Where Shadows Meet

by Colleen Coble

  “I’ll have to ask Sarah about it.” Her gut clenched at the thought. Sarah might think she was accusing her of theft.

  She put all of the items back in the box, though she lingered over the letters. She’d wanted to read them for as long as she could remember. “When you’re older,” her mother had always said. The youth quilt caught her attention. She unfolded it and spread it out on the bed.

  “That’s gorgeous,” Angie said, getting up to take a closer look. “It looks like the birds are about to fly off the fabric. It’s a solid black with just stitching as the only other color. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “All Mamm’s quilts are unique. It’s the way she uses color. And look at her tiny stitches. I’ve never been able to match their perfection.”

  Angie leaned over to examine the quilt. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Where did she learn?”

  “My dad’s mother. Großmutter took her under her wing, and Mamm was so patient to learn it all. She used to paint before she married Datt. Afterward, she poured all her artistic ability into her quilts.”

  “I wish we had more of her quilts to feature in your book.”

  “Me too.”

  Angie went back to her chair. “Is there another one around here? Maybe some of her customers still have them?”

  “Oh, of course! We could get some of those. I wasn’t thinking. I’d rather feature my mother’s quilts if I can find them. She had a magnificent Mariner’s Compass one. I think she sold it to the woman who owns the fabric store. We’ll check there tomorrow.”

  Hannah couldn’t wait to hold it. Maybe the woman would sell it to her.

  EIGHTEEN

  “The Double Nine Patch Quilt is one of the most traditional quilts, which is fitting when you remember that the traditions handed down through generations are supremely important to the Amish.”

  —HANNAH SCHWARTZ,

  IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts

  Hannah’s cell phone rang after Angie had gone to sleep. She answered it and whispered, “Hang on,” before tiptoeing out into the hall. She slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. “Hello,” she said. She’d been half-asleep and hadn’t checked the caller ID.

  “Hi, hon,” Reece said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  Hannah cleared her throat. “It’s after midnight, Reece. Of course you woke me.”

  “I was thinking about you. Come meet me at the road. We could go for a cup of coffee.”

  “No. Leave me alone. Our marriage is over.”

  “Don’t say that, hon. I don’t want anything . . . bad to happen to you. We have to get back together.”

  Hannah licked her dry lips. “Are you threatening me, Reece?”

  “Of course not. It’s just that bad things might happen if I’m not around to protect you.”

  “Bad things happen when I’m with you. No one has hit me in five years.”

  His voice vibrated with anger. “I told you, that’s in the past. I won’t touch you. I’ve changed. I’ve converted.”

  “You’re driving,” she pointed out.

  “It’s just temporary. The bishop told me to sell everything. Until I get it sold, I’m driving it.”

  Hannah barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “What’s Demut mean?”

  “Humility,” he said promptly.

  Score one for him. “How does that work out in life?” Could he be telling the truth? Some of the districts weren’t as restrictive as others.

  “Accepting God’s will. And God doesn’t want us to be apart, Hannah.”

  “God doesn’t want you to beat me either. Or to kill our daughter. You pushed me down the steps, Reece.”

  “You’re wrong, hon. I was trying to catch you. I would never hurt you.”

  “You broke my nose, my arm. Why would I believe you now?” Was she remembering that night all wrong? But even if she was, he’d been liberal with his fists at other times. The loss of the baby was the final, tragic straw.

  “I’m warning you, Hannah. You’d better come back home. Where it’s safe.”

  Hannah shut off her phone without replying to his insistent demand. The hidden threat in his words made goose bumps break out on her skin. She rubbed the raised flesh on her arm. He wasn’t going to intimidate her.

  MATT DIDN’T WANT to be here. It had been late when he arrived, but even his fatigue didn’t help him fall asleep. The lack of outside lighting deepened the shadows in the room. This was a bad idea. He tossed on the sofa. At least the hiss of the gaslights had been silenced. He’d had no idea a lamp like that was so loud.

  Now the house echoed with silence. If there were a TV in the place, he’d turn it on and spend an hour of mindlessness. He forced himself to close his eyes and then began to drift. He dreamed of Analise. She was smiling as she ran through a field of flowers. He wanted to warn her not to smell them, but he couldn’t speak.

  He came awake at the sound of a creak as loud as a shotgun in the dark. Matt thrashed out of the tangle of sheets and leaped to his feet. He listened for the sound to come again. There it was. He rubbed his eyes, and for a second, he thought he might still be dreaming. Then the sound came a third time.

  It was the creak of the door in the kitchen. He hadn’t heard anyone come down from upstairs. An intruder was in the house. He moved noiselessly across the room. There was no moon tonight, so not even moonlight illuminated the kitchen as he peered through the doorway. He thought he saw a dark figure pass in front of him.

  He leaped forward, and his hand touched fabric. There was someone here. He wrestled with the figure, neither of them saying a word, until they were both on the kitchen floor. He pinned the intruder to the linoleum.

  Only then did he realize he wasn’t grappling with a man but rather with the softness of a woman. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them to the floor above her head.

  “Get. Off. Me.” Hannah’s voice vibrated with anger. “Are you crazy?”

