Page 81 of An Evil Heart
“Let’s get you dried off.” I leave the three of them standing in the living room and retrieve towels from the linen closet. Back in the living room, I hand one to Emily and then to her father.
“Bad night to be on the road,” I say to Andy.
The Amish man nods at his daughter and for the first time I realize the wet and cold are the least of his worries. He’s distraught. He won’t look at me. Won’t look directly at his daughter.
“She needs to talk to you,” he says. “It won’t wait until morning.”
Curiosity boils in my gut as I turn my attention to Emily. The girl stares at the floor. Holding the bath towel at her side, not using it. Shock, I think, and I glance at her father. He meets my gaze and then slants a look at his daughter. “Dry yourself off, Em, and then you and Chief Burkholder can talk. You can say what you need to say.”
The girl raises her head and looks at her father, but doesn’t seem to actually see him or even recognize him. She shifts her gaze to me and only then do I realize she is the picture of misery. Hollow eyes. Soaked and shivering but not seeming to notice or care.
Gently, I take the towel from her, blot her cheeks, and then run the fluffy terry cloth down the fabric covering her arms, finally draping it over her shoulders.
“I’ll make coffee,” I tell them. “Come into the kitchen.”
Andy shakes his head. “No,” he says. “This is between you and her. I’ll wait outside, in the buggy.”
I glance at Tomasetti. He catches my gaze and motions the Amish man to the sofa. “It’s chilly and wet out there, Mr. Byler. Have a seat here with me and we’ll have some of that coffee. How do you take yours? Black? Milk and sugar?”
The Amish man seems to relax marginally and nods. “Black is fine.”
My mind scrolls through a number of possible reasons for the middle-of-the-night visit as I guide Emily to the kitchen and put her in a chair. Our farm is an hour’s buggy drive from Painters Mill. In the dark and pouring rain, a distance that’s not quite safe. I take a few minutes to brew coffee, making small talk that isn’t responded to. When the coffee is perked, I carry two cups to the men in the living room. Then I return to the kitchen, pour mugs for Emily and me, and I sit at the table, opposite her.
I push one of the mugs at her. “It’s nice and hot,” I tell her. “Go ahead and have a sip. It’ll help take off the chill.”
The girl picks up the cup, sets it down without drinking.
“This must be important for you and yourdattto travel all this way so late at night and in the rain,” I say.
For the span of a full minute, neither of us speaks; then the girl looks at me. “I asked God what I should do and He said to tell the truth.”
“The truth is always a good policy,” I tell her.
“Sometimes the truth is so awful you can’t say it.” Her hand shakes when she picks up the mug, so she grips it with both palms, raises it to her lips and drinks. “I wanted it to go away, but it won’t.”
“Is this is about Aden?” I ask.
She nods. “He was… everything to me. I thought he was…” She looks down at the tabletop, nods. “I thought he was good. I mean, hewasgood, but…” She squeezes her eyes closed for a moment and tears begin to stream down her cheeks. “Sometimes he wasn’t.”
“It’s just you and me, Emily,” I say gently. “Whatever you have to say, I’m here. I’ll listen.”
She stares down at the tabletop. I’m aware of rain tapping on the window above the sink. The low voices of Tomasetti and Andy from the living room. The tick of the coffeemaker as it cools.
“I couldn’t even believe it when he wanted to court me. I’m not much to look at.” A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “He was so nice. And such a gentleman. Even Mamm and Datt said so.” A sigh shudders out of her. “We didn’t… you know, do anything for the longest time. Even when we were alone, you know. He was the first I’d ever kissed.”
“I understand.”
“Everything was perfect. He was perfect. We were going to get marriedand have children. Then… a couple months ago he came over in the buggy and took me out for a hot dog and root beer.”
I wait, aware of a tightness in my chest. I’ve felt that sensation enough to know it’s in response to the anticipation of hearing something I don’t want in my head.
“We had fun. Afterward, we drank a beer and he took me out to that old gas station.”
“Vernon Fisher’s place?” I ask.
She nods. “I didn’t want to go. All those crude boys. I don’t like them. I don’t like the way they look at me. The way they make fun. Like they’re nice. Only they’re not.” She shrugs. “But Aden said it was okay. He said we wouldn’t stay too long. So we went.”
She lifts the mug and drinks. Not because she wants it, but because she doesn’t want to say what comes next.…
