Her face hurt something wonderful, but it was nothing compared to the dread that filled her chest at the thought of what Luke’s anger would be like. Joann had gone to fetch her brother, and any minute now he would crash through that door and yell at her for putting his sisters in danger. She was already poised to burst into tears. She didn’t think she’d be able to hold it back once Luke got here.
Maybe she could go hide in her room.
Poppy pushed aside that cowardly thought. She had always stood up to Luke Bontrager before, no matter how angry he was.
Sometimes it was very inconvenient to be so contrary.
Poppy sat at the table with the hand that wasn’t broken wrapped around Rose’s wrist. Rose clutched a tissue in one hand and stroked Dorothy’s arm with the other. Dorothy sat next to Rose, sniffling softly, but she seemed calmer than when they had first come into the house. The sight of Aunt B’s shotgun had eased her mind considerably.
Aunt B knelt on the floor next to Dorothy’s chair. “Gute as new,” she said as she peeled the paper backing off an extra-large Band-Aid and placed it over the scratch on Dorothy’s leg.
“Denki,” Dorothy said. “I’m just a big buplie. It’s a little scratch compared to Poppy’s face.”
Poppy tried to give Dorothy a reassuring smile. It didn’t come out well. Her face hurt too much.
“You’re not a baby, and we don’t want it to get infected,” Aunt B said. “How is your scrape, Rose? Do you need a Band-Aid?”
“I’m okay. There isn’t any blood.”
Aunt B put the Band-Aid box back in the drawer. “There doesn’t have to be blood. Look at Poppy. She’s not bleeding anywhere, and she looks terrible.”
“Denki, Aunt B,” Poppy said, smirking with half her face.
“It’s temporary, little sister. Imagine having a face like Paul Glick’s, that never got better.”
“Aunt Bitsy,” Rose scolded. “That’s not nice to say. Lily used to be very happy with Paul Glick’s face.”
Aunt B looked toward the ceiling. “Denki, dear Lord, that Lily has seen the light. But what would You have us do about the Simons boy? Do you have time to give him a yeast infection?”
“Aunt Bitsy!” Rose said.
Rose never ceased to amaze Poppy. Griff Simons had given her quite a fright, and she was still willing to forgive him. Poppy would have liked another crack at his face.
Dorothy sniffed one last time for good measure. “Do you think Joann made it home okay?”
“Of course she did,” Rose said. “Luke will be over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Poppy couldn’t even swallow. She and Luke had been getting along so well, but she’d never speak to him again if he yelled at her.
When he yelled at her.
She nearly sobbed out loud.
Aunt B came back to the table and took Poppy’s chin in her hand. “We should probably put some ice on that bruise. And your hand.”
“Okay,” Poppy said. Maybe ice would numb her to the pain. All the pain.
“When Luke comes to get Dorothy, we’ll ask him if he can go to the phone shack and call a driver,” Aunt B said, laying her hand softly against Poppy’s cheek. “I hate to tell you this since you took off the sling only this morning, but I think you’re going to be in a cast at Lily’s wedding.”
“I know,” Poppy said, whispering past the lump in her throat. She really should go upstairs. Her throbbing cheek and Griff’s horrible smile and the thought of what might have happened and what would happen once Luke came battered her fragile self-control. The tears were mere seconds away.
Dorothy squeaked when someone knocked on the door. Poppy stiffened her spine and held her breath. She refused to indulge in the tears now. Luke would see nothing but obstinance.
Aunt Bitsy picked up her shotgun, opened the door, and trained it at Luke’s chest. He didn’t even flinch. Poppy’s stomach plummeted to the floor. Luke looked as angry and riled as a mother bear. He was definitely going to yell.
“I’m glad you have a shotgun,” he said.
Bitsy nodded. “Only for emergencies. I don’t believe in guns.” She propped her gun against the wall next to the door. “I’m not usually happy to see you, Luke Bontrager, but Dorothy needs her big bruder.”
He quickly glanced around the room, letting his eyes linger on Poppy’s face for a split second. “Is everybody okay?”
Dorothy jumped from her chair and ran into Luke’s arms.
