Stoney Ridge 03 - The Lesson Read online

  No. She was on a bus to Columbus, Ohio. Once there, she would catch another bus to get to Marysville, and then a city bus to meet her mother. She had sneaked out of the house before dawn and left a note for Chris:

  Needed at the schoolhouse early. After school too. Don’t worry if I’m late. Lots to do.

  It was tricky getting a bus ticket, since the woman behind the counter said she needed an adult to buy it for her. So Jenny lied. She lied. Her first lie ever—no, wait. It was her second one. She had lied to Chris in the note she left him. She wasn’t proud of it. She told the ticket lady that she looked small but she was actually over eighteen. She said she had a genetic disease that kept her from growing like a normal person. She said it was a common ailment among the Amish and the ticket lady’s eyes softened. Then she sold Jenny a ticket for forty-one dollars and told her to be extra careful.

  As Jenny settled into the seat by the window, she felt like crying and didn’t know why. The bus was quiet and a toddler in the back row with his mother fussed a little. It seemed like the loneliest place in the world. She wanted to be home, making soupy Cream of Wheat for her brother. She wanted to bake bread with Fern after school. She looked forward to being with Fern all day long, every day. Her stomach twisted in hunger as she thought of the smell of baking bread. Was there any better smell in the entire world?

  Why did she do this? What was she thinking? Jenny felt that tangle of anxiety and sorrow and relief that always came up when she thought about her mother.

  Get off the bus and go home, said a voice in her head. Home. Windmill Farm came to mind as she mulled over the word. That was how she felt when she was baking in the kitchen with Fern. She was thirteen years old and she felt she had found what she’d always wanted, even without knowing that she wanted it. She was home.

  That was Jenny’s state of mind as the bus rumbled along the freeway, passing on a rusty bridge over a winding river as it headed through West Virginia, then another bridge as it sped into Ohio. Every mile, pulling her farther and farther from Stoney Ridge. Tears choked her. She pressed her fist really hard against the bottom of her jaw to keep from crying.

  But then she thought about her mom, who was counting on her to be there when she was released today. Her mom had been clean for a while now, so she would be in good shape. She wouldn’t be a bundle of raw nerves. Maybe, at least for Christmas Day, her mother wouldn’t say mean things to Chris. Jenny didn’t know how her brother stood it—but Chris never fought back. He just quietly absorbed the awful things their mother said to him. That his birth had ruined her life. That Chris was stupid, just like his father, even though Grace often admitted she had hardly known the man. That Chris was a hypocrite—joining the Amish church was just his way to get back at her.

  She didn’t say such horrible things to Jenny. Only to Chris. She even talked about Jenny’s absentee father in a nice way. “He works for the government, top secret stuff, so he can’t let anyone know about us. But someday, he’ll be back for us,” she would tell Jenny. Or, if Jenny complained about her height, she would say, “Your dad isn’t very tall, either. Good things come in small packages.”

  It didn’t make any sense to Jenny. She had never known her father. Chris had never known his. Both men had gone missing long before their babies were born. She liked to hear those stories about her CIA father, but she knew they probably weren’t true. Maybe, but probably not. She hated to hear how her mother talked about Chris’s father. Her mother had a nickname for him: W.B. Why Bother.

  Chris never defended himself, never said a word back to their mother. Somehow, his steadfast calm made her even more angry.

  Sometimes, Jenny wished Chris would go ahead and argue back, tell their mom to stop. She had admitted as much to Old Deborah once. Old Deborah had cupped her liver-spotted hands around Jenny’s small face. “Years ago, your brother read something from the Bible that spoke to him and settled deep. Something Jesus had said. From Matthew 10:16.” Then she closed her eyes, as if she were reading the words in her head. “‘Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.’” Old Deborah explained that Chris was wise enough to know that words were like tools. “Your mother uses her tools to tear down. Chris uses his tools to repair and fix up.”

  Her brother amazed her. Every single day, he amazed her. So kind, so faithful, so determined to live a better life, to be a better person, to build new memories.

  Despite everything, despite how confused she felt, it was her mother whom Jenny couldn’t stop thinking about. Her mother needed her. She should be there when her mother was released from rehab.

