The Prodigal Son Returns

Chapter Two

Bram kept to the shady south side of the gravel road, letting his pace settle into a steady walk that would eat up the four miles to Matthew’s place. It was pure luck his brother-in-law knew about that horse for sale. A week of walking was enough for him. Selling his Studebaker had been a hard sacrifice to make, but it had been a gift from Kavanaugh.

Too risky to keep.

Everything was risky since that night on Chicago’s West Side when Elwood Peters had told him his cover was blown.

Bram loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar to give himself some air. It had been just this hot that April night, but Bram had gone cold with Peters’s terse “You’ve been made.”

How had Kavanaugh known he was the source for the feds? He had been with the gangster for nearly all of the twelve years he had been in Chicago, from the time he had hit the streets with hayseed still stuck in his hair. Kavanaugh had taken him in, taught him some street smarts, shown him the ropes during Prohibition. Man, what a green kid he had been back then—but Kavanaugh liked him, said he had promise. Sure, some of the other guys had been jealous of him, but nobody messed with one of Kavanaugh’s boys.

But it was Elwood Peters who had made a man of him. The Prohibition agent had seen his potential and recruited him to be an informant.

Bram shook his head. No, Peters had done more than just recruit him. He had saved his life. Before Peters came along, Bram had been on the same track as the rest of Kavanaugh’s boys—just waiting for his chance to take the boss down. Even though he had seen what happened to the guy who made his move and failed, Bram didn’t care. What did he have to live for, anyway?

Then he had run into Peters. Over the past ten years, Peters’s job had changed from Prohibition agent, to Treasury agent, to the Federal Bureau, and he had taken Bram with him as his eyes on the street. It had worked out well for both of them.

Bram had shared everything with the older man—everything except his past and his real name. Peters knew him as Dutch, the name Kavanaugh had dubbed him with the first time they met. Bram had added a last name—Sutter—and from then on, Bram Lapp had disappeared into the hazy mist of fading years.

Until now.

Peters was sure Kavanaugh had moved his operation to northern Indiana after Bram’s information had led to the breakup of his gang in Chicago, but he needed to know where the boss had gone. Bram was supposed to go with Kavanaugh when he left town, but once his cover was blown, he had to change his plans. He’d be dead if Kavanaugh found him, but he couldn’t let the gangster escape, either. He’d never be safe until Kavanaugh was out of the way.

Killer Kavanaugh never gave up until he had his revenge.

And then Bram had come up with this new, harebrained idea. It seemed like such a good idea in Chicago—go undercover as himself, Bram Lapp, the green Amish kid from Indiana.

But he wasn’t green anymore. He had seen and done things the Amish kid he had been couldn’t imagine. He had the skills to keep himself alive on the Chicago streets, but would those same skills be useful to him here as he hunted for Kavanaugh’s new center of operations? They had to be.

Bram whooshed out a breath. Meanwhile, here he was slipping away into the life he had left twelve years ago. It wasn’t what he had expected. Not at all. The deeper he went into this cover, the more he was losing the edge he needed to keep him alive. But without the cover, without immersing himself into this community, it would be impossible to fade into the background the way he needed to.

And there was only one way to fade into this background: he needed to look and act the same as every other Amishman around. Any difference would make him stick out like a sore thumb.

The list. He ticked off the items in his mind as he walked. He had bought the buggy and horse. Next would be a place to farm, equipment and workhorses, and church every other Sunday. And clothes. This drape suit that helped him blend in on Chicago’s West Side stuck out too much around here. Besides, his jacket was ruined after sliding in the dirt with that little Amish girl.

That little girl was something else. So much like his younger sisters at that age...

Bram took off his felt hat and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get the air to his scalp. Why did remembering his sisters make him think of a wife and a family?

The curve of Ellie Miller’s neck eased into his thoughts. He closed his eyes to capture the moment she’d faced him on her back porch. One strand of soft brown hair had escaped from under her kapp and fallen softly along the side of her face. She’d have to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. What would it feel like if he did it for her? He saw the smile she would give him as he caressed her cheek....

