Page 81 of Rage

“Wilma Borntrager?” I ask.

She gives a reluctant nod. “Wilma doesn’t like me much.”

“Does she live here?”

She nods.

“Does anyone else live here?” I ask.

“Sometimes.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know their names,” she says. “Just … different girls. Sometimes a man.”

I’ve no doubt there’s a lot more going on than meets the eye. Or perhaps more than she can say in front of her younger siblings. “This is an odd hour for you to be picking up your things,” I say. “Especially with your little brothers in tow.”

Noah puffs out his chest. “No one’s going to bother her with me around.”

I look at him. “Who would bother her?”

He tightens his mouth, looks away.

I look at Mervin. The younger boy blinks and swallows hard. “I just came because I woke up.”

I turn my attention to Rose. “Where are you living now?” I ask.

“Home,” she tells me. “With my parents.”

“She’s going to get baptized,” Mervin asserts.

Rose elbows him, rolls her eyes.

“Who are your parents?” I ask.

“Clarence and Esther Yoder,” she says.

I know of the family. They’re Swartzentruber Amish with half a dozen kids and live on a hog farm a few miles to the south. “Where are your parents this evening?” I ask.

“They went to a wedding,” she tells me. “In Geauga County.”

“They’re spending the night,” Mervin adds.

“Do they know you’re here?” I ask.

The young woman turns her attention to the ground, studies the beaten-down grass as if it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever encountered. I look at Noah and his eyes skate away. Same with the little guy.

“Chief?

I turn at the sound of Pickles’s voice and see the yellow glow of his flashlight beam as he comes around the corner of the house.

“Everything okay here?” He reaches us, suspicious old man’s eyes flicking from me to the young Amish people.

“Everything’s fine,” I tell him. “Miss Yoder and her brothers stopped by to pick up a few of her things.”

Pickles wasn’t born yesterday; his eyes narrow on mine. “Uh-huh.”

“I’ll escort her inside so she can get what she needs.” I motion to the boys. “Pickles, these are Clarence and Esther Yoder’s kids. Would you mind escorting them home?”