by Emma Miller
She glanced back at the Jeep, where Mary Aaron waited. Her cousin was properly dressed in full Amish attire, complete with white kapp, for an afternoon of prayer and Bible reading with her family. Rachel was in jeans, hiking boots, a sweatshirt, and her barn coat. There was no way she was going up on the mountain in her dress clothes. She’d have to make certain that she left enough time to dash back to the house and make herself presentable before Evan arrived to take her to the restaurant.
When there was no response from Chuck, Rachel repeated her request. She returned to the Jeep, got out of the cold, and waited. After ten minutes, she tried again. Still nothing. “I can’t imagine why—” she started to say to Mary Aaron, but then she broke off abruptly as the prepper’s voice sounded through the speaker.
“Go away, Rachel! I can’t see you today. I’d rather not see anyone. It’s . . . it was a bad night. Having a bad day. I’m sorry . . . really sorry.”
“Chuck! What’s wrong? Can I help in some way?” she asked.
“Yes, just go away and leave me alone. I can’t be around people today. You. It isn’t safe.”
“Chuck, please. I promise it will just be a couple of minutes.” In the background, she heard the whining and barking of the dog pack and then there was a click and everything went silent. “Chuck?” She waited again, but there was no further communication. Perplexed and disappointed, she went back to the Jeep. “He won’t let me in. Said he’d had a bad night, whatever that means. But worse, he said it wasn’t safe for me. What do you suppose—”
“No idea.” Mary Aaron shook her head.
“So, we just give up and leave?”
“What else can we do?” Her cousin grimaced. “I’m not dressed for mountain climbing, and no way am I letting you try to force your way in there. If the man says it’s not safe, you take his word on it.”
Rachel started the engine and turned the Jeep around. “He didn’t say who or what I’d be in danger from.”
“Maybe it’s for the best that he wouldn’t let you in,” Mary Aaron said, glancing over her shoulder at the forbidding gate. “Chuck Baker is one of your suspects.”
“Persons of interest,” Rachel corrected.
“Whatever.” Mary Aaron turned toward Rachel. “If there’s the slightest possibility that he’s a killer, does it make sense that you—that we go up there? I know you want to prove that Moses is innocent of Daniel’s murder, but it can’t be at the risk of your own life.”
“Chuck wouldn’t hurt me. He might have killed Daniel, but I know I’m safe with him.”
“You know that?” Mary Aaron frowned. “How do you know?”
“It’s just a feeling. He likes me.”
Mary Aaron threw up her hands. “Okay, so maybe he won’t kill you. Instead, he’ll tie you up and hide you in a cave. Rachel, if the man isn’t right in the head, you don’t know what he’ll do.”
“Chuck has his problems and he might be capable of doing physical violence to someone, but not to me. Somewhere under that scary shell is a gentle soul who is desperately trying to find peace.”
“So maybe you should pray for him.”
Rachel sighed. “I have.”
“I will, too. In the meantime, what are you going to do with the pie?” She pointed to the backseat.
Rachel smiled. “I’ll leave it for Mary Rose and her family. After what I went through to sneak it out of Ada’s pantry, I’m not going to try and put it back.”
“She’ll never know. She made at least a dozen pies for the B&B. Chocolate, peach, apple, pumpkin, and sweet potato. What’s she going to do? Count them? Ada’s gone for the day with her family. She won’t know whether your guests ate it or you did.”
“She’ll know,” Rachel insisted glumly. “Ada knows everything.”
“Why not give it to Evan’s mother?”
“She wouldn’t eat it. She once asked me if Ada’s home kitchen is inspected by the state. She has the idea that the Amish are living back in the nineteenth century and don’t have her standards. Evan’s mom likes her pies wrapped in shrink-wrap and baked at a factory. She’s always telling stories about an Amish girl they hired to help in the kitchen who brought them homemade butter that tasted sour and eggs that hadn’t been properly washed.”