Luke’s eyes got a little watery, and he cleared his throat three times. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he said, lifting Dorothy off her feet and squeezing the air out of her.
She relaxed her grip around his neck, and he set her back on her feet. “I ripped my sleeve and fell down when he shoved me, but he didn’t shove very hard.”
“Joann says you hit him.”
Her voice trembled, and Poppy thought Dorothy might start crying again. Heaven knew she had every reason to. “I’m sorry, Luke. I know I should have run away, but he hurt Rose. I had to help her, even though we shouldn’t use violence.”
Nonviolence. One of the eighteen articles of the Confession of Faith—the one Poppy had always struggled with—especially when someone harmed the people she loved.
Luke tucked an errant lock of hair behind Dorothy’s ear and attempted a smile even though Poppy could see the muscles of his jaw tense with anger. “You’re a gute, brave girl for not running away. Gotte would not have wanted something bad to happen to Rose.” A dark shadow passed across his already dark expression, and he gathered his sister into his arms again. At least he wasn’t mad at Dorothy. She desperately needed his comfort, not his censure.
“I hit him as hard as I could in the back,” Dorothy said. “But he didn’t even notice.”
“Oh, he noticed, all right,” Luke said. “For sure and certain he’ll have some big bruises tomorrow.”
“I’ll pray extra hard for it,” Aunt B said.
Dorothy glanced at Aunt B. “You don’t think hitting him was a sin?”
Aunt B shook her head. “I would have taken a chunk out of his arm with my teeth.”
Dorothy bloomed into a smile. “I had to help Rose. I just had to.”
Aunt B nodded. “You did a gute thing, Dorothy. I’ll be grateful forever that you watched out for my girl.”
Luke gave Aunt B a soft look and cleared his throat again. Poppy’s muscles went taut as his gaze traveled in her direction. She turned her face from him and stared at the sofa. Lord willing, he wouldn’t even notice the bruise.
What a silly notion. Of course he’d notice. It was why he had come.
His eyes flashed with unmistakable outrage as he came to her and knelt next to her chair. With more tenderness than she would have expected from someone so angry, he gently took his finger and nudged her chin so she would look at him. She winced as the heat of his touch traveled all the way up her jawline. “Ach, Poppy. You should put some ice on that.”
“I don’t need ice,” she said.
His frown cut deeper into his face. “I don’t blame you for being mad at me. You put yourself in danger for my sisters again, and I wasn’t there.”
Poppy lifted her chin to keep it from trembling. “Go ahead and yell at me.” Might as well get it over with. Like as not, the anticipation would be worse than the actual yelling.
He furrowed his brow. “Yell at you? Poppy, I am not going to yell at you.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant. The silent treatment? Gute. She never wanted to talk to him again.
“Oh, no,” Dorothy cried out as she looked out the window. Whimpering, she ducked down on the window seat as if she were hiding. “He’s coming. He’s riding up the lane on a motorcycle.”
Aunt B rushed to the window to have a look. “And his dat.”
Luke frowned. “Who is it?”
“Griff Simons,” Dorothy said.
Luke shot to his feet. Poppy held her breath and tightened her grip around Rose’s wrist. Aunt B gra
bbed her gun.
“Bitsy, don’t,” Luke said. “He could take it right out of your hand.”
She scowled at him. “It’s for show. I don’t believe in guns, remember?”
Luke wrapped his hands around Dorothy’s shoulders and pulled her away from the window. “Poppy,” he said, his eyes flashing with fury, “can you take Dorothy and Rose upstairs?”
They all jumped at the three loud, unapologetic raps at the door. Poppy and Rose stood up, and Poppy gathered Dorothy into her embrace.
Luke snapped his head around. “Poppy, take them upstairs.”
Poppy wasn’t about to run away and let Luke and Aunt B fend for themselves. “Rose, take Dorothy upstairs.”
Rose eyed her doubtfully, too frightened to argue. Dorothy’s safety was the most important thing to all of them.
Poppy gave Rose’s hand a squeeze. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Rose nodded and shepherded the terrified Dorothy out of the room.
Luke’s glare could have set the house on fire. “Poppy, you go too.”
