Page 70 of Breaking Silence

“I do not know. I’m on my way there. I thought you should know.”

My mind spins through what I’ve just heard. “What was he doing at the Slabaugh place, Bishop?” I can’t keep the accusation from my voice.

“I do not know.” I can tell by the guilt in his voice that the bishop knows exactly why Mose was there. “He must have left when I was in town earlier.”

A hundred questions pound at my brain, but there’s no time to ask them now. “I’m on my way.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

CHAPTER 14

My tires send snow flying when I turn into the lane of the Slabaugh farm. The Explorer fishtails when I hit the gas, but I cut the wheel hard, and I don’t slow down until the house is in sight. As I ran out the door of the station, I asked Lois to call for an ambulance. To my dismay, it’s not here yet. Bishop Troyer’s buggy is nowhere in sight; evidently, he hasn’t arrived yet, either.

Jamming the Explorer into park, I fling open the door and hit the ground running. I sprint to the house and burst inside without knocking. Ike and Samuel meet me in the mudroom.

“Chief Katie!” Samuel cries. “Mose is hurt!”

“He’s all bloody.” Ike clings to his older brother’s shirt, crying. “He’s gonna die just like Mamm and Datt.”

“No one’s going to die,” I tell him.

“But what if he does?” Ike whines.

“Where is he?” Even as I bark out the question, I move past them into the kitchen.

Mose sits slumped in a chair, his elbows on the table. His shirt hangs like a war-torn flag on the back of his chair. I see blood, stark and red against white skin. I wince upon spotting the pink-purple stripes on his back and shoulders. He looks at me, and I steel myself against a recoil. His lip looks like a fat, purple worm that’s been nearly chopped in half by some mean kid. His left eye is swollen. There’s more blood on his chest. Someone worked him over good.

Salome stands over him, pressing a towel to his lip. She’s been crying. Her eyes are red and wet. She glances over at me, but her gaze skitters quickly away. “He needs a doctor,” she murmurs.

I cross to Mose and bend to make eye contact. “How badly are you hurt?” I ask.

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t answer.

“Mose,” I say, pressing. “I’m here to help. How bad are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “Just … shook-up is all.”

“What happened?” Pulling out the chair next to him, I sink into it and lean close to him. “Come on. Talk to me.”

Mose lowers his head. I look at Salome, aware that her hand is shaking. She drops her gaze. Guilt gouges me when I realize they’re more frightened of me and what I might do than they are of whoever did this.

“You’re not in any trouble.” I struggle to keep the intensity out of my voice. “I just need to know what happened. I need to know who did this.”

Mose raises his eyes to mine. He looks miserable, embarrassed and scared. “I was walking on the township road. Two guys in a truck stopped and asked me if I needed a ride. I said no.” He drops his gaze to the tabletop and shrugs. “They jumped me.”

“Do you know them?” I ask. “Do you know their names?”

He shakes his head. “I never saw them before.”

“What did they look like?

“I dunno. Englischers.”

“Can you describe them?”

“Not really. They were older than me. In their twenties, maybe. They wore blue jeans. Cursed a lot.”

“What kind of truck? What color was it?” The questions trip over themselves, coming out in a rush.