with the juvenile court personnel in Wooster. Jason hasn’t yet been released to his parents, but he will be soon. “Once he’s released, he’ll have to return for some court appearances. The rest is up to the judge and juvenile court system. He may be incarcerated for a time, or he may get off with community service. The one thing I can tell you is that the judge and the court will be fair.”
She doesn’t make a sound, but tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “Okay.”
I give her a moment, use the time to get my words in order, hoping she’ll listen. “I learned a valuable lesson when I was about your age,” I tell her.
The girl raises her gaze to mine.
“You can’t control what other people do. The one thing you can control is how you react.” I let my expression soften. “It’s a good rule of thumb.”
She offers a tremulous smile, swipes the tears from her cheeks. “Thank you, Chief Burkholder.”
I can’t help but think about the challenges that lie ahead for this young couple. Even more if the relationship lasts and she becomes more involved with the Amish.
“Where are you two headed?” I ask.
Noah motions toward his parents’ farm ahead. “Ashley’s going to help me unload hay.”
“Since his arm’s in a sling,” she says, “I figure it’s the least I can do.”
“In that case, I’ll let you get to work.” I nod at Noah. “Tell your parents hello.”
He tips his hat at me. “I’ll do it.”
The two young people exchange a grin and the buggy pulls away. I’m smiling when I put the Explorer in gear and head toward Painters Mill.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
SHAMED
Coming in 2019
Prologue
No one went to the old Schattenbaum place anymore. No one had lived there since the flood back in 1974 washed away the crops and swept the outhouse and one of the barns into Painters Creek. Rumor had it Mr. Schattenbaum’s 1960 Chevy Corvair was still sitting in the gully where the water left it.
The place had never been grand. Even in its heyday, the house was rundown. The roof shingles were rusty and curled. Mr. Schattenbaum had talked about painting the house, but he’d never gotten around to it. Sometimes, he didn’t even cut the grass. Despite its dilapidated state, once upon a time the Schattenbaum house had been the center of Mary Yoder’s world, filled with laughter, love, and life.
The Schattenbaums had six kids, and even though they weren’t Amish, Mary’s mamm had let her visit—and Mary did just that every chance she got. The Schattenbaums had four spotted ponies, after all; they had baby pigs, a slew of donkeys, a big tom turkey, and too many goats to count. Mary had been ten years old that last summer, and she’d had the time of her life.
It was hard for her to believe fifty years had passed; she was a grandmother now, a widow, and had seen her sixtieth birthday just last week. Every time she drove the buggy past the old farm, the years melted away and she always thought: if a place could speak, the stories it would tell.
Mary still lived in her childhood home, with her daughter and son-in-law now, half a mile down the road. She made it a point to walk this way when the opportunity presented itself. In spring, she cut the irises that still bloomed in the flower bed at the back of the house. In summer, she came for the peonies. In fall, it was all about the walnuts. According to Mr. Schattenbaum, his grandfather had planted a dozen or so black walnut trees. They were a hundred years old now and flourished where the backyard had once been. Every fall, the trees dropped thousands of nuts that kept Mary baking throughout the year—and her eight grandchildren well supplied with walnut layer cake.
The house looked much the same as it did all those years ago. The barn where Mary had spent so many afternoons cooing over those ponies had collapsed in a windstorm a few years back. The rafters and siding were slowly being reclaimed by a jungle of vines, overgrowth, and waist-high grass.
“Grossmammi! Do you want me to open the gate?”
Mary looked over at the girl on the seat beside her, and her heart soared. She’d brought her granddaughters with her to help pick up walnuts. Annie was five and the picture of her mamm at that age: Blond hair that easily tangled. Blue eyes that cried a