Aunt B slowly opened the door and pointed the gun at the scowling middle-aged man standing there. Griff Simons stood behind him, and they both took up a lot of space on the porch. While Luke’s glare merely annoyed Poppy, Griff’s father was positively terrifying. Poppy momentarily thought twice about staying downstairs.
Griff’s dat wore a leather vest and leather gloves that covered his knuckles but not his fingers. Aunt B’s tattoo fetish paled in comparison to the tattoos covering Griff’s dat’s arms. There was more blue ink than skin. His head was shaved bald, and he had two or three days’ worth of scruff on his face.
Poppy took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Not all people with tattoos were criminals or murderers. Surely Griff’s dat wasn’t as mean as he looked. Of course Aunt B’s tattoos were always nice, fluffy, lovable temporary tattoos of kitties and butterflies and daisies. Skulls and spiders were a little more intimidating.
Griff’s father squinted in the bright sunlight and scowled at the gun as if he’d seen scarier things in his fridge. “You’re Amish. You’re not going to shoot me.”
“Maybe I am, Kyle,” she said. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to whoever did this to my son.” Kyle Simons motioned to Griff’s face, and Poppy couldn’t help but feel a perverse sense of satisfaction. Griff’s bottom lip was three times the size of his top one. His mouth looked as if it was sculpted into a permanent pout. She’d hit him hard, and she had a broken hand to prove it.
“Dad,” Griff mumbled, shuffling his feet and keeping his eyes trained on his shoes, “I already told you. I don’t care. Let’s just go home.”
Kyle snapped like a tree branch laden with snow. “Shut up, Griff. When someone pushes my son around, they answer to me.”
Luke immediately stepped forward and nudged Aunt B’s gun aside. “You can talk to me. But outside. I won’t allow you in the house.”
Griff’s dad frowned. “It’s better that way.”
With barely contained anger Luke glanced at Poppy. “Stay here.”
Poppy shook her head. “I’m the one they want.” Though she was shaking in her shoes, Griff and his dat would see nothing but contempt. Someone had to stand up for Dorothy and Rose. If the Simons were low enough to take satisfaction in bullying an Amish girl, then they would prove to be the weak ones.
Several emotions traveled across Luke’s face before rage took over. “You stubborn, bullheaded girl. I don’t care what you think. You will not put yourself in danger while I have the power to keep you from it.”
Poppy stepped back as if she’d been shoved. It didn’t matter how nice Luke had been in the last few days. It didn’t matter that he’d built them a chicken coop or painted their barn twice. He hated her, plain and simple. The heartache made her dizzy. If she didn’t lash out at him, she’d melt under his hot glare. “You don’t have any power over me, Luke Bontrager, and don’t you forget it.”
Aunt B pinched her lips together as her eyes darted from Kyle Simons to Luke to Poppy and back again. “Wait there,” she said to Kyle as she slammed the door shut with the barrel of her shotgun. She turned to Luke and Poppy and rolled her eyes. “Maybe you two should work this out before it turns into a wrestling match.” She propped her gun on the floor and leaned her hand on the stock. “But make it quick. Kyle Simons is not a patient man.”
Luke scrubbed his hand across his forehead. “Poppy, Griff Simons hit you. His dat is even worse. Who knows what he’ll do? Please stay in the house.”
“Why? Because you think I’m weak and helpless? Or because you think you know what’s best for me?”
He shook his head. “If you did things my way, you’d be so much happier.”
“I won’t be bullied into doing what you want.”
Luke erupted. “I wasn’t there to protect you or my sisters,” he roared, “and I can’t bear it.”
Poppy closed her mouth. There was real pain behind his words.
In an instant, he came to rest, folded his arms across his chest, and propped himself against the closed door, tilting his head back until it rested against the door and his gaze pointed toward the ceiling.
One of the men on the other side pounded as if they were trying to break it down. The force of the blows rattled the door against Luke’s back.
Aunt B looked daggers out the window. “Hold your horses, Kyle,” she yelled. With her gun draped over her elbow, Aunt B placed one foot on the window seat as if she were settling in. She watched Luke and Poppy with barely disguised impatience, but she didn’t say a word.