Bram stopped the direction of his thoughts with a firm shake of his head. He knew a woman like that wouldn’t even look at him. Not Bram Lapp. Not with his past. And not with the job he had to do. No, a woman like that wasn’t for him. He’d rather take his chances alone.

Wheels crunching through the gravel on the road behind him made Bram sidestep into the cover of some overhanging branches. Buggy wheels and horse’s hooves, not a car. He rolled his shoulders as he waited for the buggy to overtake him. He had to stop being so jumpy. No one knew he was here. Even Peters only had a vague idea of the direction he had gone.

“Bram!”

Bram waved as the buggy caught up to him, and his brother-in-law pulled the horse to a halt.

“You’ll be wanting a ride.” Matthew was a man to get to his point quickly.

“Ja, denki.”

The back of the buggy held boxes of supplies, and a frantic peeping rose from one as the buggy lurched forward.

“You bought some chicks?”

“Ja. I thought the Yoders might have some to trade for a couple bales of hay.” Matthew looked at Bram with a grin. “Annie loves getting new chicks.”

Bram let this idea settle in his mind. His sister hadn’t asked for chicks, as far as he knew. Matthew had gotten them because he thought Annie might like them. Was that how a real husband acted?

“Did you find the Stoltzfus farm?” Matthew asked.

“Ja. John had a nice gelding for sale, just as you said. I’ll pick him up on Tuesday.”

“I knew John would take care of you. He’s a good man.”

“Ja, he is.”

A good man. Bram hadn’t known too many of those. He slid a glance at Matthew. His little sister had found a good man.

Matthew pointed ahead with the buggy whip. “Looks like the Jackson place is for sale. It might be the kind of place you’ve been looking for.”

He stopped the horse at the end of the lane. The for-sale sign at the roadside looked new, but the graying barn and leaning fence posts were witness to the toll the recent hard times had taken on the English farmers. Forty acres, the sign said, along with the name of the bank that held the foreclosure. A too-familiar sign these past few years.

“The Jackson place? Do you know why they lost the farm?”

“I’m not sure, but I could see it coming. Ralph Jackson was too quick to spend his money as soon as he sold his crops, and then he’d buy the next year’s seed on credit. He only owned the place about five years, but it was long enough to work it into the ground.”

“It’s vacant. Let’s look around.”

Matthew pulled the buggy into the lane, and they walked to the barn. Bram examined the siding, the beams and the fences. The barn needed a lot of work, but the structure was sound.

“Forty acres is a good size,” Matthew said, looking at the land around them. “There’s a creek running through the meadow. Good cropland, too, with the right management.”

Bram turned to the house. It might be livable with some work, but he had the time. He needed a farm, and this one fit. All he had to do was go to the bank, sign the papers and hand over the cash, and it would be his. Another item checked off his list.

“The bank on the sign—isn’t it in Goshen?”

“Ja. I won’t be using my buggy tomorrow. You could take it into town if you want to talk to them about it.”

“I’ll go in the morning, first thing.”

Then again, maybe not first thing. This might be another opportunity to get John Stoltzfus firmly on his side, and he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity. He could stop by the Stoltzfus farm before he headed into Goshen tomorrow. A little more grease wouldn’t hurt, and besides, old John was pretty savvy. He’d have some good pointers on how to get this farm back on its feet.

It wouldn’t hurt to get another glimpse of Ellie, either. Even if she wasn’t for him, she was sure a beautiful doll, and looking didn’t cost a thing.

* * *

Ellie’s toes churned the loose black soil between the strawberry rows, soil that ran in muddy rivers as she splashed water on each plant. Her practiced steps kept just ahead of the mud, and she tipped the watering can in time to an Englisch hymn she had learned in school.

“‘I once was lost, but now am found...’” The fourth row finished, she stopped to ease her aching muscles and looked back at her work.