  He let go as if the heat of her wrists seared his skin. Scrambling back, he helped her to her feet. “What are you doing prowling around in the dark?”

  “I didn’t have a flashlight, and I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d have some milk.”

  He reached over and fumbled to turn on the gaslight. The soft hiss came with the glow. “You could have turned on the light.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  She stood in her bare feet. The peach cotton nightgown she wore covered her from her neck to her ankles, but with her hair hanging down her back and her eyes smudged with sleep, he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. He didn’t like the way he was noticing things about her—like the way her hair glowed in the light and the way her mouth was shaped. For a second he let himself imagine kissing those full lips.

  What was he thinking? He was smarter than to let physical attraction blind him. Besides, she’d never filed for divorce. Anger with himself made his voice gruff. “Oh yeah, I’m sleeping now.”

  She turned her head away, but not before he caught the glimmer of tears. What a jerk he was. He touched her arm. “What’s wrong?”

  She pulled away, then brushed past him to open the gas refrigerator. “Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  Taking out a jug of milk, she shook it, then poured two glassfuls. She handed one to him before sitting at the table.

  “Why’d you shake it?”

  “It’s not processed. It’s the real thing, so you have to mix the cream back into the milk.”

  He slid out a chair beside her and took a cautious sip of the milk, finding it creamy and good. Good to focus on something other than watching her bring the rim of the glass to her mouth. She set the glass on the table and licked the cream from her lips. He watched in fascination. “So what’s wrong?”

  Her sigh was soft. “Everything is so confusing. I don’t know what to do, where to go for help. Reece called me a few minutes ago. He swears he’s joined an Amish district.”

  “It’s true. Blake went up to Shipshewana t
o investigate. He talked to the bishop. He’s been attending there for a month.”

  She rocked back in her chair, and her shoulders hunched as though she were protecting herself from a blow. “I can’t believe it.”

  “What did he want?”

  “What he always wants. For me to come back to him.”

  “Are you going to do it?” He’d seen it so often over the years—the abused woman going back to her abuser. He hoped Hannah had more courage than that. Reece would end up killing her, given the chance.

  Her head came up. “I’m not going back. I’m done with abuse.”

  Her voice rang with conviction, and Matt actually believed she meant it. He sensed that a backbone of iron ran through Hannah. Sometimes trials did that—hardened a person enough that they could face new adversity. She was tenacious, he’d say that much for her. She was still here looking for her daughter.

  “Good for you,” he said softly. He could drown in those golden brown eyes. Leaning forward, he propped his chin on his hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He was close enough to catch a whiff of her fragrance, a light citrus of some kind, maybe shampoo.

  Was it his imagination, or did she move closer by an inch or two? Even as he plucked her hand from the table, he wondered what he was doing. This wasn’t professional, but her vulnerability drew him anyway. When was the last time he even went out with a woman? A year? Two? And he was attracted to so much more than her appearance. She was as tenacious as Ajax after a scent. Her soft eyes only masked a will and determination he couldn’t help but admire.

  She let her hand stay in his, though her eyes widened. Maybe she thought he was just offering comfort. And that’s what the gesture was, of course. He didn’t mean anything else by it. He encapsulated her hand in both of his. “If you’re not afraid of Reece, why can’t you sleep?”

  “How many foster parents are there in the county?”

  “What a question. Lots. I have no idea.”

  “Can you find out?”

  “Sure. But why?”

  “You know the picture I showed you of the child?” She waited until he nodded. “The quilt the little girl is sitting on is one that was stolen the night of the murders.”

  He found his voice. “Interesting, but lots of people bought quilts from your mother, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, but she’d just finished this one. I recognize the fabric. It was in the cabinet the day she died.”

  “So you’re telling me you think these foster parents had something to do with your family’s murder?” He tried to remember where Caitlin’s quilt had come from. The information would be crucial. It had been a baby gift, and Analise had kept track of that kind of stuff. Could it be in Caitlin’s baby book? But where on earth had he put that?

  “It’s possible they at least know the murderer. How else could they get that quilt?”

  “Maybe he sold them over eBay. Or sold them to any store. There doesn’t have to be a connection.” What a lame explanation. He was going to have to go home and look for that baby book.

  “Maybe.” She chewed on her bottom lip.

  “I’ll try to get a list of foster parents and check them out. It might take weeks, though.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  He was beginning to think he’d do most anything for her—except turn over his daughter. No wonder Reece was nuts about her. Hannah had a childlike quality mixed in with her beauty. It made a man want to be a hero for her sake. He let go of her hand. If he wasn’t careful, he would be as mixed up as Reece.

  He rose. “It’s nearly two. You should get some rest.”

  “Of course.” The warmth in her voice faded. The chair scraped on the linoleum as she pushed back from the table and rose.

  He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She turned to go, but he reached out and took her arm. “I—I’ll do all I can for you, Hannah.” He was closer than he realized. It would only take one small movement for her to be in his arms. Even though he knew it wasn’t smart, he tugged on her arm. The next moment her head was against his chest, and he was inhaling the sweet scent of her. He’d been right. The citrus fragrance was in her hair.

