Kit Wilkinson - Lancaster County Reckoning

“Who are you?” she countered in a flat tone. She looked down at the bench and snatched up a fancy little handbag, which she stuck under her arm as if to keep it safe.

This was no tourist. If she was simply passing by, she would have assumed Thomas was the home’s owner, and would have launched into her explanation of where she was trying to go and how she’d gotten turned around. Her expression made it clear that she knew this wasn’t Thomas’s house. And that meant she was looking for Jesse specifically. But why? She looked at him with equal reservation. Tension exploded between them.

At least he belonged there. Thomas crossed his arms over his chest.

From the top of her coiffed head to the bottom of her designer boots, she looked as out of place as a chicken swimming in the river. “Are you lost, ma’am?” he asked, hoping he’d read her wrong. “I can tell you how to get back to the highway.”

“I’m not lost,” she retorted.

Thomas scratched his head. “Well, then, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t see what concern that is of yours.” Her voice was edgy.

His eyes locked on hers. “Well, I’m a neighbor of the folk that live here and I’ve never seen you before. I am just looking out for my neighbor.”

Thomas noticed that the front door had been cracked open. “Have you been inside, ma’am?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then why is the door opened?” Thomas didn’t mean to accuse her, but Jesse was a responsible man—he wouldn’t have left his door open like that. He would, however, have left his door unlocked. Doors were rarely bolted in their close-knit community and Jesse in particular was known to keep his home accessible. He was unbothered by visitors at any hour who wanted his help or to borrow a tool or simply to sit and share a cup of tea. If this woman had wanted to let herself in, she could have easily done so.

“The door was opened when I got here, which was about a minute before you did. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t even look in. I was just...” She stopped and pressed her glossed lips together. She shook her head and glanced at her watch. “I was just waiting for Jesse. We had an appointment. You don’t happen to know where Mr. Troyer is, do you?”

“Jesse was expecting you?” Thomas could feel the muscles in his face tightening. Why? Why would Jesse have a meeting with an Englisch woman? He wanted to ask but held that thought at bay. “I assume he is inside. Did you knock?”

“Of course I knocked.” She backed out of the way as he moved toward the front door. “Since the door was already opened, I thought maybe he stepped around back or something. I was going to go check when you arrived.”

“Jesse?” Thomas called.

He pushed the door open wide and stepped inside the small cottage. She followed him in as if she feared to be left by herself on the porch. Although what he found inside might have been worse. It was chaos. Everything inside had been turned upside down. Furniture toppled. Drawers emptied. Jesse’s belongings had been scattered from one end of the home to the other. Behind him, the tiny woman gasped and threw a hand over her gaping mouth.

“Ach! Had ye seen this?” he asked.

“No. I told you I didn’t go inside.” Her gray eyes were wide with alarm.

“And you’re alone? You came here alone?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was breathy and low. “Like I said, I just got here. I was supposed to meet Jesse at noon. I—I was a few minutes late. I knocked on the door and called inside. No one came, and then you were here.”

Thomas didn’t know whether or not to believe a word she was saying but the astonishment in her voice sounded genuine. “And you haven’t seen anyone coming or going?”

“Just you.” Her gaze flowed from one end of the room to the other, surveying the damage. “Whoever you are. You never told me your name.”

“You never told me yours.” Thomas unloaded the sack of food on his back. It landed with a clunk in the center of Jesse’s kitchen table. He looked back into the woman’s dark gray eyes. “I’m Thomas. Thomas Nolt. I live next door.”

She seemed to take that in for a long moment, avoiding eye contact. But that was typical. Being Amish, Thomas was used to Englisch people either staring for too long, or just the opposite—not wanting to make any eye contact.

He frowned at the scattered mess. Of course, break-ins did happen, even in Amish communities from time to time. But they were rare, and usually there were teenagers involved. Jesse was a sixty-year-old widower with no children. Not exactly a typical target for a teenage prank. And as for robbery as a motive, he had no electronics, no money, no jewelry.

The strange woman bit her upper lip nervously as she moved around some of the clutter and farther into the house. “Who do you think did this?”

“I was just wondering that my—”

A faint moaning sounded overhead from the loft.

There was someone else in the cottage. Thomas looked at the woman. “Stay here.”

Thomas raced up the back stairs. “Jesse? Is that you?”

The Englisch woman didn’t listen to him. She was on his heels, on the narrow staircase to the loft.

At the top of the stairs, Thomas paused. More chaos. The loft looked much like the downstairs. Completely trashed. He took a few wide steps over the debris and made his way to an odd-looking lump in the corner, from where he estimated the sound had originated. Jesse!

The old man lay in a heap on the floor. His face was swollen. His lips bloodied and bruised. Jesse had been beaten. And from the looks of it, nearly to death.

His wounds looked fresh and in some places were bleeding out. And worse, Jesse wasn’t moving. Thomas dropped down to his hands and knees and grabbed the old man’s hand. Thomas had seen men after fights a few times. He’d never seen anyone roughed up like this, as if the people who’d attacked him hadn’t cared whether he survived or not.

“It’s okay, Jesse. It’s Thomas. I’ve got you. Just rest. You’re going to be fine.”

The woman had slowly edged her way around the loft. She let out a horrible squeal as she saw Jesse on the ground. “Oh, no, no, no. Jesse. No.”

She dropped to the floor to get closer to the wounded man. Her body moved in waves of silent sobs.

“He’s not dead,” Thomas said, although he could barely detect the old man’s pulse. “Hang on, Jesse. Hang on. Help is here.” He looked to the woman. “You have a phone in that fancy bag of yours?”

Still crying, she scrambled through the little bag, plucking out a shiny smartphone. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to try three times to enter her pass code to unlock the phone. For efficiency’s sake, Thomas grabbed it from her and called 911. He gave thorough directions to the dispatcher. He also asked him to notify the local clinic, which was even closer than the fire department and the EMS. He hoped they would make it in time.

As he spoke, the Englisch woman placed a small pillow under Jesse’s head and a blanket over his torso. She touched Jesse’s hand and whispered something low into his ear. Who was she?

He held the phone out for her to retrieve. Thomas’s own hands were trembling, too. It was all he could do to control his emotions. He was filled with a mixture of horror and anger. What had happened? Who would do such a thing to a kind man like Jesse? And why?

He looked at the woman, wondering if her sudden and strange appearance had anything to do with the beating Jesse had taken. Thomas sighed aloud. He had to refocus his thoughts.

He had to remind himself that God was in control. His anger would solve nothing and it certainly wouldn’t save Jesse, which should be his only concern at the moment.