Ach, even with daily watering, the plants were barely alive. This hot, dry spell was unusual for May. One good rain would set the young plants off to a good start, but as Ellie glanced up at the clear blue sky, she knew it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Until then, it was up to her to keep them alive. She started down the next row, humming as she went.

A warm breeze carried her sisters’ voices to her and told her the scholars were home. Mandy and Rebecca ran up the lane to the big house, but Johnny trudged behind them, his head down. There must have been trouble at school again. Setting the watering can on the ground, Ellie closed the gate to the field and went to meet him as he walked alone to the Dawdi Haus.

“Hello, Johnny.” The six-year-old looked up at her when she spoke, his face streaked where one tear had escaped and made a track down his dirty red cheek. What happened this time?

“Are you all right?”

“Ja.” Johnny tipped his head down as he spoke, drawing the word out in his telltale sign that things were far from all right. There was only one way to get him to talk to her, and that was to pretend she didn’t notice his attitude.

“Run on into the house and change into your work clothes while I get your snack. Dawdi’s waiting for you in the barn.”

Johnny looked at the barn, then at his feet. His straw hat hid his face from her, but she knew the look he wore. Daniel had always had the same look when he’d tried to hide something from her, and Johnny was so much like his father.

“Johnny, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Dawdi doesn’t need me to help. He has Benjamin and Reuben. They always say I’m too little to do anything.”

“You may be littler than Benjamin and Reuben, but I remember when they were your age. They worked with Dawdi in the barn just like you do.”

“But it’s different for them. Dawdi is their dat.”

Ach, Johnny. What could she do for a boy who missed his own dat?

“Let’s go into the house and get your snack, then you can go out to the barn. Your dawdi likes having you work with him.”

Johnny took the first bite from his cookie while Ellie poured a glass of milk for him. Susan came out of the bedroom, her face flushed with sleep, and peered into Johnny’s face as she climbed into her chair.

“Johnny’s been crying.”

“Haven’t.” Johnny’s contradiction was muffled by the sugar cookie in his mouth.

“Ja, you have. You cried at school again.”

“Susan, that’s enough.” Ellie could see Johnny’s tears threatening to start again, so she pulled out a chair and sat next to him. “Were you dawdling again?”

Johnny took a drink of his milk. “I was looking out the window.”

Ellie sighed. Johnny was always looking somewhere else, forgetting whatever the task at hand should be, forgetting his schoolwork, his chores... She did the same thing, letting food burn on the stove while she looked out the window, letting the memories of her past drown the reality of the present.

“You have to pay more attention at school.” She forced the words out. It was her duty, even though she would rather just gather him into her lap the way she had when he was Susan’s age. She wished she could give him what he really needed, but that was impossible. She couldn’t erase the past year, and she couldn’t replace his father.

Levi Zook’s face chose that moment to intrude, but she turned the memory firmly away. The widower had made it clear he wanted Ellie to be the mother for his children. But with his own brood, Ellie knew he would never be able to fit Johnny into his life the way her son needed him to. If she ever married again, it would have to be to someone who would be able to take Daniel’s place in her life and her children’s lives...and there was no one who could do that.

Bram Lapp’s devilish grin popped into her thoughts. For sure, no Englischer could ever take her Daniel’s place, either.

Johnny stared at her, his eyes dark and distant, and she knew she had failed him again. When had her little boy turned into this sad, sullen child? She couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed, the last time she had seen him join in a game.

He stuffed the rest of the cookie into his mouth and went to the bedroom to change his clothes.

Ja, he needed his father. Someone like Daniel, who would give his life to a growing boy, who would teach him, protect him...

“Memmi,” Susan said, interrupting her thoughts. “That Englischer man that was here? He saved me from the horses.”

“Dawdi’s horses weren’t going to hurt you.” Ellie nibbled on a cookie. That same Englischer man had been intruding on her own thoughts all afternoon. Only a city man and her daughter would think Dat’s gentle draft horses would hurt them. They were too well trained.

“Ja, they were. When Henny Penny ran away, that man saved me and her from the horses.” Her eyes widened as she rolled her arm in the air. “He catched me and flew to the grass.” She took a drink of her milk and then looked at Ellie again. “He’s brave, Memmi.”

