"You're a fucking cynic, you know that, don't you?" I muttered.
"No, I'm a pragmatist, my friend," he said with a smile.
"Same difference," I said as I shot him a dirty look.
"No, it really isn't," he replied seriously. "A cynic thinks everyone's aim is to screw him. A pragmatist realizes that everyone will, but doesn't take it personally."
"Fuck you, Bugsy," I said as I turned and stormed away.
"See you at home!" Bugsy called after me.
I marched out of the club and headed back toward Bugsy's apartment, angry and feeling more alone than I ever had before.
Chapter Seven
Grace
We pulled into the driveway of my family's home a few hours after leaving Chicago, and after I thanked my driver and paid him, I turned and took in the familiar sight of the white house set off away from the road. I'd changed into my Amish cotton dress at the last rest stop, but had waited to put on my kapp until I got out of the car. It felt stiff and confining, and I hated the way it covered my hair and made me look like every other woman in Corner Grove. But that was the point.
The neatly maintained yard and my mother's small vegetable garden were perfectly aligned with the laundry line Dat had strung off to one side. It was achingly empty on a day when it should have been full of bedding, clothing, and towels. To the left of the house was the barn where Dat kept the buggy and his farming equipment in addition to the hay that was harvested each fall and used to feed the three horses and two cows during the winter.
Off to the left of the barn was another, smaller barn where Blackie, and Belle, our buggy and plow horses, lived with Greta and Genevieve, the family milk cows. Dat had let Faith and me name the cows when he'd first bought them, and we'd settled on names that sounded glamorous. When the Bishop had frowned and told Dat that it wasn't proper for Amish girls to be thinking about such worldly things, Dat had simply nodded to acknowledge his brother's displeasure and then sat us down for a chat about worldly pursuits.
As I looked at the barn, I could hear Dat's deep voice asking Faith and me if we understood why the Bishop was unhappy with the choice of names. We'd
both shook our heads and Dat had explained that if we were choosing the names as a way of honoring God our Father, then the names were an appropriate tribute, but if we were choosing them because we wanted the cows to become more glamorous and worldly, then there were going to be problems. Faith and I had giggled at Dat's reasoning, and quickly agreed that our cows' names were Godly names. Once we'd clarified our rationale, Dat had kissed our heads and sent us off to help Mamm in the garden.
The tears threatened to rise again as I thought about all the ways in which Mamm and Dat raised us to be good, Amish girls who also felt free to make our own choices. I took a deep breath and looked over to see Verity sitting on the steps holding a bowl of shelled peas in her lap.
I could see that her eyes were puffy and red, and as soon as she was close enough, she threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly.
"I'm so glad you're home, Grace," she said choking back a sob. "Danny doesn't know about Mamm and Dat yet. How are we going to tell him, Grace?"
"Shhh, shhh," I said patting her kapp-covered head. "We'll figure it all out and everything will be okay. I promise."
"Oh Grace!" she sobbed into my shoulder. "They're gone! How will we survive without them?"
I let her cry knowing that she had most likely been keeping all of this in since she'd learned the awful news this morning. I wrapped my arms tightly around my sister and rubbed her back through the rough, cotton dress she wore as she released her grief and anguish while fighting back my own. I was the oldest Miller daughter, and even though I'd chosen a life outside of the Amish community I'd grown up in, I still felt the weight of responsibility for my family. I would have to be strong for all of them as we found a way to make peace with this devastating loss.
"Verity," I said after her sobs had turned to sniffles. "Where are Faith, Hope, and Honor?"
"Faith and Hope are with their families at their own homes, but they said they'd be here tonight after supper," she said as her voice threatened to crack. "I don't know where Honor is. No one has seen her since this morning. I'm worried about her, Grace. When Jacob came to tell us what had happened, she didn't say a word. She just walked out the door and disappeared."
"She can't have gone far," I said feeling certain I knew where Honor was probably hiding out. "We'll find her. Now, what about Danny?"
"I've kept him busy all day, but he's been asking for Mamm since after dinner," she said. "I didn't know what to tell him, Grace. He's not going to understand this!"
"We'll help him, Verity," I said as I patted her cheek reassuringly. "He might not understand, but he'll be okay and he'll know he's safe and loved. We're all going to be okay."
"How do you know that?" she asked as her eyes filled with tears. "We don't have parents any longer. We're alone. We're orphans!"
"Verity, we still have each other," I said as I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her to the front steps. "And if we have that, we're all going to be fine. Why don't you get supper started, I'll come help you."
She nodded as she picked up the shelled peas and headed into the house. I stepped onto the porch and looked out over the yard taking it all in when I caught a glimpse of something moving in the loft over the barn. I set my case down and walked toward the barn. I quickly climbed the ladder to the loft and called out, "Honor, are you up here?"
I got no reply, but I heard movement on the other side of a large hay bale, so I walked around and found my youngest sister, barefoot and without a kapp, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest. She didn't look up when I called her name, so I knelt next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. She shrugged it off without looking at me.
"Honor, it's okay to be mad," I said softly. "I'm mad, too. And sad."