Luke didn’t seem to notice the tempest on the other side of the door. “I know how mad you are, Poppy,” he said, his voice like a soft caress against her cheek. “I thought Griff would be gone this morning. I sent Rose and my sisters into danger.”
Poppy’s anger fizzled like a campfire in the rain. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I couldn’t protect them, but you did, Poppy. You will never know how grateful I am that you are so brave.”
She studied his face. “You’re not mad at me?”
He groaned. “How could you think I was mad?”
She threw up her hands. “I wonder why.”
He lifted his head, and his dark eyes were filled with so much sorrow, she wanted to cry for him. “Ach, Poppy. I don’t even know how to begin to make it right with you.” He pushed himself away from the door and grasped her arms with his strong hands. “I said some very deerich things because I was afraid.”
“Afraid I would die?”
He nodded. “And afraid that I would be responsible. My mom lost her foot because of me.” A shadow of pain passed across his features. “It’s a shame I live with every day.”
“You can’t hide,” Kyle yelled from outside.
“Be patient,” Aunt B fired back.
Poppy had no idea why Luke felt ashamed. “Your mamm lost her foot in a farming accident. How could that be your fault?”
He seemed to lose his strength. Exhaling slowly, he pulled out the nearest chair from the table, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. “My dat was sick. Mamm and I had to care for the farm. She asked me to help her fix the flatbed. I was full of pride and told her I could hold up the wagon bed by myself, but I turned out to be too weak. It slipped out of my hands and crushed her foot.” His voice cracked into a thousand pieces. “They had to amputate. My dat was furious that I was the cause of it. He taught me better than that, and I let him down. I promised myself I would never let something like that happen again.”
She reached out her good hand and laid it on his shoulder. He flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “That is Gotte’s burden, Luke. Not yours.”
With his hands still covering his face, he shook his head. “It’s my mamm’s burden. A woman should never have to do anything that a man is better suited to do.”
She knelt at his feet so she could look him in the eye. “You are talking to the wrong per
son. I don’t think a man is better suited for anything. And sometimes a woman doesn’t have a choice about the situation she’s in.”
“Also my fault.” He took her hands, stood up, and pulled her with him. “I don’t so much like you kneeling at my feet.”
She tried to ignore the pleasant sensation of his rough hands. Now was not the time to lose her wits. “You take too much responsibility for things that belong to Gotte.”
“I take care of what I can with Gotte’s help.”
“That’s why you were so nervous about me using the hammer.” She curled her lips. “But I won the race.”
His eyes flashed with a scolding. “That’s why I am so nervous about you using anything.”
Five loud knocks came at the door. “Elizabeth Kiem, let us in.”
Aunt B puffed out her cheeks with air and then slowly released it. “I was hoping he’d get tired of waiting and go home.”
Before they opened that door, Poppy had to make Luke understand. “I forced you to let me use the hammer, Luke. If I am careless enough to hit my own thumb, that’s my fault, not yours.”
He slumped his shoulders. “It feels like my fault.”
Aunt Bitsy peeked out the window. “I hate to interrupt, especially when you two are finally getting somewhere, but Kyle looks to be foaming at the mouth.”
Luke pled with his eyes. “Poppy, I would never forgive myself if I let you go out there unprotected. I need to make everything right again. Won’t you let me?”
Gone was the gruff, rough-around-the-edges boy who wouldn’t let her play football and used a drill behind her back. In his place stood a vulnerable, aching young man, the heavy responsibility of the family farm thrust upon him, the guilt of his mater’s accident choking him like a rope around his neck.
Poppy’s determination crumbled like dry leaves in late autumn, and for probably the first time in her life, she gave in. Sort of. Her lips curved into a conciliatory smile. “We won’t be unprotected if we go out together.”
He gave a low growl, but it was more of an I-surrender growl than an I’m-mad-at-you growl. “Will you at least stand behind me?”
She opened her mouth to protest, but the anxiety in his eyes made her change her mind. She would let Luke win this one time, but only because he might die of anxiety if she didn’t. She took a deep breath and nodded.