Ach, if she could have Susan’s confidence. If only she could just forget that Bram Lapp, but the Englischer’s grin danced in front of her eyes. He had really thought Susan was in danger from the horses. What kind of man would ruin his fancy clothes for a little girl and her pet chicken?

* * *

“It’s good to hear the children playing outside in the evening.” Mam rinsed another plate in the simple, immaculate kitchen of the big house.

“Ja, though I think they’ll be disappointed when they don’t find any lightning bugs.” Ellie dried the plate and placed it in the cupboard with the others. In Mam’s kitchen, nothing was ever out of place, from the dishes in the cupboard to Dat’s Bible and prayer book on the shelf behind his chair.

Mam chuckled. “Children always start hunting for them much too early in the year.” She scrubbed at a stubborn spot on the casserole dish. “What did you think about what Dat was telling us at supper?”

“About Bram Lapp? I don’t know.”

“It isn’t unheard of, what he’s doing.” Mam rinsed the casserole dish and laid it on the drain board.

“Just because it happens doesn’t mean that it’s right.” Ellie was surprised at the anger behind her words. “A person shouldn’t flip-flop when it comes to Gott.”

“I’ve seen others come to their senses after a taste of worldly life.” Mam swished the water in the dishpan and found a stray spoon.

“Twelve years is a bit more than a taste.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes while Ellie wiped off the table, thinking back twelve years. She had been fourteen, just finishing up at school and beginning to notice the boys, wondering which one would be her husband. If she had met Bram then, would he have given her one of his grins? The thought brought a smile to her face.

Bram must be a few years older than her. Since Dat had said he had gone to Chicago while in his Rumspringa, he would have been around seventeen back then, which would make him twenty-nine now. Amish men usually didn’t stay bachelors that long, but she didn’t know about the Englisch. Maybe their custom was to wait longer before marrying.

“Do you know his mother or any of his sisters?” Ellie straightened the chairs around the big table.

“I knew his mother years ago—we were girls together—but I lost touch with her after she married and moved to the Shipshewana district. I heard she passed on a few years ago, and her husband, too.”

“So if he’s from Shipshewana, why isn’t he settling up there?”

“Maybe he’s looking for a wife.”

Ellie shot a glance at her mother. For sure, the corners of her mouth were turned up in a sly grin. She sighed. Lately Mam thought every unattached man could be a new husband for her, but Ellie hadn’t told her that she never intended to marry again.

“We don’t know what he’s looking for. He could be here to...to...”

“To what?” Mam’s face was serene, innocent. How could she not know what the plans of an Englischer from Chicago might be? She must have heard the

stories about gangsters and speakeasies. There were all kinds of worldly evils in a city like Chicago.

“Ach, I don’t know.”

“Daughter, we need to give the man a chance. Dat asked us to treat him as a friend. Surely we can do that much.”

“Ja, I suppose...”

A friend. Ja, he was friendly enough, but could anyone trust an Englisch man? An outsider?

Chapter Three

The next morning’s sunshine brought a promise of another hot day to come. Why was it that weeds always grew no matter what the weather, while the garden plants wilted in the heat? Ellie’s hoe chopped through another clump of crabgrass growing between the rows of beans.

“See? This one is a dandelion.”

Ellie glanced at Susan and Danny just in time to see the baby put a yellow flower in his mouth.

“Ne, ne, don’t eat it!” Susan’s voice was full of disgust.

Ellie smiled as she watched Susan rescue the flower from Danny’s mouth. What a help she was. Daniel would have loved to see how his little dishwasher was growing.

The sound of buggy wheels in gravel interrupted her thoughts. If visitors were stopping by, Mam might need some help.

“Who’s that?” Susan asked.

“I’m not sure.” Ellie straightened up and shaded her eyes from the morning sun as the buggy stopped at the barn. “It looks like Matthew Beachey’s, but that isn’t Matthew driving.”