed at this. Bram wanted to join in, but caution nagged at him.

“Why would you do that? Why would you loan me your equipment?”

“You’re one of us, son.” John’s words came with a puzzled frown. “Have you been gone so long that you’ve forgotten our way? How we work together?”

Forgotten? This wasn’t part of his memory of growing up here.

“No one ever helped my Dat, and I don’t remember him ever...” His words stopped as he saw the looks on the other men’s faces. John and Matthew exchanged glances. Had he said something wrong? Bram gave a scan to the milling farmers around them again.

“Bram, I’m sorry.” John glanced at him, then back at Matthew. “I forgot about your father...” He cleared his throat. “You can count on us to give you a hand anytime. Anything you need.”

Dat had never had the easy camaraderie with the men in their community that John and Matthew shared, but as a child Bram never knew why. Now he was beginning to figure it out. He swallowed hard as the memories came rushing out of the place where he had shoved them. Dat’s stash of moonshine in the barn, the weeks of missed church, the halfhearted repentance that was just enough to keep the ministers from putting Dat under the bann...

And most of all, Dat’s way of always finding something else to do whenever the men gathered together for a work frolic. The Lapps were never part of the community unless it worked into Dat’s plans.

He had shoved those memories away and locked the door as he stood on the roadside with his thumb out, heading west. Oh, yes, he remembered the stares, the whispers. This was one of the reasons he’d left.

Matthew put his hand on Bram’s arm, and he almost shrugged it off. He wanted to be angry, to shut out their pity, but he stopped himself. That was what Dat would have done.

“Let us give you a hand, Bram.”

Matthew’s face was grim, but there was no pity there, only the determined offer of an alliance.

Bram nodded, trying on the friendship offered. It felt good.

“Ja, I’d welcome the help.”

* * *

“How many quarts of rhubarb juice do you think we’ll end up with?” Lovina dumped another pile of cut rhubarb into the bowl.

“Whatever we end up with, you know it won’t be enough. Dat drinks a cup every day.” Ellie eyed the bowl. A few more inches, and it would be full enough to start the first batch of juice. She was glad that even though Lovina lived several miles away she was still willing to help with this chore every year. The two sisters had made the family supply of rhubarb juice for as long as she could remember—ever since they were the same ages as Mandy and Rebecca, for sure.

“The plants at our place aren’t growing as well this year. Noah says it’s a sign we’re in for another bad year.”

“And Noah is always right, of course.” Ellie looked sideways at Lovina. Even after four years of marriage, that telltale blush crept up her neck at the mention of Noah’s name. Lovina still thought her husband was the next thing to perfect.

“Ja, of course.” Lovina grinned at her, then went back to her cutting. “I do hope he’s wrong this time, though. Another year with no rain will be hard.”

Ellie’s thoughts went to the field of young strawberry plants. There had to be enough rain to keep them alive. She forced her mind in a different direction.

“What does Noah think about the new baby?”

“He’s on top of the world with this one. It was a long time to wait after Rachel before we knew this one was coming.”

“Not so long. Rachel is only three.”

“Ja.” Lovina paused.

Ellie glanced over to see a distant look on her sister’s face. Ach, she should never have mentioned it. Now Lovina was thinking about the one they had lost after Rachel. She always knew what Lovina was thinking, even though they weren’t as close as they had been as girls.

Lovina dumped another pile of cut pieces into the bowl. Ellie added her rhubarb and gave the bowl a shake to even it out.

“Looks like it’s time to start cooking the first batch.”

“Ja. I forgot to ask earlier. Do you have enough sugar?”

“Mam said to use sorghum. Sugar is too dear.” Ellie added water to the big kettle on her stove and then poured in a pint of the thick, sticky syrup.

“Not too sweet, remember.”

“Ja, I remember. You say that every year.”

“If I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be right.”

Ellie stirred the mixture and smiled at her sister. She was right. They had to do the same things the same way every year. It was tradition. “Do you think Susan and Rachel will make rhubarb juice together when they’re grown?”

“That would be sweet, wouldn’t it?” Lovina smiled at the thought, then went back to cutting more rhubarb. “How are the strawberries doing?”

Ellie stirred the rhubarb. Dat wouldn’t let them hear the end of it if she let them scorch. “Truth to tell, I’m awfully worried about them. It’s been so dry.”

“Do you think they’ll last long enough for you to get berries from them next year?”

“I hope so. I can’t bear to think what might happen if they don’t....”

“What do you mean?”

Ellie looked at Lovina. She could always share everything with her sister, but should she share this problem now?

“Come on, Ellie. I know when you’re worried.” Lovina gave her a sudden, piercing look. “You spent all of your money on those plants, didn’t you?”

Ellie nodded and went back to stirring the rhubarb.

“You’re not in danger of losing your farm, are you?”

