Chapter 38
WHEN CALLIE rounded the corner of the barn, she was confronted with three silos.
If she had thought they looked enormous from the road, she really had no idea. From the ground, they towered over her like the redwood trees she’d seen when visiting California.
Attached to the side of each was a metal ladder that climbed straight to the top of the silo where a door was placed to allow access to the interior of the silo. Suspended between each silo hung metal catwalks. While she’d paused to stare, Timothy had caught up with Shane, who’d stopped as well.
“As I came around the corner, I had a visual on the boy headed in that direction, but he disappeared.” Shane pointed toward the far side of the silos.
Timothy nodded once and stepped forward, toward the nearest silo. Shane grabbed the big man’s arm and pulled him back under the roof overhang of the barn.
“You understand he’s armed?” Shane asked.
“I understand Samuel’s carrying my new hunting rifle, and I mean to take it back.”
“He took a shot at us earlier.”
“He’s scared.”
“Sir, that boy may have killed your daughter.”
“He may know something about what happened.” Timothy wiped at the water on his face. “But I thought you said the man who killed my daughter was in jail.”
Shane stared toward the silos and back again, then glanced at Callie. It was plain he wanted to say more, but there was no time. “I thought he was, but it could be we have the wrong guy.”
Timothy seemed to consider that, ran his fingers through his rain-soaked beard, and nodded once. “Fair enough. Only way to find out is to fetch Samuel and take him inside. Can’t talk to him outside in the pouring rain.”
Shane shifted his pistol from his right hand to his left. “All right. We’ll circle the silos completely, then we’ll meet at the back. Do not head up unless there’s a definite sign of him up there.”
“Agreed.” Timothy glanced from Callie to Shane. “Whistle once if you see him above ground. I’ll take the left silo.”
“I’ll take the right.”
“I’ll take the middle one,” Callie said.
“No you won’t.” Both men turned on her as one.
“Wait here, Callie. I don’t even know why you came.”
“Ya, it could be dangerous. Plus those ladders are slippery. I’m used to climbing them, so it’s no problem for me.”
Timothy headed off to the left.
“I can’t believe you’re okay with him charging out into the middle of this. He’s personally involved and unarmed, but you want me to stay put? It’s because I’m a woman, isn’t it? Since when did you become a sexist, Shane Black?”
Shane hesitated, pulled Callie close, and ran his hand up and down her arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. Kissing her on the forehead, he whispered, “For once, please listen to me.”
Then he was gone.
Callie wanted to fume. She wanted to be angry with Shane. She wasn’t a china doll that needed protecting. But thinking about the way Shane had looked at her, the way his hand had felt on her arm, and his lips had caressed her skin, Callie couldn’t muster any anger. Her forehead still tingled.
Which was ridiculous.
The last thing she needed were romantic notions in her head at a time like this. He’d probably kissed her to distract her. It would be just like him to use unfair tactics.
Callie could walk around a silo as well as anyone.
Glancing left, then right, she dashed forward into the pouring rain. Within two minutes she had run around to the back of the silo. From the front, she’d thought she would be able to see Shane and Timothy, but the silos weren’t exactly in a line. For one thing, they weren’t the same size.
The middle silo was a bit smaller in circumference but taller. Perhaps it was older. Looking toward the other two silos, she could only see their backs, not their fronts nor the sides where the ladders were located.
She also couldn’t see Shane or Timothy at all.
No doubt, if Samuel were here, he would have hidden in the farthest structure. Right?
In fact, if Samuel were here, and if he were guilty of killing Katie, why was he hanging around at all?
Why wasn’t he on the run?
Callie had turned to walk to Shane’s silo, questions tumbling through her mind, rain soaking through her clothes, when she heard the clamor of boots against metal.
Pivoting around, she saw only the back of her silo.
Timothy had said the ladders were on the side. The side she hadn’t seen yet. She ran toward the east, and there was the metal ladder, stretching to the very top. Looking up she could just make out Samuel’s figure, more than halfway up the metal ladder of her silo. The hunting rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he seemed completely focused on placing hand over hand, on climbing as quickly as possible.
Why?
What was the point?
What could he possibly do from there?
Then she realized again that her silo was taller. Much taller. Stepping back she studied the layout, pushing the water out of her face as the rain continued to pour from the sky.