  Her small, soft form fit in his arms. It had been years since he’d held a woman. Not since Analise. His wife had always been a little tense, looking around like she was about to move on to the next item in her list. There was a stillness about Hannah that soothed him. He ran a hand over her long hair and the heavy locks caught his fingers.

  “What’s going on here?” Luca stood in the stairwell door. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was only partially tucked into the waistband of his pants.

  Hannah jerked away and smoothed her hands over her nightgown. “I just came down for some milk.”

  “I thought she was an intruder and tackled her,” Matt said. He knew he sounded lame when Luca’s glower darkened.

  “It didn’t look much like a tackle,” Luca said, his tone dry. “I think you’d better get to bed, Hannah.”

  “Of course.” Hannah slipped past her cousin, her bare feet pounding up the wooden steps as though she were rushing to escape the devil himself.

  Luca said nothing until the bedroom door upstairs shut. “Hannah is vulnerable. Please leave her alone.”

  “I’m just here to protect her. And find out who’s targeting all of you and put him behind bars.”

  “God exacts justice. It’s not our place.”

  “You don’t want him caught?”

  “Of course I want Hannah safe. But God will protect her.”

  “Sometimes evil prevails, Luca.”

  “That, too, is God’s will.”

  Such a defeatist attitude annoyed Matt. “Then you think we should never work for justice here on earth?”

  “We’re told to forgive.”

  “No matter the offense?”

  “Yes. That was Hannah’s biggest fault. She wanted justice. Even as a child she struggled with this.”

  “Don’t we all?” It was Matt’s own desire for justice that had led him to law enforcement. “I’m sworn to uphold the law, to put lawbreakers behind bars. I’m not a philosopher.”

  “Our beliefs are not about philosophy but about obeying God’s command to forgive. Seventy times seven. No matter what the offense. We forgive those who are too weak to stand against the devil and his wiles. There but for the grace of God go we all.”

  Luca had a point there. Matt knew his own weaknesses. “Aren’t you afraid of who is targeting your family?”

  “God’s will be done. If it is my time, I’ll go.”

  “But your wife, your children.”

  Luca grimaced. “It would be hard, but I know God is sovereign. And I accept that. Even pain can be for the glory of God.”

  “He’s not going to get to any of you. Especially Hannah.”

  “You’re Englisch. You know nothing about the things that matter most to her.”

  The jab hurt. “And you do? You’re not acting like it.”

  Luca’s color mounted. “I do only what’s best for Hannah’s soul.”

  Matt believed him. He could see the man’s earnest love for his cousin. And who was he to say Luca was wrong? Matt now recognized he was beginning to want her for himself. Hannah had an unrest in her, a sadness that might be cured only by returning to the bosom of her family and friends.

  Would meeting his mother tomorrow bring rest to Matt’s soul?

  WEDNESDAY MORNING. SHE’D been here a week. It seemed longer. From where she sat in the sitting room, Hannah could see her cousins at the kitchen table with Sarah. Their blond heads bent for silent prayer with their small hands clasped together. How often had she done the same around the table with her parents? It was one of the things she missed the most.

  The children took their breakfast dishes to the sink and climbed the stools to wash them. Hannah forced herself to stay in the sitting room. Luca had already gone to the greenhouse, and Hannah hoped for a chance to talk to Sarah. Angie was upstairs working on
a press release, and this morning would be the perfect time once Naomi and Sharon went outside. She didn’t see Matt anywhere, and after last night’s embarrassment, maybe that was best.

  Hours later, she still longed to experience the strength of his arms around her. But look where that had gotten her last time. She needed to keep her distance. Besides, she was still married, at least legally. She’d hoped Reece would initiate divorce proceedings when she disappeared, but she should have known better.

  The girls finished the dishes, and Hannah heard Sarah tell them to go gather the eggs. Before Sarah could start another chore, Hannah hurried into the kitchen. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Sarah’s glance held a trace of wariness. “Ja, I suppose. I have laundry to do. I am two days late with it, and Luca has no more clothes.”

  “Oh, we can talk over laundry. It was always our favorite chore to do together. Remember how we used to throw suds at each other? Mamm was so mad the day we had more suds on us than on the clothes. What were we—thirteen or fourteen?” Hannah had to smile at the memory.

  Sarah’s lips twitched, but the smile never reached breaking point. “I cannot accept a favor from you.”

  Hannah’s smile vanished. “It’s a favor to me that you would allow me to do my laundry too. I didn’t bring many clothes with me, and most of them are dirty.”

  Sarah still looked uncertain, but finally she nodded. “Get your clothes.”

  Hannah flew up the steps to gather the laundry. She yearned to see Sarah smile, to resurrect some tiny part of their friendship again. She took Angie’s clothes with hers in a basket she found in the hall closet upstairs. By the time she got to the laundry room, an enclosed back porch, Sarah had already fired up the gas-powered wringer washer.

  Hannah dumped the clothes onto the concrete floor and sorted them. Sarah kept glancing at her from under her lashes. She almost looked . . . scared. Hannah wondered if Sarah feared she’d ask about the missing ring.