“Ach, ne. As long as the Brennemans continue to pay their rent, I’ll be able to keep up on the taxes. It will just delay moving back there. If the plants don’t make it, I’ll lose the money I spent on them plus next year’s income from selling the berries.”

“And the year after...”

“I hoped by that time we’d be back home.”

Lovina was silent as she sliced rhubarb.

“Ellie, I haven’t said anything before...”

Ellie looked at Lovina. “What is it?”

“It’s been almost two years...”

“Not yet. It’s been only a year.”

Lovina’s mouth was a firm line as she turned to her. “It’s been longer than that. It will be two years in September. You keep talking about moving home as if you think that will make everything the same as it was.”

Ellie turned back to the stewing rhubarb. “I just want to give the children what Daniel wanted for them.”

“And what is that?”

“You know, we’ve talked about it before.” Ellie turned to Lovina again and gestured with the spoon. “It’s what you and Noah have. Daniel never had a home. He was moved around between relatives until he came to Indiana to live with Hezekiah and Miriam. When he bought our farm, he was determined to give his children what he never had.”

“Ellie.” Lovina’s voice was quiet. “You don’t have to do it. Things are different now. Daniel is—”

“Daniel is gone. I know.” Ellie turned back to the rhubarb. She didn’t want Lovina to see the tears that threatened. “But I’m not, and his children aren’t. It’s up to me to see that his wishes are carried out.”

“Have you thought about what he’d want now?”

“What’s that?”

“I think he’d want something more important for his children than a farm. Remember, something else he never had was a father. Don’t neglect that, Ellie.”

Ellie kept her eyes on the pot of rhubarb. She couldn’t marry again. How could she bear to risk that again? Besides, her children had a father, didn’t they? She’d never let them forget Daniel.

Silence filled the kitchen, along with the sour-sweet fragrance of cooking rhubarb.

“I hear there’s a new man in the area.” Lovina kept her eyes on her knife as she said this.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Mam. Does he have a family?”

“Ne, he’s single.” Mam would have told her that, too. She knew what was on Lovina’s mind.

“Oh.” Lovina put a long lilt on that one word.

Ellie groaned to herself. What else could she talk about?

“Have you met him?” Lovina asked before Ellie could think of anything.

“Ja, I have.”

“And?”

“And he’s very Englisch.”

Lovina put her knife down and turned to Ellie. “Englisch?”

“Well, he dresses Englisch. Dat says he’s been living in Chicago.”

“Then what is he doing here?”

Gut, maybe this Englischer in their midst bothered Lovina as much as it did her.

“I don’t know, but Dat says he wants to be Amish again.”

“What does Dat think? Is he serious about this?”

“Ja. Dat says he is. He came by on Monday and bought Partner, that gelding Dat wanted to sell, and he was back again yesterday.”

“So what do you think? Is he nice?”

Ellie’s thoughts went to his eyes. She had been so rude to him, but those blue eyes had still smiled at her as if he could see right through her. Could he see what she was thinking? She felt her face grow hot. She hoped he couldn’t.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t talked to him much.”

“Much? Then you have talked to him.”

“Ja, a little.”

“What does Dat say?”

“Dat likes him. He’s asked the family to give him a chance to be part of the community.” Ellie moved the pot of rhubarb to a cooler part of the woodstove as it started simmering. “But those Englisch clothes are so fancy, and he’s much too bold.” Ellie turned to Lovina. “You wouldn’t want an Englischer to spend too much time with Rachel, would you? Wouldn’t you be worried about how he might influence her?”

Lovina was silent as she cut the next bunch of rhubarb into one-inch pieces. She dumped them into the bowl, then turned to Ellie.

“I’d trust Dat. I know he’s never been wrong when it comes to a man’s character. Don’t you remember how everyone else thought Noah was wild and wouldn’t amount to anything?”

Ellie remembered. Lovina’s husband had almost left the community during his Rumspringa, but had returned to be baptized and then married Lovina.

“Dat never stopped having faith in him. Noah has told me that Dat’s support was the one thing that gave him the courage to come back home after his Rumspringa. Without someone believing in him...” Lovina picked up another bunch of rhubarb to cut. “Without someone believing in him, Noah might never have come home. If Dat thinks we should give this new man the same support, then I think we need to do it.”

Was Lovina right? Ellie cut her rhubarb in silence. Was Bram the invasive weed that would ruin their lives, or was she wrong?

She gave her head a decisive shake. As long as he wore those fancy clothes, she couldn’t trust him, no matter what Dat said.

* * *

“You got this plow for a good price.” Matthew ended his sentence with a grunt as he and Bram lifted the final piece of the dismantled equipment off the back of the wagon and onto Bram’s barn floor.

Bram lifted the tailgate and fastened the latch. “Ja, it didn’t go as high as I thought it would.”

