by Marta Perry
She wasn’t so sure, but the coffee, still hot from the insulated carafe, warmed her all the way down.
There’s nothing you can do, she repeated to herself. Maybe, eventually, Verna would send word that Michael was safe at home again. She couldn’t very well pester the police with questions about their actions.
Did this mean they had something new against Michael? Her fingers closed around the cup, seeking warmth. She didn’t know, and she couldn’t ask. She didn’t have the right to do anything where Michael was concerned. Except love him.
* * *
CATHY KEPT HERSELF busy inside the school as much as she could while the volunteers finished their work, afraid if she heard people talking about the police taking Michael away, she’d be unable to control her feelings. When she heard people begin to leave, she went back outside, knowing she needed to be there to show her gratitude.
It had been a shock to learn that Joanna and Rachel had guessed. She’d hardly spoken with them in the past week, but that didn’t seem to matter. Would she be as insightful if it were one of them? She hoped so, but she wasn’t sure. Still, it had been a relief to have someone know and sympathize. Rachel hadn’t even bothered to point out the problems involved in caring for someone who was no longer Amish. She’d just expressed caring, and that had been enough.
Sarah, chasing her daughter toward the family buggy, paused for a word with her. Sarah’s face was drawn with anxiety, even as she tried to smile. “I wish we’d hear something,” she murmured. “Surely they won’t keep him long.”
She felt more helpless than usual in the face of Sarah’s pain.
“I hope not. I can’t understand why they’d do such a thing. I’d think after all this time, the police would have moved on.”
She said it having no idea whether it was reasonable or not. Her limited exposure to the justice system was a disadvantage right now.
“Just when I thought...” Sarah didn’t finish, but Cathy knew what she’d thought—or maybe hoped would be a better word.
“How is your father?” The quick glance she’d dared to take at Josiah’s face hadn’t been encouraging.
“Not talking.” Sarah grimaced. “Ach, I’m nearly forgetting. Aunt Verna asked if you’d stop at the house on your way home.”
“Yah, of course. Did she say why?”
“She’s worried about Allie, that’s for sure. You’re so gut with her. Maybe you can help.”
“I’ll do anything I can.” That was an easy promise to make, but she suspected only her father’s reappearance would really help Allie now.
“Gut.” Sarah squeezed her hand in a quick farewell. “I must go. Call me the minute you know anything. I’ll be haunting the phone shanty until I know what’s happening.”
Cathy nodded, watching until their buggy was out of sight. In a few minutes everyone had gone, and the school yard carried its usual atmosphere of Saturday peace. She checked that the doors were locked, and headed for the path that led home.
The walk was so familiar she could do it with her eyes closed. Still, she’d never done it while carrying such a load of pain and helplessness.
How had she come to let herself love Michael? She knew perfectly well a future with him was impossible. He didn’t return her feelings. He might never be able to contemplate marrying anybody after what had happened to him. And if he did, it wouldn’t be to someone for whom he’d have to turn back to the Amish life he’d run away from.
Hopeless. But the feeling was like nothing she’d ever experienced before—so powerful it swept everything else ahead of it. All she could do was try to keep anyone else from knowing what she felt, including Michael himself.
She emerged from the patch of woods, and the cutoff to Verna’s house was ahead of her. Cathy paused for a moment, murmuring a silent hope for guidance in dealing with Allie. Then she strode toward the collection of greenhouses and the house, telling herself that Michael would be there, the worry ended.
But as soon as Cathy entered the house, she knew that hope was futile. Verna’s face fell when she saw who it was. Allie, seated at the kitchen table with paper and crayons, took one look and went back to her drawing, pressing the crayon furiously against the paper.
One look was enough to tell her that Allie had retreated again—her face blank, her defenses up against intruders. Cathy’s heart twisted. She and Verna exchanged a silent message, and Cathy pulled out the chair and sat down next to Allie.
Instinct told her a question wouldn’t get any answer. “I like that picture of a barn. It looks very real.” Nothing. “Drawing is a good way to fill the time until Daadi gets home. Then you can show him your picture.”
Allie didn’t speak, but her hand stopped its movement. Then she picked up a yellow crayon and made a few strokes. She hesitated.
“Can you show me how to draw a kitten?” Her voice was tightly controlled, but at least she spoke. The relief that washed over Verna’s face was probably reflected on her own.
“Let’s see if we can do it together,” she suggested, picking up an orange crayon. “If a kitty is sitting, its back makes a curve, like so. And if it’s looking at you, its face is sort of like a triangle pointing down, only more rounded, ain’t so?”
Allie nodded, painstakingly copying Cathy’s movements. Cathy watched her, smiling. “And what about whiskers?”
“Yah, whiskers.” Allie drew them in, concentrating, the tip of her tongue peeking through her lips.
That was better—at least Allie was focusing on something she could do, instead of worrying about things she couldn’t control. They could all stand to learn that lesson.
Before she had time to put that into practice, Cathy heard the sound of a car pulling up and moved quickly to the window.
