“No sign of Stebbins?”
“Well, he did show up, but I handled it.”
“Harassment. Find a witness,” Lee said. “We’ll get a restraining order.”
“Oh, I have a witness.” Annie turned back to the bench.
But Rufus was gone.
A horn honked, and Annie raised her eyes to the red truck in the bank parking lot. Rufus pulled open the passenger door and got in.
Tom would carry Rufus back to Westcliffe. She had not even mentioned seeing Ruth or thought to return Eli’s book. All she had wanted was that kiss, no matter what.
Annie sighed and pulled out her phone to look at her schedule. She was having dinner with her parents the next night and a meeting with Lee the day after that. Then came a day of client meetings. Something had to give.
Maybe Rufus would not even want to see her. Maybe he would not listen once she spoke Ruth’s name.
Twenty-Seven
July 1738
Elizabeth Kallen yanked on a crowbar to pry the crate open.
“And what did this week’s shipment bring us?” Rachel Treadway, whose husband owned the shop and provided Elizabeth with a small room at the back of his house as most of her compensation, barely lifted her head from her accounts.
Elizabeth grunted and wrenched on the crowbar one more time. The lid came free.
When Elizabeth moved in with the Treadways nine years ago, she did not expect to stay more than a few months. As the years passed, though, she thought less and less about living anywhere else.
Until recently.
Elizabeth reached into the crate and pulled out a tightly wrapped bundle of rose-colored paper in half-sheet size.
“It is a new color. There must be matching envelopes.” Elizabeth carefully laid the paper on the counter and turned back to the crate. “Yes, here they are. The usual yellow and blue are here as well.”
“Any ink?”
Elizabeth moved crumpled paper around the crate. “Blue and black.”
Rachel groaned. “The artist over in Elfreth’s Alley has been begging for purple and green for his drawings.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Only ordinary paper and ink today.”
“We get more and more people asking us for books.” Rachel waved the feather of her pen against her chin. “I wonder if I should speak to Mr. Treadway about adding a few more racks.”
Elizabeth couldn’t imagine where more racks could go in the narrow space of the shop.
“I heard that the Helton girl is finally getting married.” Rachel spread several receipts on her desk. “She’s nearly thirty. I know for a fact her mother had given up hope she would ever marry.”
“Love has no timetable.” As Elizabeth turned away, a bead of perspiration formed at the back of her neck and began its slow descent between her shoulders. “I’m thirty-two.”
“Oh, but you’re different. You have spunk. You came from Switzerland all by yourself when you were twenty-three, and things have worked out well, haven’t they?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Well enough.”
“We think of you as our own, you know.”
“You’ve been very kind.”
Elizabeth had not sailed from Europe to be a shopgirl, however. She was supposed to marry Dirk, who had moved to the New World two years ahead of her. He died in a lumber accident the day her ship left Rotterdam. But how could she have known? She spent two months at sea dreaming of a life that would never be.
She could have married, she supposed. It was not as if she never had another opportunity. But the Treadways, friends of her parents, had sheltered her in the first raw weeks of grief, and Elizabeth had not felt any urgency to move past her lost love.
And then she approached thirty, and passed thirty. Wives her age had five or six children. She had become an old maid who worked in a stationer’s shop. After all these years, Robert Treadway trusted her to run the shop with Rachel while he devoted his own time to more lucrative business interests. She rather enjoyed chatting with customers, and she was free to spend her evenings quietly surrounded by books in her small room. On Sundays she went to church and dined with friends. It was not a bad life. If someone had asked, she would have said she was happy.
Until the day Lisbetli Byler reached across the counter and Elizabeth lifted her eyes to the face of the child’s father.
Jakob stopped just short of the shop’s door. The solid curve of the cobblestone beneath his feet reminded him he had come from a rough-hewn cabin to ask a woman he barely knew if she might leave the comforts of Philadelphia.
The letter had been delivered three weeks ago now. Had he allowed her enough time to consider?
With his eyes focused on where he was putting his feet, Jakob walked past the shop’s open door. He would go see the cooper first for two new barrels to keep their foodstuffs in. Then perhaps he would go to the dry goods.
He stopped once again and looked back at the shop, its door propped open in case a breeze might stir in the street. On the farm, he would remove his jacket and work in shirtsleeves. But he could not call upon Elizabeth Kallen in his shirtsleeves.
He did not even know where she lived to make a proper call. He knew her only from the shop. Though he did not marry Verona until he was thirty-five, Jakob had little experience with these matters. His parents had joined the Amish when Jakob was ten. Since that time, he had barely even spoken to a woman who was not part of the church except to make simple purchases of items the Amish did not provide among their own.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the shop, certain that if she were horrified at the sight of him, he would know immediately and retreat without speaking. He would never trouble her again.
“Mr. Byler!” Sitting on a stool behind the counter, her face brightened with welcome. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I hope you are well, Miss Kallen.”
“I am quite well, thank you. How is our little Lisbetli?”