  When the bus pulled into Marysville, Jenny hurried to the bathroom and washed her face. She was hungry but didn’t want to miss the city bus that would travel to her mom’s rehab center. She had brought all of the money she had earned by working for Fern—nearly one hundred dollars. She had visited her mom at this rehab center before, so she went to the right bus, paid the fare, climbed aboard, and sat down. Without Old Deborah beside her, the city felt especially lonely.

  Why was she doing this? What was she thinking? Why didn’t she tell Chris about this plan? He would know what to do. If Jenny had only talked to him about it, they could have figured out what to do together. Why did her mother want this to be such a big surprise? Suddenly, the bus came to a stop a block away from the rehab center and she jumped up. This was it. She was here. She had come this far. She might as well see it through. Jenny felt sick to her stomach. She knew this was the stupidest idea she ever had, but her mom needed her. She had to remember that.

  At the rehab center, she sat for a long time in the dimly lit waiting room. Finally, the receptionist at the desk called her name. A door buzzed, then opened, and suddenly the room filled up with her mom.

  “JENNY!” her mother yelled.

  For a fleeting second, the sound reminded Jenny of the booming way Uncle Hank would enter a room and everyone would cringe.

  But when Jenny saw how much healthier her mom appeared, her whole being came to rest and she was glad she had come. She jumped up to cross the room and hug her. “Mom!”

  Her mother smelled like cigarettes and shampoo. Her arms were strong, and she had gained weight. Even her hair looked shiny.

  “You’ve grown half a foot since I saw you last!” her mother said, pulling back to look at her.

  “One-and-a-half inches,” Jenny said, laughing. “Can you believe it?”

  Grace stepped back to look Jenny up and down, holding on to her hands. “You look so beautiful! Even in that kooky get-up.”

  Jenny ignored that. “So do you, Mom.” It was true. Her mom’s face didn’t have open sores anymore, and her shiny hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail.

  Grace looked at the clock on the wall. “Let’s get out of here! Let’s go to McDonald’s and get us a Big Mac. I’ve had a craving for one for months and months.”

  They walked down the street to McDonald’s. Jenny took her wallet out of her backpack and saw her mother’s eyebrows lift in surprise when she pulled a twenty from it to pay the cashier. They went outside and sat on a bench in the sunshine. It was chilly, but the sun felt good.

  Her mom wolfed down the Big Mac and then ate half of Jenny’s. As she sipped on her giant soda, Jenny felt so happy to see her mom’s healthy appetite. When her mom was doing drugs, she didn’t care about eating. After her mom polished off the french fries, she took a cigarette out and lit it, blowing smoke away from Jenny. She smoked restlessly, her eyes constantly glancing at her wristwatch.

  When she finished one cigarette, she lit a new one from the butt, then tossed the butt on the ground and stamped it out with her shoe. When she saw Jenny’s frown, she said, “I’m cutting back. There’s just not much else to do but smoke in there. Gotta do something with my hands.” Her mother looked uneasy. “We need to catch that bus pretty soon.”

  “It’s only 12:30. The bus to Columbus leaves at 1:00. We have just enoug
h time. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll be home by dinnertime. Chris will be worried if I’m not back before he gets home from work.”

  “Chris was born worrying.” Grace flicked the ashes off her cigarette. “He thinks he does a better job raising you than I do. He thinks he’s better than me.” She took a long drag on her cigarette, blowing smoke away from Jenny but looking at her hard. “But he’s not.”

  Jenny tensed, like she always did when her mother criticized Chris. Things had been going so well since her mom had left the center, a full twenty minutes without any digs about Chris. She desperately wanted this Christmas to be different. Her mom had promised. “He’s been working really hard on the house, Mom. He works a full day job, then he comes home and fixes the house up till almost midnight. Starts all over again the next day. The house is looking great too. The yard is all cleaned up now and he patched the roof so it stopped leaking and he fixed broken windows so bats can’t fly in.”

  Grace looked pleased. Very, very pleased. “Bet Rodney the Realtor is licking his chops.”

  Jenny’s head snapped up. “How do you know about him?”

  Grace kept her eyes fixed on a grease spot on the picnic bench. “You must have mentioned him in a letter.”

