The Thorn Part 11

"Your eyes should be used to the dark by now."

She wanted him to slow his horse to a walk instead of trotting on this precarious section. The road was a mere tunnel now beneath the trees overhead. "How'd your mother die?" Her voice sounded thin.

"Bishop didn't say."

"But she was sick for all these years, jah?"

Nick made no answer, and Rose knew she'd best be still.

After what seemed like nearly an hour, they made a right turn onto Pumping Station Road, then went northeast to Fairview Road. Rose's heart slowed its pounding when they were once again on a paved open road. Yet Nick remained quiet as they went, till eventually they arrived at Hollow Road and turned right, not far from Jackson's Sawmill Covered Bridge. Mr. Browning's house was just a stone's throw away.

"Let's not go too far into the lane," she said, leading the way now. She stared at the gleaming second-story windows, a contrast to the attic dormer windows, which were as dark as the night sky.

"What're we lookin' for?" Nick sat tall on his horse.

"Anything peculiar."

"Like ghosts?"

Again she shivered at his tone. "Can't you be serious?"

He chuckled. "For you ... anything."

"Don't be a tease."

"Then don't be so easy to fool."

She ignored his comment. "What about the sounds I've heard upstairs while I work?"

"Could it be a cat? Or a dog?"

She'd never considered that. "Wouldn't Mr. Browning admit it, though?"

"Or maybe evil spirits - ever think of that?"

Her skin crawled. "Will ya stop scaring me?"

"I don't see any hex signs anywhere," Nick went on, ignoring her. He clicked his tongue, signaling the horse to move forward.

"Not too close to the house," she warned. "I'd rather Mr. Browning doesn't know we're spyin' on him."

"On them."

"What?"

"Maybe there's someone livin' upstairs."

"Or ... it could be only my imagination."

"You do have a big imagination," he replied darkly.

"It's all the library books I read."

He laughed softly. "Why read books when you can actually live nights like this?"

She wondered what he'd say if she revealed something to him that she sometimes pondered. Would he poke fun ... or understand? "It's just that I've been noticing something in nearly all the stories I've read. The main character - usually a young woman - thinks she can have everything she wants. But almost always she finds out the hard way that she can't."

"Well, sure ... that's because there are different rules in real life than in books."

"But even so, there's always a choice a girl has to make in every story ... and in real life."

Nick didn't ridicule her like Rose thought he might. He actually listened, like a good friend. Not like a pesky older brother - like Mose or josh when they still lived at home.

Quieter now, Rose wondered if Nick would grieve hard the loss of his mother. Was this the reason he'd been so glum last weekend?

All sorts of unrelated thoughts flitted through her head as she kept her eyes glued to the second-story windows. Maybe Nick didn't like being my errand boy to Silas Good, she thought. Or maybe he dislikes Silas. Then again, who does Nick like?

At that moment she realized there were four windows all lit up across the second story. "Ach, there are two windows for each bedroom, ain't?"

"Well, I've got two windows in my room," he volunteered.

Her brother josh's house seemed to be laid out similar to Mr. Browning's, and each of his upstairs bedrooms had two windows, too. "So, the windows on the right, over the kitchen, could be where another person sleeps."

"You're not makin' sense, Rose."

"Mr. Browning's bedroom could be on the left, over the front room. See?" She pointed as she tried to make heads or tails of the upstairs interior.

"And you think someone's stayin' over the kitchen."

"Maybe so. I know I heard noises there, overhead."

Then she saw it - the silhouette of a slender boy with hair cropped all around like her own brothers', standing in the window to pull down the shade. "Goodness, that's not Gilbert Browning!"

"Nee - no," Nick admitted.

Rose was stunned. "Ain't seein' things, neither." But now that her suspicions were confirmed, she was more perplexed than ever. Who on earth was living upstairs in Gilbert Browning's house? She thought of the Amish boy Donna had mentioned.

They turned the horses around and headed out to the road.

"Can we go home another way?" she asked, too jittery to return to the spooky dirt lane from whence they'd come.

"We'll cut through Mt. Pleasant Road, then down toward home."

She had to rely on Nick to see the way back - even George seemed unsure now as they rode through the night. When they arrived on the east side of Salem Road, she realized Nick's "shortcut" down eerie Bridle Path Lane hadn't been a shortcut at all. She trembled as she bade him Out Nacht.

"You goin' to Singing next Sunday?" he asked her.

Singing? Nick never cared about the weekly gatherings. He was certainly full of surprises tonight.

She thought of Silas Good. "I just might for a change. How 'bout you?"

Nick snorted. "What for?"

"To meet a nice girl, fall in love, and get married, silly." The former mysterious mood around them had dissipated. She slid down off George and slipped a sugar cube into the horse's mouth.

"So, we're s'posed to pair up at Singings?" he said comically.

Now Rose was laughing. She glanced at the house, hoping no one was still up. "You've grown up Amish - you should know all this."