“Ew. Mam wouldn’t stand for us bringing in eggs from the chicken house without washing them before we put them in the egg cartons.”
“My mother, either,” Rachel agreed. “It’s going to be interesting, having her for a mother-in-law.”
Mary Aaron laughed. “Just take her out to Aunt Esther’s kitchen. You could eat off her floors. She’ll soon set her straight.”
“Maybe I will,” Rachel said. “But in any case, she’s not getting this sweet potato pie and neither is Chuck Baker.”
A short time later Mary Aaron instructed Rachel to let her out at the end of her father’s lane. “No sense in taking the chance that Dat will see you in those jeans. Especially on Thanksgiving Day. He wouldn’t be pleased.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Rachel agreed.
They’d stopped at the Studer place to leave the pie, and Alma had kept them talking longer than she’d wanted. Alma had been upset, her eyes red and swollen from weeping. The older woman looked as if she hadn’t slept at all. As Rachel and Mary Aaron drove out of the driveway, the midwife was just approaching in her open two-wheel cart. Either Salome was coming to spend the day of prayer and fasting with the family or she was coming to see a patient. Rachel couldn’t help wondering which it was.
As Mary Aaron walked away from the Jeep at her parents’ house, Rachel pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. She grimaced, seeing that it was later than she’d thought. She’d have to hurry if she was going to be ready.
She was a mile from the house when she blew the right front tire. It wasn’t a total disaster because she had a good spare and she knew how to change a tire. But it did delay her enough so that when she pulled into her drive, Evan was there waiting.
Rachel inhaled sharply. “Sorry,” she said as he opened her driver’s side door. “I had a flat.”
He was in his best suit. Sometime since she’d seen him last, he’d gotten a haircut, and his shoes were shined so that she could see her reflection in them. “I told Mom that we’d pick her up in thirty minutes.” His expression was grim.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Mrs. Morris joining us?”
“No.” Rachel pressed her lips together. “Evan, I’m sorry. The time just got away from me.”
“Do whatever you have to do and do it as quickly as you can. You know how she hates to be kept waiting.”
And so did he. Rachel swallowed. She felt terrible. If only she hadn’t driven over that nail, she would have been home safe. She’d perfected the art of dressing in a hurry years ago. She’d twist up her hair and add just a hint of lipstick. “I’ll be down in ten minutes,” she promised.
He sighed. “Rachel, you knew this was important to me,” he said. “And to Mom. What was so imperative that you had to leave the house instead of getting ready?”
At this point, she didn’t want to get into a discussion about Moses. “Grab a bottle of water or a cup of coffee,” she told him. “I won’t be long.”
“I’ll wait in the car.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s not argue,” she said. “It’s my fault. I’m running late, and I take the responsibility. Can you just let it go at that?”
He glanced away, then back at her. “It’s just . . .” His mouth tightened. “I think I should come first once in a while. Just once in a while, Rachel. And I can’t help thinking . . .”
“Thinking what?”
“That you’re having second thoughts about marrying me.”
“We talked about this.” She grasped his hand, looking up at him. “No, Evan. I’m not having second thoughts. I can’t wait for our wedding. I want to marry you.”
“Then why . . .” He pulled away from her. “Just do what
ever you do to make yourself beautiful. I’ll call Mom and tell her that we’ll be there soon.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” she said. “And to her. But let’s put this aside. I don’t want to argue with you, today of all days.”
“Me, either,” he said gruffly. “So get a move on.”
“Yes, sir, Officer,” she said teasingly. But Evan didn’t laugh, and Rachel groaned inwardly. It was going to be a long day and she had no one to blame but herself.
* * *
“Yes, I had a nice Thanksgiving. How about you, Bella? With your family?” Rachel leaned her pitchfork against the wall of her garage/goat barn and spoke into her phone. It was Friday evening, and she was late getting the animals fed and cared for. It had been one thing after another all day, and she’d never gotten around to calling the florist back. And now Bella had caught up with her. Sometimes Rachel wished she didn’t have a phone, at least not a cell phone. Her mother’s life was so much more peaceful without one.