Our little Lisbetli. Jakob couldn’t help a smile. “She carries the doll with her everywhere she goes.”
“I’m so glad. And Maria? And Christian?”
“Maria has learned to read quite a few words, and Christian is a great help with the work.” He had written these things in the letter, but he would gladly say them again.
“I suppose you have come to town for supplies.” Elizabeth stood. “What kind of paper and ink do you require?”
He had come all the way to Philadelphia to have this conversation, but this was not how he expected it to begin. Jakob’s mind spun, confused. Had his letter not made it clear that his interest went beyond paper and ink? He had chosen his words so carefully. How could she not know?
Sieber. His neighbor might well have changed his mind about delivering the letter.
He blinked his eyes rapidly, feeling light-headed.
“Mr. Byler?” Elizabeth leaned across the counter. “Are you all right?”
The color drained from his face before Elizabeth’s eyes.
“I wonder if you received my letter.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I don’t believe we did. Were you trying to order a particular item?”
He looked as if he might stop breathing. Elizabeth grabbed her stool and ran around the end of the counter to offer it to him.
“Please sit down.” She put a hand on his shoulder to urge him. “I will get you a cup of water.”
Almost afraid to leave him unattended, Elizabeth pushed through the green velvet curtain that separated the main shop from the cramped space she and Rachel used as an office. Still hunched over accounts, Rachel sat at her small desk with a pen in her hand.
“Mr. Byler is here.” Elizabeth took a tin cup off the shelf above the water barrel. “Apparently he sent a letter that did not reach us.”
“Byler?” Rachel sat alert. “Isn’t he one of those Amish people?”
“Yes, I suppose he is. But he’s a paying customer.”
“I think you should steer clear of him.”
>
“I don’t believe you’ve even met him.” Elizabeth gestured to the main shop. “The poor man is out there having some sort of spell because we did not get his letter.”
Rachel sighed. “We got the letter.” She reached under her stack of accounts.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she took the envelope. “This is addressed to me, but it is open.”
“It might have been an order. But something about the handwriting made me uneasy. It is just not right.”
“What is not right?”
“The things he says. He has no business making such a proposition.”
Elizabeth lifted the flap of the envelope and slid the paper out.
Twenty-Eight
Two days later, Annie was in her Prius with an iPod full of her favorite bands cranking through the sound system. In comfortable navy slacks and a purple cotton shirt, she was ready to get down to business.
She liked Lee, and he had done a good job of dispatching her legal issues. She also liked the idea of throwing corporate work toward an independent attorney rather than a large firm. But his office was an hour away, and she was used to an attorney virtually around the corner. They would have to figure out how they were going to have a satisfactory professional relationship at a distance.
Annie parked outside Lee’s unpretentious office in Cañon City, a second-floor suite in a corner building that likely did not exist three years ago. An hour later, she emerged into the sunlight, having agreed to a three-month trial of full corporate representation by Lee Solano. August had just begun. The searing heat of summer would persist for another six weeks. Wincing at the blast of heat that came from opening the car door, Annie sank into the seat and put the cooling system on maximum.
Lee had suggested she lie low for a few days. She persisted in her opinion that Rick would not hurt her physically, but Lee countered with the wisdom of not taking any chances while he sorted out the legal ground. Work from home. Stay away from the gym. Change where she shopped. Eat at someplace new. Use an uncommon route to everywhere.
An uncommon route to everywhere. That’s what Lee said.
She was halfway to Westcliffe already. What was more uncommon than that? At least in Westcliffe she could step into the sunlight without expecting to see Rick Stebbins around every corner.
At least she hoped so.
Annie sat with the air, now hinting at turning cool, blowing in her face, and surveyed the environs of the office building and parking lot. She put the car into gear and rolled out of the lot and onto the street, where she made a complete turn around the block. Then she went to the next block and toured around a slightly wider radius in full alert, looking for any sign of a bronze Jeep with a small dent in the left front bumper.
No sign of Rick. He did have a law practice to run, after all. He could not spend all his time following Annie.
She exhaled with slow control. It was the middle of the week already. A couple of workdays—and then the weekend—in Westcliffe might be just what she needed to wait out Rick’s fury. Her gym bag, tossed in the backseat, held workout clothes and two clean outfits. This time she would have a car in Westcliffe. Annie pulled over in a residential area, took out her phone, and shot a quick e-mail to Jamie with instructions to distribute her client meetings among the software writers and to set up the second phone conference with Liam-Ryder Industries for the following week. Then she let her mother know where she was going.
Besides, when Lee had found out she knew the name of the witness who had seen Rick confront her, he had prodded her to ask the person to stand by ready to recount what he saw. She neglected to mention the witness was Amish and lived in Westcliffe. Why should that matter? It only meant that her best chance of getting Rufus to agree to the plan was to go see him in person. She punched some information into her navigational system and hoped some of the scenery would look familiar.
