Page 56 of The Hidden One

He looked away, rubbed sweat off the back of his neck. “You afraid of getting beat or what?”

The old competitive spirit jumped in my chest. In that moment, I remembered the tink! of the ball against the bat. The solid impact running up my arms. The way the ground blurred beneath me when I ran the bases. The exhilaration of knowing no one could throw far enough or run fast enough to get me out.

“Never had you pegged as a coward, Katie Burkholder.” He pointed at me. “I reckon we’ll find someone else.”

“Baseball’s for little kids, anyway.”

He stood a couple of feet away, but it might as well have been a mile. He was frowning because I’d insulted him. I couldn’t seem to stop. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I be nice?

“I’ll let you get back to your walk.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned away.

Feeling like a heel, I watched him walk away, a small part of me hoping he would look back. That he would turn around, beg me to play, and this time I would agree. Of course, he didn’t, and I could feel something unwieldy build in my chest. Something I didn’t understand and didn’t want to unleash. I stood there, unmoving, watched him put his foot on the buggy step to climb inside.

“I might be able to make it,” I blurted.

“Don’t put yourself out,” he said without looking at me. “You weren’t that good, anyway.”

I felt the insult like a knife sinking into my back and going deep. Tears burned my eyes, but I willed them away. Chest tight, hands clenched, I crossed to him.

“I said I’d play,” I snapped.

I expected him to laugh, the way he used to. But when he turned, he looked at me the way he’d looked at those English boys the day they’d stolen our baseball diamond. With dislike. Disapproval. Worst of all, he looked at me as if I were a stranger. The pain was so intense I couldn’t catch my breath.

A hundred words bombarded my brain. I’m sorry. I want to play. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want everything to be like it was before Daniel Lapp ruined my life.

I don’t remember crossing to him. The world around me blurred. I couldn’t feel my feet or hear the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes. The sun faded to gray. The next thing I knew my arms were around his neck. Somewhere in the backwaters of my mind, I heard someone crying. Shock rattled me when I realized the sobs were coming from me.

Vaguely, I was aware of Jonas stumbling backward. His hands flying up as if to shield himself. His back hit the side of the buggy, ending his retreat. I bumped against him and the contact was electric. He said something, but I didn’t hear the words. I was crying openly now. Pain pouring out.

“You’re not making any sense,” he said.

I didn’t know the first thing about kissing, but I set my mouth against his. My forehead bumped the brim of his hat and knocked it to the ground. He didn’t seem to notice. For a second, I thought he would push me away. I wished he would because I knew I shouldn’t be doing what I was doing.

He didn’t push me away. Instead, his arms went around my shoulders. He tilted his head and kissed me back. Tentatively at first and then harder, so much that his teeth clicked against mine. I felt as if I’d jumped off a cliff and tumbled into a free fall.

“Katie.”

I heard my name as if from a great distance. I didn’t stop. The pain had ebbed and this was the cure. Then I felt his hands on my biceps. He shoved me to arm’s length, gave me a little shake.

I opened my eyes to see Jonas staring at me, breathing as if he’d just run a mile, nostrils flaring, forehead dotted with sweat.

“What are you doing?” He released me as if my skin burned his palms.

The pain rushed back with such ferocity that a sob caught in my throat. I didn’t let it out. Feeling ugly and awkward and embarrassed, I stepped back, looked down at the ground.

“You don’t even know how to kiss,” I managed.

For the span of several heartbeats, he didn’t move. I could hear my breaths hissing. My heart beating out of control. Tears heating the backs of my eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

In the periphery of my vision, I saw him bend to retrieve his hat. Without speaking, he slapped it atop his head, climbed into the buggy, and left without a word.

CHAPTER 18

The memory of that long-ago day weighs bitter and sweet in the periphery of my thoughts as I roll up to the Bowman home. I was the girl I didn’t want to be that summer. Awkward and hurting and misunderstood. Damaged beyond repair—or so I thought. I was a stranger I didn’t know or trust—or even like. Only later did I realize my acting out was nothing more than an all-too-human reaction to pain. To the violence that had been perpetrated on my soul by Daniel Lapp. It took a long time for me to forgive myself for some of the things I did that summer. For what I did to Jonas.

I sit in the rental car and watch Jonas, Reuben, and Junior load cabinets into a truck emblazoned with the logo of a local construction company. The boys and their father work in tandem, knowing exactly what to do and how to do it. Choreography. As the truck pulls away, I get out and walk to the workshop.

I hear the generator rumbling at the side of the building, the whine of a saw as I go through the door. I find Jonas standing at the table saw, feeding a board to the blade. Junior stands next to him, watching with rapt attention while his father makes the cut. Beyond, Reuben is bent over a workbench, sliding two intricately dovetailed pieces of wood together. Effie is busy with a push broom, a big pile of sawdust on the floor next to an industrial-size dustpan.