Amish Outsider

by Marta Perry

  “They are.” She skipped a little, in a hurry to spread the news.

  It seemed natural for him to fall into step with Cathy, to feel their hands brush against each other as they walked. “That was a special moment for her.”

  “And for me.” Cathy’s eyes seemed to reflect the clear, deep blue of the sky. “Now I really believe that spring is here and summer’s on its way.”

  “Looking forward to summer vacation?”

  “No, not that. I’ll miss the children.” Her face clouded slightly.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” He discovered a strong desire to fix the problem, whatever it was.

  Cathy shrugged. “I still don’t have a contract for next year. I try not to dwell on it, but I can’t help wondering. And worrying.”

  “From what I’ve seen of the parents, I’d say they appreciate what you do for the kids. I know I do.”

  She looked up at him, her smile lighting her eyes. “Denke,” she said softly, as softly as she’d spoken to Allie.

  He ought to look away, but he couldn’t seem to do it. She was drawing him in with her warmth, her tenderness, her generous heart. His hand brushed hers, and then clasped it, wrapping his fingers around hers.

  This wasn’t just attraction. There was plenty of that, but it was mixed up with all the other feelings he’d begun to have for Cathy—admiration, affection...

  “Daadi, come on,” Allie called to him, impatient.

  “Coming.” He let go of her hand with reluctance. All those feelings didn’t do the least bit of good. A relationship with Cathy was impossible—completely impossible.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CATHY CLUCKED TO BELLE, the buggy horse, as they turned onto the main road. Belle wasn’t enthusiastic about going somewhere after supper. Well trained as she was, she still had ways of making her disappointment known.

  “Step along now, Belle. The sooner we get there, the sooner we’ll be home.” Belle might not understand the words, but she got the sentiment and picked up the pace.

  To be honest with herself, Cathy was about as reluctant to go out this evening. After those moments with Michael this afternoon, she’d wanted to hole up in her room in private.

  But of course it had been impossible. Mammi had been in the midst of making and canning rhubarb sauce, and she’d been plunged into helping. Working together meant talking, and she’d been hard put to find something to chat about that wouldn’t skirt dangerously near the person who occupied too large a place in her thoughts right now.

  She was alone now, for all the good it did her. Those moments with Michael today had forced her to face facts. She cared too much for Michael Forster. For the first time in her life she’d found someone for whom she’d be willing to give up her small portion of independence, her satisfying life, and it had to be a man she couldn’t hope to marry.

  Not that Michael would be imagining any such thing anyway, she told herself quickly. He was attracted to her—she’d seen that in the way his brown eyes darkened when they studied her face and felt it in the way his hand closed possessively over hers. But attraction was a long way from anything serious. If he knew what she was thinking, he’d probably be horrified.

  No, not that. But embarrassed and regretting it. He’d responded to her interest and kindness with a kind of surprised gratitude that ripped at her heart. Why should he be so astonished that someone cared about him?

  And that was an answer she could see too clearly. His runaway marriage to Diana, his struggle to fit into the outside world and give her what she wanted, the humiliation of admitting he’d failed—all of that was bad enough. Add to that the horror of her death and the suspicions and condemnation he’d faced—no wonder he responded to a little sympathy. That didn’t mean he cared, only that he’d reacted like a starving man to food.

  The only sensible course for her was to hide her feelings and stay away from Michael. So why was she on her way to his sister’s house right now?

  Well, he wouldn’t be there. She ought to be safe from seeing him, at least. Sarah had asked her to come over to plan a picnic lunch for the schoolchildren since the weather was warmer. Her scholars would love it. Any break in the routine was welcome, especially now that the warmth and sunshine called them outdoors.

  The only surprise was that Sarah wanted any help at all. If she knew Sarah Esch, she probably already had the whole thing planned down to the last napkin.

  Smiling a little, she turned into Sarah’s driveway. She and Lige lived in a house on his parents’ farm, although one day she supposed they’d be moving into Verna’s place when they took over the nursery. She stopped at the hitching rail, recognizing Verna’s buggy horse already there. Sarah must have roped her into helping.

  Verna and Sarah were as happy to see her as if it had been months instead of a few days. Cathy eyed them cautiously as they exchanged glances. Were they up to something? If so, it was bound to come out. Verna was well-known for her blunt speech—if she had something to say, she’d have trouble hiding it.

  Her stomach seemed to lurch. If Verna knew about what had happened between her and Michael—no, that was foolishness. No one could have seen them on the path. And Michael would surely never mention it.

  “Komm, sit.” Sarah, all smiles, pulled out a chair at the round kitchen table. “Coffee is ready, or tea, if you want. And I hid a shoofly pie from Lige and the kinder.”

  “Tea, please. I don’t usually drink coffee in the evening. What date were you thinking about?”

  “Date?” Sarah’s blank look spoke volumes.

  Verna hastened into speech. “For the picnic lunch, Cathy means.”

  Cathy set down the mug Sarah had just handed her. “All right, you two. You’re plotting something, and it isn’t the picnic lunch. Why am I here?”

