by Marta Perry
“No boyfriends at all.” Her lips quirked. “Unless you count Isaac Stoltzfus.”
“Who is Isaac Stoltzfus, and why should he be counted?”
“He’s the uncle of the girl whose parents have been pushing to put her into my job. He’s a widower with five preschool-age children, and supposedly he told my brother-in-law that he thought I’d make a fine stepmother.”
“I take it you discouraged him, since he doesn’t seem to be around.”
“Well, I would have, but James, my brother-in-law, did it for me. He says it’s well-known that Isaac is a skinflint who can’t get along with any woman, and he certain sure didn’t want to be related to him.”
There was soft laughter in her voice when she told the story. It seemed to have distracted her from the interview she was clearly dreading, so maybe this was a good time to part.
He slowed the horse. “I can get down now, if you want. It’s not far.”
She put her hand over his to stop him. “No, not yet. There’s something I need to tell you. It probably doesn’t mean anything,” she added quickly.
“What is it?” Not more trouble for her, he hoped. He seemed to carry trouble to everyone he came near.
“You know that I was helping with Joanna’s open house this evening. We... Rachel and I had a table where we helped visitors to make a quilt patch, so you see, we were sitting and talking with various customers.”
He nodded, wondering where this was going.
“I was taken aback when Janet Wilcox came and sat down with me. Bernard Wilcox’s wife, you know.”
“What did she want? Did she make a scene?”
“Janet? Ach, she would never do that. She’s not that kind of person. But it was obvious that she wanted to talk to me, and not about quilt patches.”
“About me, I suppose.” He felt sure she’d heard all about his very brief talk with her husband. And how he’d been kicked out.
“Not really. I don’t think she mentioned you. She wanted to know about Allie.”
“What about Allie?” All of his alarms went off. He’d half expected some effort on their part to take custody of Allie after Diana’s death, and he’d been ready to fight it. But they hadn’t, and he’d thought he could stop worrying about it. “They’ve never shown any interest in her at all.”
“I had the impression that was Bernard’s doing. Janet said she’d wanted to get back in touch with Diana after his grandmother went into the nursing home, but he wouldn’t hear of it. And she apparently doesn’t stand up for her opinions.”
“Why now, then? And why did she come to you?”
“I suppose she thought coming to the open house would be an unobtrusive way of talking to someone who’d know about Allie. She knows that I’m the teacher at the Amish school, and I suppose word has gotten around that Allie goes there.”
“No doubt. But what did she ask?”
“She just wanted to know how Allie was doing. It all seemed innocent enough. I’d rather not have talked to her at all, but there was no way of getting out of it. So I just said that Allie was doing well. That she seemed to enjoy school and she was making new friends. That’s all, really. You couldn’t be upset by that, could you?”
Cathy had turned toward him on the buggy seat, tilting her face to his, looking for reassurance. It gave him a nearly irresistible urge to kiss her.
Almost irresistible. He managed to control himself. He’d caused enough trouble in that direction.
She seemed to catch the wave of attraction. She sat back suddenly, turning away from him. “Anyway, it was nothing to worry about.”
“I guess not.” He pulled the horse up abruptly. If he didn’t want to do something he’d end up regretting, it was time to get out of this situation.
He thrust the lines into her hands and jumped down from the buggy. “I’ll walk home from here. I’ll be in touch after I’ve seen Jamison.”
He started walking. A brisk walk in the cool night air—that should settle him. He hoped.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AFTER SCHOOL THE next afternoon, Cathy lingered in the schoolroom, making a show of being busy. Meanwhile Allie bent over the small table in the corner, totally absorbed in the picture she was drawing.
At least, Cathy hoped she was absorbed. Michael would be here with Chief Jamison any minute, and they should be able to chat in the back of the room without Allie hearing and becoming upset. The child hadn’t realized they’d been followed on their way home from school, and Cathy wanted to keep it that way.
The sound of footsteps sent her scurrying to the back of the room. Chief Jamison came in, closely followed by Michael, looking strained.
They separated immediately, with Jamison waiting for her while Michael crossed to Allie. She heard their animated voices behind her as she showed Chief Jamison to a seat.
Jamison nodded his approval of the arrangement. “This should work,” he said, his voice quiet and calm. “Now, tell me all about what’s troubling Teacher Cathy.”
His use of the title reassured her in a way nothing else could have. She managed to smile.
“I hope it’s not a wild-goose chase.” She glanced out the closest window, seeing nothing but the familiar apple tree by the corner of the porch and the lawn beyond. “You’re sure no one saw you arriving?”
“I can’t be positive, but I don’t think so.” He seemed to understand her stress at the thought. “I drove my own car, not the cop car.”
“Denke. I’m sure it sounds silly, but I’m afraid...”
“Forget it,” he said. “I understand.”
He understood, but what she feared was the other people who wouldn’t.
“Just tell me exactly what happened and let me decide how serious it is. That’s what I’m here for.”