  Jenny couldn’t remember mentioning Rodney Gladstone in any letter to her mother. Had she? Her mind skimmed through the different letters she wrote to her mother—

  “We should get going if we want to catch that bus.” Grace looked at her wristwatch again.

  Jenny suddenly felt the effects of the giant soda she drank and needed to go to the bathroom. Really bad. “I’m just going to zip into McDonald’s and go to the bathroom before we leave.”

  Her mother reached across the table and squeezed Jenny’s hand. She smiled at her, her eyes softening with affection. “Take all the time you need, sweet girl.”

  Jenny smiled. She loved when her mom called her “sweet girl.” That tense moment had passed and her mother was being kind again. Jenny was glad she had come. She had missed her mom. Everything was going to be all right. They were finally going to be a real family. Pretty normal. As close to normal as they could get. “I’ll be right back.”

  In the bathroom, Jenny washed her hands and thought about Chris. By now, Chris might have figured out that she had left town. She hoped he wouldn’t be too angry. She hoped he would see what she knew to be true—this time it would be different. Their mom was finally well. She took a paper towel to dry her hands, then carefully used it to open the door handle and avoid germs, the way Fern had taught her. When she stepped outside, she stopped in the bright glare of the winter sun, puzzled. Her breath snagged. A ripple of fear started in her toes and ended in her forehead.

  Her mother was gone.

  And so was Jenny’s backpack.

  Since Chris was no longer needed—or wanted—at Windmill Farm, he was back to finding odd jobs at the bulletin board at the hardware store. He had spent the day cleaning the garage of an English couple. He couldn’t believe how much junk they had stored away, like chipmunks. He didn’t tell them that, though. After work, he stopped by the hardware store again and was disappointed that there were no new jobs posted. The holidays, he figured. Everyone was busy with family. Everyone except those who had no family. He wasn’t sure what he and Jenny would do for Christmas. Jimmy Fisher had invited them over for Christmas dinner, but Edith Fisher was a little terrifying. Erma Yutzy had invited them to her granddaughter’s house. Maybe they would accept Erma’s invitation.

  It was Windmill Farm, though, where he and Jenny wanted to be for the day. Fat chance of that.

  Chris stopped at the mailbox on his way to the house. He removed his black felt hat and hooked it on the peg by the door. In the kitchen, he tossed the pile of mail on the countertop and washed up at the kitchen sink. He thought Jenny would be home from the schoolhouse by now. He guessed the big project she was working on had something to do with the Christmas program planned for Thursday. Well, that was one good thing about not having any work. He could attend that program. He could hear Jenny’s recitation. He could see Mary Kate. His spirits brightened considerably with that thought.

  He glanced through the mail—all junk. As he tossed it into the wastebasket, he noticed a small postcard addressed to Jenny. His breathing slowed as he recognized his mother’s handwriting. He felt a swirling undercurrent of fear from what might be coming.

  Hey Jenny girl! Can’t wait to see you on Tuesday! Don’t be late, sweet girl! We got lots of catching up to do.

  The kitchen clock ticked loud in the silence.

  With an overwhelming sense of worry, he ran out the front door and down to the barn, panting by the time he reached Samson’s stall.

  Help me find Jenny, he prayed. Keep her safe until I do.

  M.K. looked out the kitchen window and saw a pitch-black horse galloping up the driveway—Samson, with Chris on his back. Something was wrong. She ran outside to meet him as he reached the top of the rise.

  “Where’s Jenny?” His face was tight with tension. “Was she at school? Has Fern seen her today?”

  “No. I thought she was sick.”

  The kitchen door swung open. “What is it, Chris?” Fern asked, wiping her hands on a rag as she came down the porch steps.

  Samson danced on his hooves as Chris held tightly to the reins. “Jenny’s missing. She left a note that said Mary Kate needed her at the school early this morning and late tonight—but then I got this postcard in today’s mail.” He hopped off the horse and handed Fern the postcard.

  Fern read it and pinned him with a look. “Chris, where exactly is your mother?”

  Chris stared at Fern with a combination of surprise and humiliation. “In Marysville, Ohio. In a drug rehabilitation center.”

  That was the most M.K. had ever learned about Chris and Jenny’s mother.