  Another exchange of looks, and then Sarah began to laugh. “Ach, we should have known we couldn’t fool you for a minute. We do want to have a lunch for the kinder, but we can plan that without help.”

  “I’m sure you can. Now, what is going on? The both of you look guilty—I don’t think you’re very gut at this.”

  “All right, all right.” Sarah set the shoofly pie and plates on the table and sat down herself. “The thing is that Verna and I were talking, and we got around to thinking about...”

  “Let me tell it, or we’ll be here all night,” Verna said, her voice tart. “It’s high time Michael and his father made up their quarrel. We’re going to see that they do, and we want your help.”

  Cathy’s first instinct was to flee. She even pushed herself back from the table before Sarah caught her arm. “Just listen, Cathy. Then you can say no if you want to.”

  Verna’s look said she didn’t quite agree with the “saying no” part, but she nodded. “Yah, listen. Anybody could see how much you want to help Allie. You’re the best thing that’s happened to that child in a long time, it seems to me.”

  Cathy shook her head. “Not just me. She’s living in your house, feeling part of a family. That’s so important to a child. She’s...”

  She hesitated. She’d almost spoken of her longing to break through Allie’s barriers and get her talking, but maybe that was best kept to herself.

  “She’s what?” Sarah leaned toward her. “If there’s anything you see that we can do to help her, tell us.”

  “Just go on loving her.” She smiled. “That’s the best thing for her.”

  “Yah, that we can do,” Verna said. “Now, Michael...he’s harder, ain’t so?”

  Cathy kept her mouth shut on that one, even though she agreed. Allie’s shields were difficult enough to breach. Michael’s, she thought, were very nearly impossible.

  “Komm, Cathy.” Sarah was at her most persuasive. “You must agree that Michael and Daad need each other. It’s not natural to hold on to a feud, especially where a child is concerned.”

 
“Oh, I agree. I just don’t see what I can do. Josiah is your father. Surely he’ll listen to you.”

  “That’s the last thing he’ll do.” Sarah threw out her hands in exasperation. “When Daadi looks at me, he still sees his little girl. And stubborn... Is anyone more stubborn?”

  “Yah,” Verna said. “Or at least equal, and that’s Michael. They’re made from the same mold, those two. Both as proud and as stubborn as can be. The longer this goes on, the worse it gets for both of them.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Cathy seemed to see that grim line of Michael’s mouth, the stern set of his jaw. “But I still don’t see what you think I can do.”

  “I know. But we have a plan, and you’re part of it.” Sarah’s eyes sparkled. “What we have to do is get the two of them together.”

  “On neutral ground,” Verna added. “So neither one of them has to feel like he’s making the first move. Men.” She grimaced. “They don’t use the common sense the gut Lord gave them.”

  “Where is this neutral ground?” She asked the question tentatively, afraid she already knew the answer.

  “The school, for sure. That way, neither one of them should suspect anything.”

  Verna would think of that. “When? How? At this picnic you’re planning?”

  “No, no,” Sarah said. “We have a better idea. You know the work frolic that’s coming up at the school?”

  Cathy nodded, foreseeing problems. “On Saturday. There’s not all that much to be done—just some tidying up outside the building. But you’re not thinking they’d both komm, surely.”

  Sarah grimaced. “Michael isn’t going anywhere that there might be a group of Amish—we’ve all seen that.”

  “He’s afraid he won’t be accepted. I’ve told him that’s foolishness—how can he know unless he tries?” Verna sounded as decided as she usually did.

  “If he won’t...” she began, knowing as she did that Verna wouldn’t accept a lack of trying.

  “Sarah will make sure her father is there. She’ll tell him they need his help. And then you can get Michael there.”

  “I can’t.” Why couldn’t they see that it was impossible? Even if she asked him...and how could she? He’d think she was interfering at the least.

  “You can,” Verna said firmly. “We have it all figured out. I’ll send you back to the nursery to get some flowers to plant around the school. You won’t be able to carry them yourself, so he’ll have to drop them off.”

  “Once he’s there, we’ll take care of the rest.” Sarah seemed convinced this would work. “When Daad sees him, I don’t see how he can hold on to his grudge. I know he’s longing to make it up—he just can’t take the first step.”

  “So we’ll take it for him. For both of them, with your help.”

  Verna made it sound so simple. Cathy wished she could believe it was that easy.

  They were right—father and son shouldn’t live that way, refusing to talk, refusing to bend. Like the prodigal son and his father, each one needed to take a step forward.

  What could go wrong? Plenty, and if she let herself become involved, she’d be right in the middle of it.

  But they were both looking at her with such hope, convinced they’d found a way to bridge the gap between Michael and his people.

  “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll do it.”

  And if Michael blamed her for her part in it—well, that would guarantee that she wouldn’t get too close, wouldn’t it?

  * * *

  MICHAEL PAUSED FOR a moment, glancing from his perch on a ladder over the greenhouse to where Lige was waiting on a customer. The work had been going well—faster than either of them had expected, probably. They worked well together, thankfully not running into any problems.