"Why are you goin'?" Nick pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and shined it on her face.

"Ach, you had a light all along!" She turned to lead the horse into the lane. "How dare you fib like that!"

"Think back, Rosie ... I didn't lie." He stepped in front of her, and the flashlight tumbled from his hand.

She felt both angry with him and strangely sad. "Why'd we have to go down that miserable old road?"

"It's like when I tumbled off the ladder, checking on the silage. I had to get back up on it eventually." He was gripping her arms now. "Sometimes ya have to travel down a road where someone you love got hurt. Sometimes you just have to."

"Nick. .."

He released her and turned his back. "I'd better get goin'," he said, his voice suddenly devoid of feeling.

"You're awful upset ... about your mother, ain't?"

"Why should I be? She was always too drunk to care about me."

"Maybe she was just too sick, jah?"

He stood there, unmoving ... and silent.

Rose had often wondered why he hadn't returned to his mother on his own when he was of age. "Did ya stay round here because she was too sick to have you live with her ... when you were old enough to decide?"

"I wanted her to search for me ... not the other way around."

Was he just that stubborn? she wondered.

He breathed slowly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I never stopped believing she'd get sober."

Her heart broke for him. "If she'd gotten well, I'm sure she would've looked for you." She paused. "Someone from the agency could've told her where you were, I'd guess."

"But ... G.o.d let her die."

"Now, Nick, you know it wasn't like that," Rose said gently.

He reached to touch her elbow, his tone suddenly tender. "Did I hurt you before? When I squeezed your arms? I didn't mean to. I mean, I'd never.. ."

She stroked George's thick mane. "I'm fine."

He leaned forward to retrieve the flashlight at their feet. "Well, I'll be seein' ya."

"Nick - try not to be too sad."

"Tomorrow, Rose."

"Jah ... tomorrow." With that, she led George up the lane and back to the barn.

Solomon had been unable to locate his horse George either in the stable or in the pasture earlier that evening. After searching much of his own property, he went on foot to hunt in the bishop's barn, too. Seeing that Pepper was also missing, and aware that Rose and Nick were nowhere around, he presumed the two were out riding together.

Again. He groaned - he had hoped they were spending less time together aside from ch.o.r.es. As reliable a worker as Nick had always been, the boy was not fit for his Rose. Sol could only pray that Silas might turn things around by the next Singing. The young man had been fond of Rose for quite a while, but according to Reuben Good, his son hadn't pursued her because she'd dropped out of Singings these past months. Thank goodness Sylvia was able to stay with Emma more often again, freeing up Rose Ann. There was a real possibility that romance might be winging its way to his daughter's heart.

Now Solomon stood beside the second-story window, peering down at the front yard and Nick and Rose, who stood at the end of the lane. Nick's flashlight lay at Rose's feet.

Sol winced when Nick reached for Rose Ann's arms.

"Dear Lord in heaven." He shuddered at the possibility that his second daughter might also be lost to G.o.d due to an outsider. "Let it not be so...."

Hen felt terribly tense. Brandon had decided to wait until after Mattie Sue was asleep to discuss the little Amish dress. He closed their bedroom door quite deliberately, the latch clicking in the stillness. It was apparent by the way he sat on the chair across from the bed where she waited that he was ready to speak his mind.

"Why would you do this, Hen?" He leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him.

She stiffened. "You saw her - Mattie Sue loves wearing it."

"Are you trying to interest her in being Amish?" His words were cutting.

"Well, she is Amish ... partly."

He fixed his eyes on her. "But you're not, Hen. You never joined the church, remember?"

"Well, you know what I mean," she replied. "Besides, Mattie's just playing around. She's crazy about her dress and Kapp. Can't you let her enjoy the fun?"

"Fun?" He shook his head. "Why do you want to look back now, Hen ... why?"

She pushed several more pillows behind her back and leaned on the headboard. "I just want my child to know her roots." Her voice trembled.

"Your child?"

"C'mon, Brandon ... don't do this."

He rose in a silent sulk and headed for the shower. He grabbed his bathrobe off the hook in the closet, muttering something she couldn't make out.

"Can't we talk this through?" she asked as he pushed open the bathroom door. But he said no more.

She remembered driving by her father's house after Mattie's birth. Three-week-old Mattie Sue had been sound asleep in her infant carrier as Hen parked across the road from the old farmhouse and sat there with her window open, listening to all the sounds of twilight. It had been the first time she'd missed home.

"You're playing with the fires of h.e.l.l if you marry that fellow," the bishop had warned. "A friend of the world is an enemy of G.o.d!"

She'd opened the car door and gotten out, just staring at the darkened house ... waiting for Dat to bring in the gas lamps from the barn. She'd bit her lip, not wanting to spoil her glimpse of her childhood home with salty tears. No, Hen refused to cry when she had only herself to blame. She had disregarded the wisdom of her parents, as well as the ministerial brethren.