A Kingdom of Our Own

Chapter Twenty Two - Recovery

They drove the short distance over to Jacob’s house later on that morning, where they had been informed Harry was being held. It was a rather jolty ride, travelling along the dirt track that cut through the open fields and then eventually curved as they pulled into the central square area that he had laid Harry’s body down on the night before.

Three houses stood nearly side by side to Dalton’s left and he noticed a small area of woods stretching out behind them. That’s where they must get their lumber from for building things, he guessed. He hadn’t spotted any other wooded areas in the vicinity.

“That’s Jacob’s house, the one in the middle,” Skandar announced as they pulled up beside it.

Dalton gazed out the window at it. A moderately sized, square, white house, with a wooden decked area out front featuring a lone rocking chair. To the left was a house of an almost identical design, but to the right was a slightly smaller ranch-style house with white shutters. They were all well built and maintained – the very best of Amish craftsmanship.

Dalton brushed his brown hair out of his eyes, which had grown considerably over the past few weeks, as they stepped out the car and began walking up a short cement path towards the house. Then they mounted the steps which took them onto the small decked area. At the top was a heavy wooden door with no window inside of a latched screen door. There was a chrome knocker in the centre of the doorframe that reflected the bright midday sun directly into Dalton’s face, as if it were trying to ward him off.

Skandar reached out and knocked on the door – CLACK, CLACK

They stood by the door for a moment, listening for footsteps. There were none. Jacob had guaranteed Skandar that there would be someone watching over Harry 24/7, so he knew someone must be inside. They listened for another thirty seconds and when the house remained silent; he knocked the door once again, more harshly so this time. Finally they heard the shuffling of footsteps headed in their direction. Given that the sound was hard to notice, unless you were particularly listening out for it, Dalton assumed that whoever it was must be barefoot. It didn’t matter either way, but Dalton liked to be astute. He was the holder of useless information.

But as his English teacher had once said – “All knowledge is precious whether or not it serves the slightest human use.”

“All right! All right!” Jacob called out querulously.

Skandar released his hold on the door knocker and took a slight step backwards. Dalton did the same.

The door rattled briefly and then it was pulled open. Jacob stood there for a second, looking out through the screen. This was just the second chance he’d had to get a glance at Dalton and unlike the last time, there was nothing stopping him from making it a more thorough examination, so he could get more of an understanding as to what he was like as a person. For Dalton too, this was the first time he’d been able to get a proper look at the community’s Patriarch and stared back into the man’s eyes, his face expressionless.

Jacob’s face was wrinkled with age and puffy with sleep and Dalton was immediately turned off by his beard which looked like it hadn’t been maintained in many years. He’d read somewhere that the Amish never shave once they are married, which seemed strange to Dalton. His Father had always made a point of having a shave every morning, claiming it was “important for hygiene”.

The eyes looking out at them were watchful, but deeply sunken at the same time. Skandar had told him earlier that morning that Jacob was only fifty-eight, but he looked a heck of a lot older right now. This is what happens when you’re given the burden of having to take care of a whole community and its wellbeing, he guessed.