“It’s Daadi,” she said, and Allie’s face lit up. She slid off the chair, grasping her picture.
Cathy watched as Michael stepped out of the police car. He bent over to say something to Chief Jamison. It looked as if they were on good terms, and her tension eased. In another moment he was coming in, to be met by Allie rushing to him.
He picked her up, holding her close. Their faces were next to one another, and he murmured something, so softly no one else could hear. Cathy found she was blinking back tears.
Michael straightened again after setting Allie on her feet. “Everything’s okay,” he said, glancing from Verna to her. “No problems.”
Whether Verna believed that or not, Cathy couldn’t tell, but she certainly didn’t. Michael might try to hide it, but she could read the tension and anger that rode him.
She could do nothing about it. Forcing a smile, she crossed the room. “I’m glad you’re back. I was keeping Allie company, but I’d better be going.”
“Wait a second. I’ll walk out with you.” He bent to touch Allie’s cheek lightly. “I’ll come right back. Did you save any cookies for me?”
Cathy was already out the door, so she didn’t hear the child’s reply. He ought to stay with Allie. Cathy was having too much difficulty controlling the complex feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. It would be easier without him.
She hurried her steps, but he caught up with her before she reached the greenhouse. “Hold up, Cathy. You don’t need to rush off.”
Averting her gaze, she sought for a reasonable answer. “Allie needs your attention right now. And you should call Sarah. She was worried, and she’ll be waiting for a call.”
“Right.” He touched her arm lightly. “Sorry all of you were worried. I didn’t have much choice.” He sounded puzzled, probably at her reaction.
“I know. But when they put you in the police car...” Her voice ran out, thank goodness. She was betraying herself with every word.
“I’m sorry. Sorry for all of it.” Anger threaded his voice, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her. “I’ve done nothing but cause trouble for people si
nce I got here.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. This is your home.”
His face twisted. “I doubt that everyone would agree to that. Especially after today.”
Lying to him would do no good, even if she wanted to do so. “I’m sure it’s given folks something to talk about. But you’re here, aren’t you? It can’t have been anything too serious, can it?”
“Serious enough.” He released her arm and shoved his hand through his hair. “That was the detective from Harrisburg who investigated Diana’s death.”
“What did he want? He surely doesn’t have any authority here, does he?”
Michael shrugged. “I guess if he asked for Chief Jamison’s cooperation, he had to give it. But I’d say it was grudging. And the chief was furious when he found out they’d come to the school.”
“It didn’t seem like something he would do. But what did the man want? I thought...”
“What? That Diana’s death was in the past? It’ll never be in the past until they find out who killed her.”
“They won’t find out by harassing you,” she retorted.
That brought a slight easing of the tension on his face. “I’m glad you think so.”
She was frowning, trying to reason it out. “That detective—he must have some reason for coming here now.”
“He didn’t tell me—just went over the same ground again. But the chief did say...”
“What? I won’t repeat it.”
“No, I know you won’t.” His quick smile nearly undid her. “Chief Jamison seems to think that either they got an anonymous tip that pointed to me, or that someone was pushing them to act.”
“The private investigator,” she said instantly.
“Right. Someone hired him. Someone who thinks I’m guilty.” He made a quick, angry gesture. “The first time around, I was so numb I couldn’t believe it was happening. It was all I could do to answer questions, let alone think through it. Now...now I’m thinking. And I’m angry, not numb.”
“In this case, angry is probably better than numb.”
“Yah. It has to be Diana’s family. Who else would hire an investigator?”
She nodded, seeing no other possibilities. The person who’d killed Diana might want suspicion pointed at Michael, but surely not to the extent of hiring an investigator who could manufacture that truth.
The grim look on Michael’s face alarmed her. “What are you going to do?”
“That’s what I’ve been asking myself since I saw that police car. I’m past the point of being numb, and running away won’t help any. So I guess it’s time I fight back.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS ALL very well to make a decision to fight back, Michael realized as he made the rounds of the greenhouses and outbuildings that evening. Finding a way to do it was an entirely different challenge.
He did have one advantage—his experience of the outside world. The average Amish person would be hampered in that respect. He wasn’t. On the other hand, the average Amish person wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.
Not that the Amish were saints, by any means. They were generally law-abiding, more likely to be victims than perpetrators. But there were cases of physical abuse, alcoholism, drugs—no one was entirely safe from those ills.
If he could trace the person who’d hired the private investigator, that would be a step forward. Unfortunately he didn’t have a name—Cathy hadn’t asked the man for identification. Well, why would she? It wasn’t the sort of thing she could ever have imagined happening to her.
Alan Channing might be of help there. If he hadn’t gotten the name or the company, someone else in the neighborhood might have. He could call...
He walked around the corner of the shed and nearly walked right into Lige. “Hey, steady.” Lige grasped his arm to keep him from stumbling. “Sorry. Guess I startled you. Aunt Verna said you were out here.”
“It’s okay.” He moved forward, out of the shadow of the building, so that he could see Lige’s face more clearly in the spring twilight. “What’s wrong?”
