“Oh my goodness! What are you doing?” Hannie shouted.
He revved up the chainsaw and reached, imagining George’s smug face in the bark of the tree. Hearing his sanctimonious voice on the wind. “You keeping busy? Other than dog sitting, I mean. I’m going to be a grandpa in June.”
Other voices joined in.
“You mean after you killed him?”
“When Uncle Luke died, I think you did, too.”
“Luke would tell you to forgive.”
“Get down from there.” Hannie’s voice was closer now. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“He sabotaged my propane tank.”
“Dad! Stop.”
That was Noah, shouting over the wind.
His outstretched arm trembled. Rain poured down his face. If he could reach a little farther . . .
“Your propane tank?” That was Evi. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She didn’t understand. Didn’t know how George had been tormenting him.
He turned to explain. His foot slipped off the rung.
Weightlessness.
Fear.
A loud crash.
A rush of pain.
Each breath came in a sharp gasp, the ladder crushing his chest. The cold, wet metal like chains holding him down. Like an unforgiving vise. Like a 1976 Massey Ferguson 235.
Gerrit brought the old tractor to a stop in front of the parlor, his muscles spent and sore.
“Did you finish the north forty?” Luke asked.
Gerrit shook his head. “It’s almost dark.”
“It needs to get done today.”
Gerrit clenched the wheel. Luke wasn’t his boss. They were supposed to be partners.
Luke waited, arms crossed over his chest, exhaustion pinching his face. Gerrit left the tractor idling and hopped down to stand in front of his older brother. “Then you can do it yourself.”
He could smell the grass. Feel the chill of the air as the sun set. If only Luke had gotten in his face and yelled at him. Shoved him. If only there’d been a different job to do.
Luke climbed up into the tractor’s seat with a grunt. “Did you check the oil?”
Gerrit’s nostrils flared. “What do you take me for?”
“Did you lock the brakes?”
“For crying out loud, Luke! I’m not a kid anymore.”
He was always harping on Gerrit about those stupid brakes. About how “Page ten of the manual says, ‘If traveling on a road or highway, the brake pedal interlocking latch must be engaged.’” Blah, blah, blah. Gerrit couldn’t care less about page ten of the manual.
Luke drove off in the waning light without looking back. Gerrit almost shouted after him when he realized he hadn’t engaged the latch, after all. Almost waved his arms to get Luke’s attention when he thought of the narrow road to the north forty and the deer that liked to jump out of the ditch at dusk. But if Luke liked to be the boss so much, he could figure it out himself.
And he had.
Gerrit blinked at the somber sky, his vision fuzzy. His body screaming in agony but unable to move. Was it like this for Luke before their father found him, pinned under the 235 and bleeding out? Did he look at the sky and wonder if there really was a heaven?
“I’m sorry, Luke.” His mouth moved, though he couldn’t tell if any sound came out. “I’m so sorry.”
Hannie’s face appeared above him. “The fence is broken.”
Noah’s voice. “I think he’s broken.”
A blurry figure hovered behind Hannie. “Dad?” The voice was high and strained. “Dad, are you okay?”
Gerrit groaned. “Evi?”
The world would not come into focus. He squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them again. The blurry figure was gone.
A car door slammed.
He tried to sit up, but the pain wouldn’t allow it. “Where’s Evi?”
Hannie looked over her shoulder, then at Noah. But she wouldn’t look at him. “She’s gone.”
CHAPTER
FORTY
Rae folded her arms across her chest and glared at the door. She had no reason to be at Gerrit’s house. He’d made it clear she wasn’t welcome, and her heart still stung from the way he’d dismissed her the other night. But when neither he nor Morgan had shown up for Community Hope this afternoon, a warning in her gut had rung out like an alarm.
Something was wrong.
She let out a deep breath through pursed lips. She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t make sure he was okay. All she had to do was check, and then she’d never come back here again. She hadn’t even bothered to bring Mr. Whiskers.
She knocked.
Hannie answered. “Oh. Hi, Rae, how are you?”
Rae hesitated. What if Gerrit had turned his wife against her, as well? “Fine.”
Hannie’s voice was serious but kind. “I suppose you’re wondering where Gerrit was today.”
She nodded.
“He had a bit of an accident, but he’s going to be okay.” Hannie stepped back and held open the door. “Would you like to come in and say hi?”
Well, not really. Gerrit’s words from the other night still scratched at her. “Go on now.” But Hannie’s face was warm and welcoming, so Rae stepped inside the house.
“He’s in here.” Hannie motioned for Rae to follow, and they walked through the kitchen into the living room.
Gerrit sat in his recliner, pillows tucked all around him and an ice pack resting on his left shoulder. His face was gaunt and his neck discolored as if bruised. When he spotted her, something flashed in his eyes, though she didn’t know what. Was he going to yell at her?
“Hey,” he said.
She stepped a little closer, vaguely aware that Hannie had retreated into the kitchen. “Hey.”
They eyed each other for a moment, then both spoke at once.
“About the other night . . .”
“You look like you got hit by a train.”
Gerrit leaned his head back against the chair. “I feel like it, too. But it was a ladder, not a train.”
“How was the party?”
“I was waiting for Evi to get back from her walk, and I was afraid if she saw you