Cathy nodded, reassured. He reminded her, quite suddenly, of her father. Not in appearance, of course, but in the quiet confidence which said he’d never run into anything he couldn’t handle.
“Someone followed us—Allie and me—when we walked home from school yesterday. You’ll think I imagined it with the storm coming on and all, but I’m sure. Someone was there, watching and following.” She looked at him with a touch of defiance, expecting to be doubted.
Instead he nodded. “You never struck me as someone to imagine things. Now, if you were Ethel Bredbenner, seeing Martians landing in her backyard, I might be skeptical. But you’re a levelheaded woman. If you say someone was there, I believe you. Especially when we know that private investigator is hanging around. I haven’t run him to ground yet, but I will, and he’s going to get an earful when I do.”
Cathy breathed easier, but she still had a hurdle to get over. “That’s the first thing I thought of. And if it wasn’t the investigator, I guess I assumed it was connected to Michael’s trouble.”
His sharp eyes questioned her. “And don’t you think so now?”
“Yah, I still think that’s most likely. But Joanna and Rachel said it might be directed at me, and not anything to do with Michael and Allie at all.” She shivered a little. “I don’t see how it could. Do you?”
He considered. “I wouldn’t rule it out, no. But let’s hear all the details first.”
“Didn’t Michael tell you?”
“Just assume I don’t know anything and take me over it.”
He was serious, she could see. Cathy went over what had happened each step of the way—rushing out because of the storm coming, gradually sensing that someone was watching, hearing the rustle of a body moving through the tangle of bushes, coming closer. Telling Allie to run ahead, and feeling the brush of someone’s hand on her skirt as she bolted. When she’d finished, she was shaking inside and her fingers had started to tremble.
“It’s okay.” Michael had come up behind her without her hearing him. His hand rested briefly on her shoulder, sending comfor
t flooding through her.
“Right,” Jamison said. “That’s nice and clear. I know a sensible woman like you wouldn’t imagine something like that.”
Levelheaded, sensible... They were good things to be called, so why did it sound so flat...so ordinary?
“You want to hear about me chasing him again? I never got within a mile of him, most likely,” Michael said, frustration clear in his voice.
“That’s pretty clear.” Obviously the chief had already heard Michael’s account. “Suppose I walk back along the path with all of you, and you can show me where the tracks were that you followed.”
He pushed back his chair, focusing on Cathy. “I hope I don’t need to tell you that you should take precautions. Have your cell phone on you always, and call if anything happens that seems odd. No matter how trivial, you hear me? And don’t go walking anywhere alone or with just a child. Okay?”
She nodded. He’d moved away from any subject that might lead to the anonymous letter, and she was relieved. No one had to know about it.
Chief Jamison got up. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
“I just have to get my things.” And convince Allie that her picture was finished, she added to herself, moving to where the child sat, still engrossed.
“We’re going home now,” she said, touching Allie’s shoulder lightly. “What a nice picture.”
In actuality, she wondered what it represented. Usually Allie’s pictures were of farmhouses and barns, but this was different.
“Whose house is this?” she asked.
“That’s our house, where we used to live.” Allie’s clear little voice reached Michael and sent him turning around in surprise.
“And that’s the man who used to come. Mommy’s friend.”
Cathy’s breath caught, and now it was Jamison who turned. He looked at Michael. “Seems that’s something I should know about,” he said. “Did you know about this?”
Michael’s face hardened. “I just found out a few days ago myself. I was trying to figure it out.”
But Jamison didn’t wait for an explanation. He came to the table and squatted down next to Allie. “Can I see your picture?”
Allie eyed him for a moment and then pushed it over to him.
“Very nice,” he said. “I especially like the tree you put in.”
“I didn’t put it,” she explained with no sign of embarrassment or shyness. Apparently Chief Jamison’s ability to put people at ease worked with children as well. “It’s really there.”
“That makes it a true-to-life picture, then,” he responded gravely. “Who is this coming up the walk?”
“That’s Mommy’s friend,” she said as she had before. “I don’t know his name.”
“I see. Did he often come to see you?”
She actually giggled at that, sounding like Ruthie for a moment. “He didn’t ever see me. Mommy always had me go to a friend’s house when he came.”
“So you just made him up to go in the picture, then.”
“No, he’s really real. Like the tree. I saw him outside from the bedroom window at Mr. Alan’s house.”
Cathy’s fingers were clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She glanced at Michael. His face had actually eased a bit, maybe because Allie didn’t show any signs of distress. She’d come a long way in a few short weeks.
“I see you used a brown crayon. Does he have brown hair?”
Allie nodded. “I could see that, but I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, so I made them brown, too.”
“Good idea. Was he taller than your daddy or shorter?”
Allie wiggled, showing signs of tiring. “I don’t know.” She started to roll up the picture. “Is it time to go home, Daadi?”
“Yah, it is.” Michael’s look at Jamison warned him not to interfere.
But the chief seemed satisfied he’d heard all Allie had to say. He rose, nodding to Cathy.
She acted with alacrity, grabbing her bag with one hand and Allie with the other. “We’ll go now.”