If he’d come to break the news that Daad was more set against him than ever, he needn’t bother. Michael had already figured that out, but given what a friend Lige had become to Michael, he’d probably want to show his support anyway.
“Nothing. Well, nothing’s wrong with us. I came by to see how you’re doing after...well, what happened today. It must have been rough.”
He shrugged, but at least he didn’t feel as if he had to protect Lige from the truth. Lige had a clear way of looking at things that made him a good ally. “It wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure. Seems like that detective from Harrisburg is convinced he doesn’t have to look any further than me for Diana’s killer.”
“Can he do that? Keep coming after you, making you answer questions, intruding like that?” Lige grimaced, probably remembering the scene at the schoolhouse.
He might as well bring it out in the open. “That was bad, wasn’t it? Cops at the school work frolic.”
Lige’s expression eased a little. Obviously he’d find it easier to talk about once Michael had brought it up. “Gave folks something to talk about, that’s for sure.”
“Kind of messed up Sarah’s plan, didn’t it?”
Lige and Sarah might well be regretting their championing of him by now. The thought of losing their caring and support shook him more than he’d have expected.
“Well, yah.” Lige studied the ground for a moment. “I told her it was a mistake to meddle, but you know Sarah. She’s got her share of the family stubbornness.”
He had to smile. “She always did. It’s okay. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle.”
“That’s where we belong, according to Sarah.” They started walking slowly toward the house, and Michael caught the sound of spring peepers from the direction of the creek. “She... We’re sorry it didn’t turn out better.”
“If Sarah’s blaming herself, she shouldn’t. Tell her so from me, okay?”
Lige nodded. “Won’t do any gut, but I’ll try.”
He should have thought of the effect on his sister. She’d always tried to be a buffer between him and Daad, and she’d just ended up getting pushed by both sides. “Maybe, if the cops hadn’t shown up, things between me and Daad might have improved.” He wanted to relay something positive to his sister. “As it is...at least he seemed to take to Allie.”
“That’s certain sure.” Lige sounded relieved. “Well, how could he resist his own granddaughter? Ruthie’s already got him around her little finger, and Allie will be just the same. That is, if you’re okay with him seeing her.” Lige’s glance was questioning.
The thought of refusing was tempting for about ten seconds before he knew he couldn’t. “I’d be a pretty poor excuse for a father if I tried to deny Allie a grandfather, wouldn’t I?”
“If you were looking for a way to get back at your daad, that’d be one. I’m wonderful glad you won’t, though. Makes it easier for us.”
True enough, but he was thinking of Allie. Her life had been empty of relatives until he’d brought her home to River Haven.
“I know what it means to Allie to have aunts and uncles and cousins around.” It was the sort of thing an Amish child took for granted. “I’m fine with her seeing Daad.”
“Gut.” Lige seemed to relax. “That was what Sarah wanted to know, because your daad asked if she’d bring Ruthie and Allie over sometime this week after school. Okay?”
Michael nodded. He’d said what his conscience insisted on, but that didn’t mean he felt any differently toward his father. If he’d ever tried to understand his son...
But that was past. Wasn’t he just wishing he could leave the past behind him?
They were getting closer to the back porch, and he slowed his steps deliberately. There were things he
needed to know about Diana’s family, and Lige might have some of the answers.
“I remember you told me about Diana’s grandmother being in the nursing home. Do you know if she’s...well, still there mentally?”
“So I’ve heard.” Lige chuckled. “In fact, word is she didn’t want to move out of her house and she practically disowned her grandson for pushing it.”
“Why did she leave, then?” From what he remembered of Diana’s grandmother, she wasn’t one to give in. She could give his daad lessons in stubbornness.
“Don’t know, exactly. I suppose if Bernard had her doctor and her lawyer on his side, he’d get his way.”
Michael could hear the distaste in Lige’s voice. He’d never think of such a thing. Folks took care of their parents and grandparents in his world.
“So Bernard and his wife are living in the Wilcox house now?”
Lige nodded. “They’ve had some work done on it. I saw the trucks there when I went past one day. Bernard’s heading up the family businesses, so I guess it’s right that he take over the property.”
“He can’t be pleased that I’ve come back to River Haven to live. Reminding him.”
“I guess not.” Lige eyed him. “What are you thinking?”
“Just wondering if Bernard is behind the police taking so much interest in me right now.” They came to a stop at the porch steps, where warm yellow light spilled out from the kitchen.
Lige considered. “Could be, I guess. But I don’t see what you can do about it.”
“Neither do I. Yet.”
But he would.
* * *
HOLDING ALLIE’S HAND on Monday after school, Cathy headed for the familiar path home. She had been glad that it worked out so that yesterday was an off-Sunday. The intrusion of the police into the work frolic had focused attention on Michael’s return—too much attention for comfort. A worship Sunday would have given the entire community an occasion to talk about it.
She glanced down at the child. “What did you do yesterday, since it wasn’t church Sunday?”