An hour later, Annie slowed into the long Beiler driveway. The barn and the chicken coop were on the right, Rufus’s workshop on the left, and the house straight ahead. It was a simple and efficient layout in the daylight, far from her first late-evening arrival. The view was comforting to Annie, and she thought of Ruth and what it would mean to her to see this place again. To be welcomed here.
She still did not know the whole story. Even after three cups of tea with Ruth, Annie knew the young woman was holding something back.
Annie shut off the engine, dreading the scorching instant that would come with opening her car door to the outside air. She looked at her denim bag on the seat beside her. It held her laptop, an e-reader, and several folders of legal papers. A fleeting impulse to grab Eli’s book and leave the bag on the seat passed, and she reached to sling the bag over her shoulder and grabbed her iPod out of its slot at the same time. She couldn’t leave valuable electronics in the car on a hot day like this.
When she cracked the door, Annie was surprised at the flutter of wind against her face. A couple of thousand feet in elevation made a difference. The day was warm, but the mountain air moved steadily. Still, she kept the bag on her shoulder and stepped out of the car.
“What am I doing?” she said under her breath. Especially after that kiss.
Shot through with doubt, Annie set her sights on the front porch. She went up the three wide steps and paused a moment at the swing where she had sat during recovery from her fall, where Franey Beiler tried to make her feel welcome, where Rufus sat with his broken saw, refusing to retaliate.
Sucking in a big breath, Annie knocked on the front door.
“Annalise!” Franey pushed the screen door open. “What brings you here?”
Annie held out the book. “I should have returned this before I left.”
“Come inside,” Franey urged. “I’ll make some cold tea.”
Annie shook her head. “Thank you, but I need to speak to Rufus. Do you know where he’s working?
“He’s in his workshop. He’s been working constantly on those cabinets.”
“For the motel?”
“Yes. He’s almost finished.”
“Is it all right if I go find him?” Annie glanced in the direction of the workshop.
“Let me walk you out there.” Franey fell in step with Annie on the path to the workshop. “Do you have business with Rufus?”
“Not exactly.” Annie was not sure what she would say to Rufus. “I need to ask a question. A favor.”
“I see. You are welcome here, Annalise,” Franey said softly, “but I hope you don’t have expectations about Rufus. He is a baptized Amish man. It is unusual for an English woman to take such an interest.”
“I like to think of Rufus as a friend.” Annie’s heart rate surged. Had Rufus told his mother, of all people, about the kiss? “He showed me kindness more than once.”
“I’m glad to hear you speak well of him, and our family enjoys you. But even an Amish mother recognizes a certain look in her grown children. Be careful.”
Annie did not want to meet Franey’s eye at that moment. She swallowed hard. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
They were at the workshop. Franey pushed the door open, greeted her son, and revealed Annie’s presence.
His shirt was open halfway down his chest, and both sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. Annie hesitated, embarrassed. The sight of him in that moment moved her more than all the shirtless men she had ever seen.
Rufus immediately dropped his awl and reached to adjust his shirt.
“I cannot get involved,” Rufus said, after Franey left them and Annalise explained that he might help by giving testimony about what he saw. She had flustered him when she arrived, but not enough to make him do what she asked.
“But you saw him.” Annalise leaned on his worktable with both hands. “He was right in my face. He’s trying to ruin my business.”
“He knows I saw him. I made sure of that.” Rufus picked up a plane, though he was not sure what he meant to do with it.
“Right! So y
ou could identify him if need be.”
“I only meant to deter him from harming you. I cannot get involved with an English court case. How does that serve the cause of peace?”
“What about justice?” Annalise’s face reddened. “Do you think I should let Rick Stebbins walk all over me the way you let Karl Kramer walk all over you?”
“Is that what it looks like to you?” Rufus carefully set down his plane and swiped his hands together to shake loose the sawdust trapped in the crevices of his skin.
“Well yes.”
“Then I have failed.” As much as it made sense to deny it, Rufus wanted Annalise to understand his ways in a way most English did not. She was so smart. Why could she not grasp this?
“What is it supposed to look like?”
“Jesus,” he said softly. “It’s supposed to look like Jesus turning the other cheek. Jesus loving His enemy.”
“And if the enemy wins? If the enemy gets everything and you are left with nothing?”
“God will provide.” If Annalise could understand this one truth, so many more of their ways would follow.
“That doesn’t mean God does not expect us to work hard. You work hard to make a living.”
“God provides through the blessing of work. That is not the same as court battles and lawyers.” Rufus picked up a rag and ran it across the worktable, knocking sawdust and bits of wood to the floor while Annalise was quiet. His words were soaking in, it seemed.
“Well, I didn’t think you would testify, but my lawyer wanted me to ask.”
Annalise leaned against a post at the end of the workbench. She had not expected to persuade him. Right next to her stood a stack of cabinets. She raised one hand to lightly follow the curved edge in the front design. “These are exquisite.”
“Thank you.” The moment he had hoped for was gone, but perhaps it would come again.
“Mo must be excited,” Annalise said. “When will you install them?”
“I’ll take them over tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll begin installing the day after that. My crew is busy with something else right now.”
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