The blond man didn’t have anything to say about that.

“Mamm?”

Billy jerked his gaze to the kitchen doorway, where Little Joe stood, his legs sticking out from his nightshirt like pale little bones. Something sank inside Billy when he noticed Hannah and Amos and Baby Edna behind him.

“Die kinner.” Mamm got to her feet. “Die zeit fer in bett is nau.” Go to bed right now.

“What are you doing?” the blond man turned and shifted the gun to her. “Get back over there!”

But Mamm started toward the children. She was so focused on them, she didn’t even seem to notice that he’d spoken.

“Tell her to get down!” The man in the denim jacket shifted the gun to Datt. “I mean it! Tell her!”

“Wanetta,” Datt said. “Obey him.”

As if sensing the wrongness of the situation, Baby Edna began to cry. Hannah followed suit. Even Little Joe, who at eight years of age, considered himself a man and too old to cry.

Kneeling, Mamm gathered the children into her arms. “Shhh.”

“We’re not fucking around!” The blond man stomped to Billy’s mother and tried to separate her from the children. “Get back over there!”

“They’re babies.” She twisted away from him, put her arms around the children. “They don’t know anything.”

“Mamm!” Billy hadn’t intended to speak, but somehow the word squeezed from his throat.

“Wanetta.” Datt lurched to his feet.

A gunshot split the air. The sound reverberated inside Billy’s head like a shock wave. Like a bullet passing through water, the concussion spreading in all directions. His datt wobbled, an expression of disbelief on his face.

The house went silent, as if they were all trapped inside an airtight jar.

“Datt?”

Billy had barely choked out the word when his father went down on one knee and then fell forward and lay still. Billy held his breath, praying for him to get up. But his datt didn’t stir.

The blond man swung around and gaped at the man in the denim jacket. “Why did you do that?” he roared.

The kitchen exploded into chaos. The two men began to scuffle, pushing and shoving. Angry shouts were punctuated by Mamm’s keening and the high-pitched cries of the children. A terrible discord echoed through the house like a thousand screams.

Billy didn’t remember crawling to his father. He didn’t notice the warmth of blood on his hands as he grasped his shoulder and turned him over. “Datt?”

Willis Hochstetler’s eyes were open, but there was no spark of life. Just pale gray skin and blue lips. “Wake up.” Billy’s hands hovered over the blood on his father’s shirt. He didn’t know what to do or how to help him. “Tell me what to do!” he cried.

But his datt was gone.

He looked at the man who’d shot him. “He gave you the money,” he cried. “Why did you do that?”

“Shut up!” The man snarled the words, but the eyes within his mask were wild with fear.