Wanted(50)

“How did she look?”

“Different. Her dress was a violet-blue. It was pretty, but hung loose. Some kind of black apron was pinned over that. Her hair was all twisted and pinned up under a sheer white little hat.”

Brandon shook his head. “No. How did she look, Holly?”

He still cared so much. “She looked different. But, pretty, too. She looked happy. Well, she did until she saw me.” In a cross between a chuckle from the memory and a sob that threatened to erupt from seeing the condition her brother was in, Holly tried to find the words to describe Katie’s face when she saw her.

Maybe a cross between utter dread and complete surprise? “Anyway, we talked. She…apologized, Brandon.”

“She feels guilty.”

“I imagine she does. And she’s got a ton to feel guilty about, too. I know you really liked her, Brandon.”

“I loved her.” Closing his eyes for a moment, he added, “Maybe I still do, in a way.”

“I told her you wanted to see her.”

He stared at her again. “What did she say?”

“She said she would visit you.” She clasped his hand when hope entered his expression. “She promised.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. I guess when she can get a driver.”

“Why a driver?”

Showcasing her knowledge, Holly explained. “The Amish don’t drive, Brandon. Most don’t even own cars. But they’re not against using vehicles as transportation—just as having them as conveniences. So they hire people to take them places.”

“You…you should have,” he said weakly.

“I know I should’ve.” A better person would have thought to offer. But she hadn’t. In truth, she’d been so overwhelmed with emotion that she hadn’t even given it a thought. All she could think of was that she’d missed Katie, and that she could have used her friendship and support over the last year. Clearing her throat, “Anyway, I’m thinking maybe she’ll be here on Monday or Tuesday.”

“Maybe.” As if the conversation was too much, he closed his eyes again.

“She’ll show up,” she said with more confidence than she felt. But Katie had to show up. It was Brandon’s dying wish.

She’d promised. Holly hoped Katie had finally started keeping some promises.



Late that night, long after the girls were fast asleep and Jonathan had gone back to the daadi haus, Katie pulled out her memory box again from under the bed.

After carefully setting the container on top of the pale lavender quilt, she gingerly opened the cardboard top. Oh, it wasn’t a fragile thing. One the contrary, it only contained fragile memories. Ones she was both afraid to abandon completely and wary about confronting again.

As she set the lid to the box on the floor, once again the scent of another life burst into the air.

But this time, instead of only recalling the things she’d done wrong, Katie started recalling the good times she’d had. Remembering the laughter she’d shared with Holly. Her first impression of a shopping mall. The sense of freedom she’d felt, just by spending a Saturday doing nothing except watching episodes of The Brady Bunch on Holly’s television.

Oh, how she’d enjoyed that show.

Finally, she recalled how torn up she’d been inside, wondering what God planned for her future. Wondering what the right path was to take. She’d been so confused, she’d sought out Henry, though he hadn’t been in the best spirits, either. Rachel had left him for an Englischer just weeks before.

She’d found him in his workroom, supposedly sanding an old trunk they’d found in the attic. In actuality, all he’d been doing was sitting with his dog, Jess.

“Henry, are you ever going to smile again?”

He’d looked at her and scowled. “Leave me alone, Katie.”

“I truly am sorry about Rachel.”

He shrugged. “It’s not your worry.”

“But it is. Don’t you know how I worry about you?” She’d swallowed hard. What she’d really wanted was for him to see how she still needed him. She still needed him to worry about her, to offer her guidance.

But Henry was so good. He would never understand her willfulness. Her dreamy nature. Her impulsiveness. He’d never understand her ever even thinking about living among the English.

Absently, Henry rubbed Jess’s side. “I’m glad you care. If I was to admit the truth, I’d guess I’d tell you that I’m sorry Rachel wanted someone else. Wanted a different way of life.”

“Did she ever tell you why?”

“Why?” He paused to consider her question. “I don’t rightly know. I don’t think Rachel was running from me in particular, though maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t even running from anything.” Picking up his sandpaper, he rubbed it against the side of the trunk once. Twice. “More likely, I think Rachel was running to something else. To another man.”