Page 29 of Outsider

“I’m not going to let you railroad me.” Tossing him a drop-dead glower, she taps the screen with her index finger. “I want immunity and I want it in writ—”

She cuts the word short when we hear the back door slam. The kitchen window shudders with the change in pressure. Boots sound on the floor. The rustle of coats being hung. The chatter of children speaking in Deitsch. Adam Lengacher appears in the doorway, takes in the sight of us sitting at the table, the lingering tension in the air. Not for the first time, I feel as if we’re intruding, as if we’ve brought something profane into his home, a toxin his family shouldn’t be exposed to.

I introduce the two men and they shake hands.

“You’re a police?” Adam asks.

“With the State of Ohio,” Tomasetti tells him.

Adam’s eyes flick to Gina, the sling strapped over her shoulder. “You’re feeling better?”

She nods. “I’ll be sure to thank Joe next time I see him.”

“Suzy had her baby calf!” Sammy interjects. The boy’s cheeks are blushed with pink. He’s got bits of hay in his hair, more stuck on a face that’s wet with melting snow.

“He’s cold, but he’s going to be okay,” Lizzie tells us.

“We put them in the warmest stall and put down extra straw.” This from Annie.

“Datt said we might have to bring him in the house,” Sammy adds.

“What about the misht?” Annie asks, using the Deitsch word for manure.

Grinning, Sammy pokes her shoulder. “You have to pick it up.”

“No!” the girl squeals, but she’s on to his prank.

The sight of the children’s banter warms me, reminds me of an era of my own life when things were simpler and a lot more innocent.

“I’m glad mama cow and her kalb are okay,” I tell them.

“He’s black with one white ear and one black one,” Lizzie tells me.

“We’re going to name him Lucy,” the youngest girl puts in.

Sammy snickers. “But he’s a boy!”

Lizzie puts her hand on her little sister’s shoulder. “We’re going to call him Leroy, not Lucy.”

Adam brings his hands together. “Sammy, I think there might be some snow on the front porch that needs shoveling.”

The boy grins, suddenly shy, and he slinks past us into the living room.

“Lizzie and Annie, this is a good day to beat rugs. Upstairs and down. Go on now. Hang them just outside the door. Use that old broom.”

Joining hands, the two girls leave the kitchen.

An awkward silence ensues when the children are gone. The sense that we’ve overstayed our welcome sits like a brick in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like that this man and his family have been dragged into the situation with Gina. But I don’t know how to remedy it. Other than loading Gina onto the snowmobile and transporting her to the farm where Tomasetti and I live in Wooster—or the police station in Painters Mill—there is no viable solution. At least not until the storm abates.

Gina breaks the silence. “Adam, I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done. You saved my life. You opened your home to me.”

“You were lost and cold and hurt,” he tells her.

“The circumstances were questionable,” she admits, “and yet you stepped in anyway. Thank you.”

“The only time to look down on your neighbor is when you’re bending over to help them.” His gaze moves to the sling. “Joe is a good doctor, no?”

“Best animal doctor I’ve ever been to.” She grins and, in that instant, looks like the woman I knew all those years ago. The one who was anxious to make her mark. The young police officer who would never compromise her ethics. Once again, I’m reminded of the seriousness of the charges against her and the possibility that I’m too personally involved to see the situation clearly.