Matthew took a wrench out of the toolbox behind the wagon seat and started reassembling the plow. Bram held the axle steady while Matthew replaced the bolts and tightened them.

“I saw Samuel while we were in Shipshewana.”

Bram didn’t answer Matthew. So what if his brother had been there? There had been no sign of Kavanaugh, and that was what mattered.

Matthew continued in his mild tone, “We could have taken the time to see him.”

“It would have been a waste.” Bram kept his eyes on the wheel he was adjusting.

“I know you have your differences, but it doesn’t seem right to ignore him.”

“My brother and I don’t have anything in common, that’s all.”

“Except you do.” Matthew was persistent. “You share your family, your parents, your history...”

Bram glanced at his brother-in-law. Did he have any idea what it was like to grow up as a Lapp?

“Ja, we share our history, and that’s the problem.” Bram tightened the last bolt and stood up to admire the plow. It was a beauty. He wiped his hands on a rag and turned to Matthew.

“Our Dat was an alcoholic. I didn’t like it, but that’s how he was, and that’s what killed him.” And what probably killed Mam, too, in the end. Bram rubbed a bit of grease from the side of his finger. “My brother is just like him, and if I never see Samuel again, I’ll be happy.”

Bram waited for the shock on Matthew’s face. Any Amishman would tell you that the attitude he had toward his brother was sinful, but Matthew’s face only showed sadness.

“Ach, Bram, Annie never told me all of this.”

“Ja, well, it happened when she was a little girl—and I don’t think the girls saw all of it. Mam did what she could to protect them.”

The silence that followed was as welcome as rain. Bram fastened the barn door and then climbed onto the wagon seat with Matthew for the drive back to their farm.

“How soon do you think you’ll be able to move onto this place?” Matthew asked.

“Next week, I hope.” Bram was glad to change the subject. “I’ve been working on the barn, and I’ll need to clean out the house before I move in.”

“It’ll be a good farm when you’re done.” Matthew slapped the reins over the horses’ backs. “You’ll be able to count on the church’s help with the farmwork, Bram.”

“Ja, that will be good. I appreciate it.” At least he thought he did. He liked to work alone.

Bram glanced sideways at Matthew. What kind of man had his sister married? A good man, for sure, but he was young. Oh, in years he was almost as old as Bram, but he seemed so naive about the world. All these Amishmen did. Compared to the men in Chicago...well, it was a good thing they’d never meet. These poor fellows wouldn’t survive on the streets.

Bram rubbed at the grease on his finger. He had survived, but he had been tougher at seventeen than Matthew was in his twenties. Maybe having a father like his wasn’t such a bad thing.

* * *

“Lovina, you be sure to take some of these cookies home to Noah.” Mam took another panful of snickerdoodles out of the oven.

Ellie took in a deep breath full of cinnamon and sugar. No matter how old she was, Mam’s kitchen would always be home.

“Were the children good for you today?” Ellie couldn’t resist taking a cooled cookie from the counter.

“Ach, ja. They are always the best when they’re with their grossmutti. They play so well together.” Mam slid another cookie sheet into the oven. “Of course, I haven’t seen anything of them once the girls got home from school. They’re all in the backyard.”

“I must be getting home.” Lovina found an extra plate and put some cookies on it. “Noah will be waiting for his supper.”

“We’ll see you at Matthew Beachey’s tomorrow?”

“For sure. I wouldn’t miss a frolic for anything.”

Ellie put down the cookie she was nibbling. “A frolic?”

“Ja,” Mam said as she put some more cookies on Lovina’s plate. “Remember? We’re having a sewing frolic for Annie Beachey. It’s their first little one.”

Ach, how could she forget? The cookie suddenly lost its flavor. She had let this frolic slip her mind, like most occasions that meant facing a crowd of people.

“You’re coming, aren’t you, Ellie?” Lovina paused, her hand on the door. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been to any of the frolics or get-togethers.”

A long time? Only since Daniel’s death.

“We’ll get her there.” Mam put her arm around Ellie’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ellie waited until Lovina was out the door before turning to Mam. “I don’t think I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Why ever not? And don’t try to give me the excuse that Danny’s too young. He’ll be fine.”

“I...” How could she tell Mam how it felt to be in a crowd? She had never liked large groups of people, but lately she was more than just uncomfortable. The thought of all the women talking, laughing, staring at her... Church was bad enough.

“I just don’t feel like going.”

Mam gave her a long look. “I know you don’t feel like it, but you’ve waited long enough. I haven’t pushed you, but perhaps I should have. You need to do this, Ellie. You need to be with your church family. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be.”

Mam was right, of course.

“Ja, I’ll go.” Ellie sighed, but with the sigh came a stirring of something she hadn’t felt for a long time. She would go. She had always enjoyed her friends before, hadn’t she? Perhaps she would even have fun.