  They’d soon be ready for the glass. Lige had suggested they both go along to pick it up, and he realized that would be the first time he’d ventured any farther than the school or that one trip to get ice cream since he’d arrived. Hiding? He didn’t like the sound of that. Sooner or later he’d have to show himself around town, no matter what unpleasantness might ensue.

  Lige came back just as he descended the ladder. “That Mrs. Carpenter—she really likes to talk. And she’s sharp as a tack. Asked me right away who you were.”

  He stiffened. “I’m not very popular around here. Having me here might be a problem.”

  “For her? Didn’t seem to be.” Lige gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “Seems like you’re expecting the worst from people.”

  “I’ve had good reason.” He’d lived with the reactions of people who’d assumed him guilty.

  “Well, not everyone. For sure not Mrs. Carpenter. She said she’s got a couple small projects around her house and wondered if you’d be interested.”

  “Projects?” For an instant his mind was blank. “What kind of projects?”

  “Carpentry work. Not what you were used to, for sure, but...”

  He didn’t finish the obvious. If Michael wanted to get back on his feet, he’d have to start from scratch. If that meant putting up shelves or mending a broken hinge, he’d do it.

  “That doesn’t matter, so long as it’s work I can do. What did you tell her?”

  “I said you’d stop by sometime next week to talk to her about it.” Lige grinned. “She has that big, old Victorian house on the corner of Fifth Street. You know the one I mean, with all the fancy trim on it. I’d guess it’d be a full-time job just taking care of a place like that.”

  He nodded, placing the woman. The Carpenter place was one of the showplaces of town—or at least it had been. “Great. I’ll go over Monday.” He hesitated for a moment, but Lige deserved to hear it. “Thanks. I guess maybe I have been jumping to conclusions about people. I’ll try to do better. As for the job, I’m starting from scratch but I’ve done it before—I’m not afraid of it.”

  “Gut.” Lige looked satisfied. “We’d better set a time to pick up the glass...” He stopped at the buzz of Michael’s cell phone.

  Michael took a quick look. Alan. “I’d better take this.” At Lige’s nod, he moved off as he answered. “Alan. I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon. Everything okay?”

  “Not exactly. I didn’t know if I should call you or not, but I figured you’d want to hear.” Alan sounded uncertain. But then, he’d probably never had a friend suspected of murder. This was new territory for both of them.

  “Whatever it is, I’d rather know. Something’s happened with the investigation?” That was the only thing he could think of that would have Alan sounding this way.

  “The problem is that the police have been around again. Talking to neighbors, asking questions.”

  His heart sank. “What else do they think they’re going to find out? They must have asked everything there is to ask by this time.”

  Alan made a sound of assent. “Nothing new about their questions that I could see. We told them exactly what we had before—the truth.”

  “Something must have started them up again.” He forced away the numbing sensation that had set in at the words and tried to think. “Would they come back if they didn’t have some fresh information?”

  “I don’t know. But they weren’t the only ones. There was another guy—he tried to pump me. As soon as I found out he was a private investigator and not the police, I told him to get lost.”

  Private investigator. Why—and why now? “Somebody must have hired him.”

  “Yes. I wondered...well, about Diana’s family. I don’t know anything about them, but is that possible?”

  Was it? Diana’s brother and his wife had attended the funeral, but their only words to him had been muttered condolences. They’d left immediately afterward, not even showing any interest in Allie. Not that he’d have welcomed that, but it had infuriated him anyway.

  He came bac
k to the realization that Alan was still waiting. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them or heard anything from them since the funeral.”

  “I thought maybe since you were living there now, it’d be different.”

  “No.” He wanted, suddenly, to end the call. He needed to think this over—to get his mind working again instead of relapsing into the numb state of shock he’d been in after Diana’s death. “Thanks, Alan. I appreciate the call. If you hear anything else...”

  “I’ll let you know,” he said. His voice had warmed a bit. “You still have friends here, you know.”

  Friends. He considered the word as he clicked off. Not many, but then he never had. The neighbors had been Diana’s friends, not his. He could trust Alan and his wife, but what were the others saying to the cops? To the private investigator?

  Michael rubbed the back of his neck, trying to smooth the tension away. It was bad enough that the police were poking around again, but add in a private investigator, and the situation was suddenly much worse.

  He couldn’t think of anyone who would have reason and means to hire a private investigator except Diana’s brother. But why now? What had changed?

  He considered what little he knew about Bernard Wilcox. Bernard, never Bernie. He must have been more than fifteen years older than Diana, maybe even twenty. Married, no children.

  That had caused Michael more than a few anxious moments when it became clear that the police suspected him. What would happen to Allie if he were arrested? Diana’s grandmother was clearly unable to get involved, and she’d wiped Diana out of her life anyway. But Bernard and Janet might well have wanted his sister’s child.

  He’d been relieved when they’d shown no interest. He’d rather send Allie back to his own family than see her raised in what Diana had claimed was a cold and loveless house. He’d never known how much truth was in that claim, but he hadn’t been willing to take a chance with his daughter. Not even at the worst of times when arrest had seemed imminent.