  She was momentarily flustered. Even Fern seemed flustered. She couldn’t remember a time when Fern was ever flustered. But it only lasted a moment.

  Fern turned to M.K. with a decided look on her face. “Call Rome. He’ll know what to do.”

  Thoughts burst in M.K.’s mind and ricocheted around like corn popping in a kettle. Something had happened and she couldn’t tell what. “Rome? Why would he—”

  “Do it,” Fern ordered.

  Flustered, M.K. picked up the scooter that was leaning against the porch and zoomed down to the phone shanty. Chris followed on Samson. A few minutes later, as she approached the shanty, she heard the phone ringing. M.K. jumped off the scooter and lunged for the receiver. “Hello?”

  “M.K., is that you?” It was Rome! Rome’s deep, bass voice.

  “I was just going to call you, Rome. We’ve got a terrible dilemma and we need your help!”

  “Is your terrible dilemma named Jenny?”

  “Yes! How did you—”

  “I’ve got your terrible dilemma right here. Jenny’s here, M.K. She’s safe.”

  M.K. poked her head out of the shanty and waved at Chris. “She’s there! Jenny’s with them.” His face flooded with relief. She turned back to the phone, astounded. How did Chris and Jenny know Julia and Rome? More importantly, how did she miss that piece of information? Her detective skills were slipping. She blamed the teaching job. Too distracting.

  “Ask him how she got there,” Chris said.

  M.K. repeated the question to Rome and held the phone out between them so Chris could hear Rome’s answer. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she found herself extremely conscious of being so close to Chris, squeezed together in the small shanty. He was impossibly close now. She could hardly concentrate on what Rome was saying.

  “Apparently,” Rome said, “Jenny went to meet her mother just as Grace was getting released from the treatment center. Jenny went into McDonald’s to go to the bathroom and Grace took off with her backpack. Jenny went back to the rehab center and someone there found a phone number for Old Deborah’s. A neighbor picked up the message and called me. I just
so happened to have an errand to do in Marysville, so I was able to pick Jenny up.”

  M.K. doubted that Rome had an errand in Marysville. He was just thoughtful that way. Always going out of his way for others and never making it seem like it was an inconvenience.

  Chris closed his eyes and slumped. He let out a deep sigh of relief. “Can you put Jenny on?”

  “Let me ask her.” In the background, they heard Rome ask Jenny if she would come to the phone, then Rome covered the mouthpiece and they could only hear mumbling until he came back on. “She’s not quite ready to talk to you, Chris. She’s shook up. She feels pretty bad. But I’m hoping you’ll come out to get her.”

  Fern suddenly appeared at the door of the phone shanty. “Tell Rome we’ll all come. Tell Julia to expect four more for Christmas. Wait—make that eight if Sadie and Gid and the twins want to come.”

  “MAKE THAT NINE,” thundered Uncle Hank, appearing behind Fern. “I AM NOT EATING CHRISTMAS DINNER ALONE!” Edith Fisher was still spurning Uncle Hank.

  Fern rolled her eyes. “Nine, then. We’ll tell the van driver to move it up a few days and be there tomorrow afternoon. Tell Julia I’ll do the turkey because her turkey ends up as dry as the bottom of a canary cage. Oh . . . and no cranberry sauce from a can. Tell her you can always taste the tin. Tell her I’ve got most of it made already. Including the dressing for the turkey.”

  That was true enough. In the kitchen, wherever pies weren’t, were big bowls of bread crumbs and bunches of sage, drying, waiting to be made into dressing.

  M.K. turned her attention to report all of this to Rome, but he had overheard and was chuckling into the phone. “Tell Fern that I’m just going to inform Julia that Fern is planning to take over the entire Christmas meal. Then I plan to duck!”

  Fern wasn’t finished with her demands. “And tell Julia—”

  M.K. handed the phone to Fern. “You tell him.” She eased out of the phone shanty and walked over to Chris, who was untying Samson’s reins from the tree branch. When she looked at him, she was overwhelmed by how little she knew him, really knew him. Who would have ever thought his mother was in a drug rehabilitation center? No wonder he didn’t discuss his parents. How did it happen, getting to know someone? It took time. It took days spent together, weeks, months.