The ladder went to the very top of the silo, to the door. But the catwalk that stretched in between this middle silo and the other two was at the two-thirds mark. As she watched, Samuel was approaching it. Would he stop there? Or would he continue up?
From the top, he’d have a perfect perch, a perfect sharpshooter’s position.
Callie put two fingers into her mouth to whistle and blew hard, but no sound came out.
She’d had trouble whistling as a child, but finally caught the knack of it somewhere along junior high. Now? Nothing. It wasn’t like she’d been practicing, but you’d think she could produce something.
She thought about hollering. Would it alert Samuel though? Would he do something crazy if he heard her?
She thought about running to one of the other silos. But both were too far. She could run there, but by the time she reached them, Samuel would be in place at the top of hers. So instead of running for help she grabbed hold of the metal ladder and began to climb.
What could she do if she caught up with him? Talk to him. That’s all. Persuade him to calm down, to hand over his rifle, to climb back down with her. Maybe, just maybe, he would listen to a woman if he was intimidated by and responding aggressively to a man. Maybe.
As she climbed, Callie tried to remember what her handgun instructor in Texas had said about rifles. She hadn’t paid much attention, since she wasn’t a hunter. She seemed to recall something about rifles having an effective range of up to a thousand meters, depending on the caliber. Pausing halfway up the ladder, she looked over her shoulder, looked back through the pouring rain toward the silo Timothy was checking out.
Both Timothy and Shane would be easily within range.
When Samuel reached the platform of the silo, he paused to catch his breath. He didn’t know why his heart was racing so, but perhaps it was the thought that he was finally going to have to face up to what he had done. After all, he’d backed himself into a corner by climbing to the top of the silo. He’d only thought to put some space between himself and the strangers. He’d panicked, and he’d gone to the one place he didn’t think they’d follow. The one place where he was sure he could see everything.
But now what was there left to do?
Give himself up?
Jump?
Admit the terrible thing that had happened?
All the options running through his mind were awful, as awful as the memory of Katie lying on the floor of Reuben’s house. Samuel couldn’t think of a way to make this situation right. Once again he’d left himself with no options. Or had he?
Could he escape?
Did he even want to escape?
He couldn’t imagine living in the Englisch world, which was why he hadn’t run into the woods and across the fields. It would have been easy enough to lose the Englischer who’d arrived in the car. But Samuel had been to Fort Wayne and Indianapolis to take care of errands for Timothy, and both towns had left him feeling crowded and a bit dirty.
Not as dirty as the memory of what happened with Katie though.
Thoughts of Katie made his chest hurt worse than the climb up in the pouring rain. He slung the rifle off his back, checked that the scope was adjusted correctly, and raised it to his shoulder to peer through the lens.
The shot he’d fired into the air had sent everyone scurrying. A scope worked as well as an Englischer’s high-powered binoculars. He’d walk around the catwalks, make sure the coast was clear, then decide what to do.
Samuel moved away from the ladder, walked to the front of the silo, and brought the rifle up again to look toward Timothy’s farmhouse. Then he heard his father-in-law’s voice, calling out to him from the adjacent silo.
“Put the rifle down, Samuel.”
Lowering the rifle a fraction, Samuel saw Timothy beginning to cross the catwalk.
“Stay where you are!” Samuel yelled. “Don’t come any closer.”
He’d picked the center silo because it afforded him a good view of both the barn and the other two silos. The catwalks stretched away from him like spokes on a wheel.
Timothy continued walking slowly, his hand stretched out in front of him.
“I want to talk to you, Samuel, but we can’t do it here.”
“Drop the rifle, Samuel.”
Samuel jerked around and saw the Englischer fifty feet away on the other catwalk and closing in. Gripped between both hands, he was holding a pistol.
“Put the rifle down, then push it away with your foot.”
Samuel tightened his grip on the rifle, tried to decide if he should try to explain about what had happened in Shipshewana, if they would even believe him at this point, or if it was too late.
Wind tore at his clothes and rain continued to pelt against his skin.
“Samuel, Katie wouldn’t want you to do this.” The woman’s voice came from behind him.
Spinning around, Samuel saw a woman nearly in front of him, so close he could practically touch her. She was petite like Katie. But she was a good ten years older and definitely Englisch. What was she doing on his silo? How had she managed to climb up here? Rain soaked her hair, and her clothes revealed a figure that was more like a boy’s. Did she know his Katie? How could she?
