I have nowhere else to go.”
* * *
“Nowhere else to go?” Jake stood, then walked around to Mrs. Fisher’s side of the desk. When he sat next to the young Amish woman, she angled her knees away from him, creating as much distance between them as possible. He looked down and stifled a smile.
“I need to talk to you about Samuel.” Mrs. Fisher placed her tote and umbrella on the floor and folded her coat over them. She straightened her back and hiked her chin in a gesture that seemed forced. “I may come across as—” she seemed to be searching for the right word “—backwoods to you, but I know you spend time researching the Amish and you know a lot of the youngie. You knew Elmer King. And you know my son.”
Jake’s heartbeat slowed as he remembered Elmer, the outgoing young Amish boy who had died in a car wreck over the summer. The image on the front page of the small-town paper of Elmer King’s old red Chevy Camaro wrapped around a tree and his straw hat on the pavement said far more than a tidy quote the journalist had tried to elicit from the professor who studied the Amish. Jake was suspicious that some opportunist had placed the straw hat there for added effect.
A picture is worth a thousand words.
Jake tried to shake the image, but his stomach pitched at his guilt for not having known how to help the boy. Elmer had been one of the youth he had gotten to know over the past three years as a professor at Genwego State. Jake felt strongly that his missteps had led to Elmer racing off in a rage that fateful night.
Dragging a hand across his hair, Jake let out a long sigh, buying time to formulate his thoughts. “Yes, I knew Elmer. What does this have to do with your son?”
“Samuel and Elmer were friends. My son is not the same young man he was before Elmer’s death.”
“Samuel’s had a rough go of it.”
Rebecca nodded slowly and wrung her hands in her lap, seemingly growing more agitated. When she didn’t seem as though she was going to speak, Jake asked, “How can I help you?”
She gave him a measured stare before dropping her gaze to her hands clutched in her lap. “Professor Burke, I’m worried about Samuel.”
Jake rested his elbow on the armrest. He waited for her to continue. As a researcher, he often went into the Amish community and performed a delicate balancing act between developing authentic friendships and fostering relationships in the name of research. It was unusual for an Amish person to stroll into his office, never mind a young Amish woman.
“You’ve become friends with Samuel and his gang, yah?” The Amish referred to the groups of somewhat like-minded young adults who hung around together as gangs. The term lacked the negative connotation that it held in the English world.
“Yes, I’ve gotten to know your son.”
“Is he...” Again, she seemed to be searching for the right word. “Is he okay?”
He studied her face. Myriad emotions played on her features.
“He seems to be okay. I know you both have experienced some backlash from the community after Willard was arrested.” Rebecca’s husband, now deceased, had been convicted for killing two of his Amish neighbors.
“Backlash.” Rebecca seemed to be trying on the word. “Yah, we have had issues from graffiti on the barn to smashed eggs on our windows. The sheriff never made any arrests.”
“Samuel told me it had stopped.” He studied the woman, estimating her to be in her late twenties, early thirties at the most.
“It had. Then more recently, it started up again. Someone took all four wheels off Samuel’s wagon...” Her voice trailed off. “I am grateful they took them off and didn’t just loosen them. I hate to think—”
“It sounds like a police matter,” Jake interrupted. “I’m not sure why you’re here... I’m a professor.”
Rebecca rubbed her flattened palms together. “It’s twofold, really. I called Sheriff Maxwell once... I’m friends with his wife. We grew up together.” She waved her hand, as if that part of the story was inconsequential. But any time someone left the Amish community, it scarred those that remained.
Rebecca drew in a deep breath and continued. “Samuel became very agitated when I called the sheriff. He holds himself partially responsible for his father’s arrest, even though we all know...well, we all know what his father did.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Sorry for your troubles. Sorry for your loss.”
“Me, too. This is not the life I imagined for me or for my children.”
“It took a lot of courage for Samuel to work with law enforcement to aid in his father’s arrest.”
Rebecca ran a shaky hand across her lips. “Maybe he wouldn’t be taking this all so hard if his father was simply in prison.” Her shoulders rose and fell on a heavy sigh. “When Willard was killed in prison, I think something inside Samuel broke. I don’t know how to reach him anymore.”
“I’m not sure how I can help, Mrs. Fisher.”
“Please, call me Rebecca. I no longer feel like Mrs. Fisher.”
“Okay...” He hesitated, waiting for her to continue.
“I’ve watched my son talk to you at the diner. He’s confided in you. I need...” She closed her eyes briefly. “...I need to know what you know about my son so I can reach him before I lose him for gut. Like the Kings lost their son, Elmer.”
Jake ran a hand across his chin. “What is it you’re worried about?” A niggling suspicion told him why she was here, but he didn’t dare say.
Rebecca’s gaze lingered on his. “I need to know if Samuel’s involved with drugs like his friend was.” Her voice was strained, as if it took every effort to get out the words.
“Samuel’s a young adult.” Jake measured his response, trying to distance himself from the pain on Rebecca’s face. Her son—her stepson, actually—was enjoying his running around years with the usual bending of Amish rules. If Jake broke the young man’s confidence, the young Amish men wouldn’t talk to him. On the surface, it would jeopardize his research at the college.
“Samuel needs to find his own way,” Jake said.
“He needs guidance. He has no father.”
Jake didn’t know if Samuel was into drugs, but if he was, Jake wanted to be there for him without the interference of his mother. He needed to foster Samuel’s trust.
Jake had learned that the hard way.
Rumors spread after Elmer’s tragic death. Apparently, Elmer’s father had kicked him out of the house after he had learned of his son’s drug use. Jake tapped his fingers on his thigh and tried to ignore the familiar ache of guilt eating away at him. Jake had encouraged—no forced—the young man to confide in his family believing they would provide the support system the young man needed to straighten up. Instead, his father threw his son out of the house. Elmer fell into a downward spiral. All because of Jake’s advice.