No one objected, and she hustled Allie to the door, leaving Michael to walk with Chief Jamison. He’d be asking questions, trying to identify the man. It would come out eventually. It seemed that everything did.
* * *
MICHAEL TRIED TO clear his mind of everything except the task at hand that evening. He was doing yet another job at the home of Mrs. Carpenter, who seemed to have an endless list of repairs needed to her aging Victorian house. Tonight it was shoring up the rough wooden steps going down to the basement.
He frowned. What he should be doing was putting in a railing. He shuddered at the thought of the elderly woman plunging down toward that unforgiving concrete cellar floor.
He’d have to suggest it, even if she thought he was trying to drum up business. It was too dangerous to ignore.
One thing he’d learned about her—if she thought that, she’d say so. Blunt, outspoken, even a bit abrasive, that was Mrs. Carpenter. It probably put some people off, but he couldn’t help admiring her. And being amused by some of her blunt comments. She had no illusions about people, it seemed.
He moved down a step, checking carefully for any signs of weakness.
Unasked and unwelcome, his mind returned to the case the police had against him. He hadn’t heard anything more from the Harrisburg detective, but that didn’t mean the man was idle. Chief Jamison, at least, didn’t seem to take his guilt for granted.
When they’d walked back along the path, identifying where Michael had gone in pursuit, Jamison had been intent, obviously eager to find something that would tell him who it had been.
That didn’t mean he had any illusions about the chief. If he found indications that Michael was guilty, he’d act. He’d pressed the subject of the friend when they were alone, and it was impossible to tell if he believed Michael hadn’t known.
He’d been good with Allie, though. Michael had to admit that his worries there had been unwarranted. Jamison had struck the right note, managing to elicit the information he needed without alarming her. It was a testimony to how good this life was for Allie that she seemed to have no fears.
He’d reached the bottom, checking the treads and underpinning as he went. Then he went back up, stepping heavily on each tread and detecting no tremors. Satisfied, he emerged into the kitchen...old-fashioned by Englisch standards, but typical of houses of that period.
Mrs. Carpenter was waiting for him. “All done?”
“It’s as good as it can be, but—”
“Is it safe? That’s all I want to know.” She never hesitated to interrupt.
“It won’t collapse under you.” He could be just as blunt. “But it’s not safe. There should be a railing. Don’t take my word for it. Ask any contractor, and he’ll tell you the same.”
Her answer was a short grunt. With her square, bulldog face and strong jaw, she didn’t look as though she’d take anyone’s advice readily.
When he didn’t say anything, she glared at him. “No more arguments?”
“I’ve had my say. If you want to take chances, it’s up to you. But you need a railing.”
Silence for a moment. Then she shrugged. “I’ll think about it.” She thrust his money toward him. “Thanks.”
He nodded. That was progress. His work hadn’t always rated a thanks. “Okay. Just let me know if you need anything else done.”
He picked up his toolbox and headed out. He’d reached the door when her voice stopped him.
“Wait a minute. No need to be in such a hurry.” Getting up, she grabbed her cane and stumped over to him. “Got a hot date?” She let out a crack of laughter.
Michael smiled in return. “With my daughter. It’s almost her bedtime.”
“How’s she doing? Fitting in okay?”
He hesitated, but it seemed well-meant.
“More than okay. She’s happier than she’s been in a long time.”
She nodded. “Folks are happier when they’re where they belong.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she didn’t give him time anyway.
“There’s been talk going around about you.”
He’d expected that was true, especially after his attempted interview with Bernard Wilcox. “What are they saying?”
“They wouldn’t say anything to my face.” She let out a crack of laughter again. “I judge people by what I know, not what others say.”
“So what do you know?” Was she building up to saying she didn’t need him any longer?
“Just that you should be careful, that’s all. And take care of that little girl.”
“I intend to.” If he sounded grim, he meant it. Nobody was getting to Allie.
“Right. Go on home now. You can stop by tomorrow and give me an estimate on the railing.”
Before he could collect himself and thank her, she stamped away.
He went out and closed the door carefully. Well. She’d been warning him, that was sure. And declaring herself on his side, it seemed.
But what, exactly, was threatened?
* * *
WHEN MICHAEL HAD settled Allie for the night, he came downstairs to find that Lige had come back. He was sitting at the kitchen table, with Aunt Verna cutting into a pie.
“What brings you back again?” He sat down across from Lige. Before he could refuse, Aunt Verna had set wedges of cherry pie in front of them.
“He brought a present for Allie.” She turned to lift something from one of the pegs by the door. “A new dress Sarah made.”
The dress was a clear green color, bright and pretty. When Aunt Verna held it out to him, Michael ran his hand down the fabric, touched at his sister’s thoughtfulness.
“It’s great. She didn’t have to do that. Allie will love it.”
“Ach, I should have thought of it.” Aunt Verna smiled, hanging the dress up again. “Sarah is wonderful kindhearted. Every little girl wants a new dress all her own.”