Still Life in Shadows by Alice J. Wisler Page B

beach?
     
    Moriah’s lips curved into a smile. He opened his eyes just long enough to say, “I want to be here with you, bro.”
     
    Gideon wanted to feel good about his sentiments, but something made him leery. What was wrong with him? He should be elated that his brother had found him and wanted to spend time with him. This was an opportunity to grow closer, to give each other kudos for risking it all and leaving the Amish life. They could go see movies together, go out for pizza, have discussions about religion.
     
    He was about to ask what kind of pizza Moriah liked when suddenly his brother groaned. “I need to get up. Forgot to brush my teeth.”
     
    As his brother rummaged through his duffel bag for his toothbrush and a tube of Aquafresh, Gideon’s suspicions grew. Moriah had said on the phone that he was coming for a visit and that he liked living in sunny Orlando. Why did he want to stay in Twin Branches now?
     
    As Moriah brushed his teeth in the bathroom off the hall, Gideon said, “You’ll need a job.”
     
    Moriah spit into the sink and laughed. “That’s right, the Miller boys aren’t lazy. We work from sunup to sundown and then some.”
     
    Ten minutes later, lying in his own bed, Gideon thought of where he could get a job for Moriah. What was the kid good at? Would he be like Luke, good with cars, or more like Amos, unable to handle grease and tools?
     
    His thoughts grew hazy as sleep took over. He dreamed of the farm. In his dream it was a clear day with billowy clouds, the kind that lookedlike marshmallows bouncing along like hot-air balloons. The sun shone on the orchard and fields, a lone wagon hitched to a horse sat by the road that led to the farmhouse. Suddenly, a flock of people, his parents among them, were running toward him, shouting that something was wrong. A storm was coming. Gideon told them they were crazy to be worried, the sky was bright. Even so, everyone rushed inside, securing the doors and locking all the windows.
     
    A voice cried out, “Where’s Moriah?” The scene shifted, and there was a large gathering in the barn.
     
    “Where is Moriah?” asked his mother, pulling at the arm of one of the bishops.
     
    The man closed his eyes, as though in deep prayer. “Confess your sins,” he said. “Confess.”
     
    Rain seeped through the roof. The crowd huddled, trying to avoid getting wet. Black cloaks covered small children, protecting them from the downpour. The wind rattled the barn walls.
     
    Gideon saw the faces of all his siblings. Except for one. “Where did he go?” he begged each person. Someone offered him a piece of rock candy, the kind he’d bought for Moriah from a shop just a mile from their home. It was gritty in the palm of his hand. He didn’t care for candy now, couldn’t they see that? He wanted to find his brother.
     
    But no one could find Moriah.
     
    The dream, so vivid, woke Gideon. Jumping out of bed, he made his way into the living room. Moriah was asleep, snoring softly. Gideon felt his heart slow with relief. He got a drink of water before returning to his bedroom. It was amazing how dreams could make you thirsty.
     

13
     
    T he story had intrigued her ever since she first read the illustrated book—a present from Mama. And now, she had someone who was interested in reading it with her. Kiki leaned her bike against the main door to the shop and removed her worn copy of
The Lost Pirate Ship
from her bicycle’s basket. Then she grabbed Yoneko from the same basket and cradled both book and puppet in her arms. The cover of the book showed a majestic ship sailing on a dark sea. Two seagulls soared in the velvet blue sky and one sat perched on the boat’s stern. It was an awesome cover, and Kiki recalled how she first felt when she saw it, her ears itching to hear Mama read the tale of the pirate ship to her.
     
    She expected to see Ormond. You could ask Ormond anything. He knew the whereabouts of all his employees. He was a