“Callie! Move away from him!” The Englischer’s voice was sharp, like the sound of boots on metal. “Put the rifle down, boy, or I will shoot.”
“He’s a good man, Samuel. He doesn’t want to hurt you.” The woman moved toward him, glancing down at the ground nervously as she did. “You’ve frightened him because you’re holding the rifle.”
“How can I frighten anyone?” Samuel replied, backing up from the woman, backing up until the edge of the railing pressed against his back.
“He doesn’t know what you’re going to do. Put the rifle down or hand it to me, and he’ll put away his gun.”
“No. Then he’ll take me to the Englisch jail. Don’t you see? I can’t go there. I’d rather die first.”
Salt ran across Samuel’s lips, dripped into his mouth, and he realized he was crying. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry since the hours he’d spent hiding in the woods behind Reuben’s house. Now the tears were building inside of him like the giant storm clouds that pressed down above them. He bit down hard on his lips, clutched the rifle tighter until he felt he must be leaving marks in the stock of Timothy’s new Browning A-Bolt.
“Look at me, Samuel. Look at me.” Timothy’s voice brokered no argument, and against his will, against all of his doubts, Samuel turned to look at him. “Give me the rifle. You know it’s wrong to take what doesn’t belong to you.”
Samuel looked down at the rifle he gripped, ran his hand along the walnut finish, now slick with rain. They’d talked for months about the hunting season, about the meals they would share this winter. About the small home out back that he and Katie would live in once they’d been married. The home that still hadn’t been built. He hadn’t been able to force himself to walk past the little clearing.
Both Shane and Timothy were closing in on where he stood, but he could barely focus on them. A sob shook Samuel’s body, and suddenly he didn’t want to hold the rifle anymore. He tossed it to Timothy, who caught it with one hand.
“That’s gut. Now come with me. Come inside and explain what happened to my dochder.”
“What is there to tell, Timothy? She’s dead.” The confession shot out of him like the lightning that flashed across the sky. “She’s dead, and it’s my fault. Isn’t that enough for you? Must you have every detail?”
Samuel placed his hands on the railing, certain now of his path. With the agility of someone comfortable on the high catwalks of the silos, he did what he must have known he’d climbed the silo to do. Before anyone could move, he climbed over the rail.
“Ya, I do want to know the details. You think a father doesn’t deserve to know how his oldest died?” Timothy said. “You owe me that and more.”
Timothy’s words were like a slap to his face.
“Did you love Katie, Samuel?” The woman’s voice was soft, soothing, and nearly a statement.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I can see that Timothy respects you. The way he argued with Shane shows he cares about you as well, or he’d have allowed Shane to come up here after you alone. I’m guessing you must have loved Katie.”
“Of course I loved her!” The words hurt more than they should have. Love shouldn’t rip at your chest this way, shouldn’t tear and shred.
He and Katie had imagined a life together. Why had it ended so suddenly? Tears clouded his vision and he released the railing with one of his hands, wiped at his eyes.
Everyone moved closer at once.
“Stay back! Why don’t you all just stay back? Can’t you see I deserve this? I didn’t protect her like a husband is supposed to. I should have been the one to die.”
“You married her?” Timothy asked, his voice a broken thing.
“Yes. Yes, I did. And she died, and it’s my fault, and now I’ll pay for that, but I won’t go to an Englisch jail. I won’t do that for you or for anyone else.”
“But you will come to my house and explain to her mamm what happened. You owe her that, Samuel. You’re Rachel’s son now, and you owe your mamm that.” Timothy stepped closer, reached out a hand to the boy, waited for him to grasp it.
Samuel froze there, suspended between his jump and his acceptance of Timothy’s grace.
“Take my hand.” Timothy waited. He didn’t move forward, though now he was so close he could have reached out and grabbed Samuel. He didn’t flinch as the rain continued to pelt them.
The metal felt slick beneath his grasp, and Samuel knew that all he had to do was let go.
Letting go would solve everything.
There was no doubt in his mind that the fall would kill him, and then he could join Katie. He could be with her at last, and this pain that had been smothering him for weeks would finally be gone.
But his eyes remained focused on Timothy’s hand, calloused, weathered, and open.
Slowly, cautiously, and with tears still pouring down his face, Samuel reached forward, and grasped it.
A Perfect Square
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