Breaking Silence

“I sure would appreciate that.” Slabaugh looks relieved. “She worked herself up so bad, she threw up.”

That makes me think of her pregnancy, and I wonder if he knows. I wonder how she’ll manage at such a young age without a woman in her life. “Do you know she’s going to have a baby?” I ask.

“She told me.” He shakes his head, looks down at the ground. “I don’t understand, but I’ll support her.” His gaze meets mine. “This is all so new to me. I’m doing my best, but I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

Silence falls over us, and Tomasetti gets us back on track. “We’re here to get final statements.”

“You need to speak with the children?” Slabaugh grimaces. “I really hate to put them through anything more.”

“I’ll do my best not to upset them,” Tomasetti assures him.

Slabaugh glances at me, and I know he’s wondering why I’m here. “I’m on administrative leave,” I explain. “I just wanted to see the kids. See how they’re doing.”

Nodding, Slabaugh motions toward the house. “Well, we may as well get this over with. I’ll make coffee. I think Salome’s in her room. Ike and Samuel—” He looks over where the two boys were a moment ago, cups his hands around his mouth, and calls out their names. “It’s like trying to keep up with a tornado.” But he smiles. “They’re probably in the barn. Go on to the house while I fetch them.”

He starts toward the barn; on impulse, I stop him. “I’ll get them,” I say. “You two go ahead and get started.”

He nods. Tomasetti gives me a knowing look, then the two men start toward the house. I stand there on the sidewalk and watch them disappear inside. I’m not sure why I’m delaying my meeting with Salome. I want to see her. But I don’t know how she will react. I’m afraid she’ll blame me for Mose’s death.

Knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it, I head for the barn. Around me, a light rain has begun to fall. A flock of crows caws from the plowed field to my left. Beyond, cattle are bawling. Inside the barn, one of the dogs is barking.

The sliding door stands open a foot or so. I walk in and pause. The interior is dim; little light comes in through the dirty windows. The smell of hay and damp earth mingles with the odor of motor oil and rubber from the tractor that sits to my right. I’m about to call out to the boys, when I hear them whispering. Smiling, I start toward the wood steps that will take me to the loft. Something in their voices stops me. I stand there, listening to them over the rain pinging against the tin roof. Inexplicably, the hairs at my nape stand on end.

I’m too far away to make out individual words, but close enough to discern that Ike is crying and that there’s fear in Samuel’s voice.

Moving to the foot of the loft stairs, I look up and listen. I hear more whispering. I’m about to start climbing, when I realize the boys aren’t in the loft, but hiding in the niche beneath the steps. They’ve built a fort out of hay. The opening is about a foot square and covered by a burlap bag. Rounding the steps, I pause outside the opening and squat. I’m about to shove the burlap bag aside and peek in, when I hear words that freeze my blood.

“She’ll put you back in the poop pit!”

“I don’t care. I’m gonna tell Uncle Adam.” The fear in Ike’s voice drives a stake right through my heart. He’s crying openly, his voice trembling with each word. “I’m scared.”

“You can’t tell,” Samuel hisses. “You heard what she said. No one will believe us.”

“But I’m scared, Sammy!”

“If we tell, they’ll send us to the jail for bad Englischer kids. They hate Amish kids. They take away your clothes and make you run around naked. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Ike sobs, sounding miserable and hopeless. “I want Mamm! Why did Mamm have to die? Why can’t she be here? I want her back.”

“Shhh. Quiet. You’re acting like a big baby.”

“Salome is bad, Sammy.”

“She is not!”

“I saw her steal Datt’s money outta the jar.”

“Did not, you big liar.”

“She said if I told, she’d cut my head off while I was asleep.” Ike cries so hard, he begins choking and coughing.

“Come on, Ikey.” Samuel’s voice softens. “Salome ain’t all bad. She promised to take care of us and let us do whatever we want.”

“She promised to come back for us after throwing us in all that poop, but she didn’t! It’s her fault we had to go to the hospital!”

“She said Mose wouldn’t let her come.”

“She blames everything on Mose! She’s mean! I hate her!”

“Stop crying, you big fat baby. We got to go inside.”

“I ain’t going! I don’t ever want to see her again.” Another round of sobs. “I want Mamm!”

I don’t hear the rest of the tirade. My mind is still trying to absorb the words I heard earlier. She promised to come back for us after throwing us in all that poop, but she didn’t!

The words pummel my brain, but I resist their meaning. All I can think is that the boys are mistaken. They’re grieving and confused, and their imaginations have gotten the better of them. Squatting outside the small fort, I’m vaguely aware of my heart knocking against my ribs, my breaths coming short and fast. Disbelief is a vortex inside my head. More than anything, I want to believe I’ve misinterpreted what I just overheard. Surely there’s a logical explanation. All I have to do is call them out here and ask them to explain.

But deep inside, I know I didn’t misunderstand. Those two boys just revealed that it was Salome who pushed them into the manure pit, not Mose. The truth of that is almost too much to bear. Grief slashes at me, a clawed animal trapped inside me and trying tear its way out. The pain is so tremendous that I press a hand to my abdomen, grab hold of a beam with the other.

“God,” I whisper. “God.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I push myself to my feet. I take several deep breaths, stifle the emotions rampaging through me. “Ike? Samuel? It’s Kate. Can you come out here, please?”

The burlap is yanked aside and Samuel’s pale face appears. The look he gives me makes me feel like I’m the Grim Reaper and his time has come. Fear and guilt swim in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am?” he squeaks.

“You’re not in any trouble, honey,” I say. “Just come out here. Tell Ike to come, too. Okay?”

“’Kay,” he says, and ducks back inside.

Rubbing my hand over my face, I walk around to the steps and collapse onto the lowest one. With numb hands, I unclip my phone from my belt and hit the speed dial for Tomasetti. “John,” I whisper.

“What’s wrong?” he says without preamble.

“Come out to the barn.” He knows something’s happened; he hears it in my voice. “Leave Salome and Adam inside.”

I hear rustling on the other end, and I know he’s coming, no questions asked. Relief sweeps through me. “I’m on my way.”

Closing my phone, I clip it back onto my belt and lower my face into my hands. I feel sick inside. Sick for these children who’ve already been through so much. But I also feel guilty because I did nothing to protect them. How could I have been so remiss?

Ike and Samuel sidle up to me. I raise my head and look at them through my fingers. “Hey,” I say.

Ike is still crying. His cheeks are red, and I can see clean stripes where his tears made a path through the dirt. Samuel looks guilty and scared, like maybe he’s on the verge of tears, too. They know I overheard them.

“Are you mad at us?” Samuel asks.

“Of course not,” I tell him. “I could never be mad at you guys.”

The reassurance doesn’t seem to help. Ike cries harder, his little chest heaving as he sucks in great gulps of air. Samuel’s lower lip trembles. They stare at me as if I’m going to do them physical harm.

“Why are you guys so upset?” I begin.

Ike is too overcome with crying to answer. Samuel looks down at his Walmart sneakers, and I see a single tear fall to the dirt floor.

“We just miss our mamm and datt,” Samuel says bravely.