“Yes, Bella,” Rachel said. “The wedding is still on and we still want the flowers. No, I understand. I’m not particular. Whatever you think best. Nothing over-the-top. No, no orchids. I’m not really even a roses girl. Can’t you get something simple from your supplier? Daisies maybe?” She sighed, listening to Bella chew her out. Rachel knew she was at fault here, but she really wasn’t in the mood to be called on the carpet.
“I know, and I apologize. Everything has been hectic. I know I promised to come in, but really, I trust your judgment. Just a nice bride’s bouquet, flowers for the church, and a few arrangements for the house. I’m not having attendants.”
Rachel paused. Listened. “Yes, his mother will want a corsage. My mother will be there, but she wouldn’t want one.”
Bella’s voice buzzed in her ear. “Yes, I’m absolutely certain. You can send her a bouquet to her house on the Monday after the wedding, but nothing at the wedding.”
Rachel tucked the phone under her chin and used both hands to toss in a fresh block of hay. The goats crowded around, bleating and shouldering one another, trying to snatch choice pieces of the hay. She leaned against the stall rails and smiled at the goats’ antics. One had gotten down on her knees and was crawling in underneath her mother, while a young kid reared up on his hind legs and bleated pitifully.
Bella went on for another minute, and then Rachel said sweetly, “Talk to you soon. I’m sure the flowers will be beautiful. Good night.” She ended the call and slipped the phone into her coat pocket with a sigh of relief.
It rang immediately, and this time Rachel didn’t hesitate. It was Evan. “Hey, you,” she said warmly.
“Hey yourself. What are you up to?”
“Feeding the goats. Hay.” She laughed at her own silly joke and he chuckled. “You?” she asked.
“Highway patrol.”
“You’re calling your girlfriend while you’re on duty?”
“No, I’m not. I’m on my officially approved break. Stopped at the Starlight Diner for a quick burger.”
“With cheese, I suppose. And fries.”
“You know me too well,” he admitted.
“I wouldn’t think you could eat anything after all you ate at the restaurant yesterday.”
“I hope it wasn’t too bad for you,” he said. “Mom can be overbearing at times. But she’ll love you. I promise.”
“No,” Rachel said. “It was half as bad as I was afraid it was going to be.”
“I couldn’t leave her alone on Thanksgiving.”
“Of course you couldn’t. But next year, I’m cooking. She’s invited to our house.”
“You’re cooking or Ada’s cooking?”
Rachel smiled. “Maybe a little of both?”
They were both quiet for a moment, but it wasn’t a bad quiet. It was the comfortable kind that two people who love each other can share.
“I called because . . . Rachel, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being a jerk yesterday.”
“You weren’t a jerk. I was late, and I’m late a lot. It was my fault.”
“And you said you were sorry. I should have accepted your apology and moved on, but I didn’t. I need to get better about that.”
“We both have a lot of adjusting to do.”
“Yeah, I suppose we do. Friends?”
“You bet.”
“Good. Got to go now,” he said. “Time to put on my cape and defend the world against the forces of evil.”
“Be safe out there,” she murmured, suddenly serious. “I love you.”
“And I love you. More than you’ll ever know.”
A few more sweet words, and they ended the call. “God keep him safe,” she prayed under her breath.
The bleating goats dragged her back into the moment.
Rachel laughed. “You’d think you didn’t get fed twice a day,” she said. “You are so spoiled.” But she broke off another section of hay bale and tossed that into the stall.
As she reached for another, she heard the squeak of the door hinges and felt a gust of cold wind on the back of her neck. She turned to see the outline of a man in black, looming in the shadows. Then, he twisted, pulling the door shut, and slammed the wooden bar into place.
Rachel let out a small gasp as the ghostly figure stepped into the light, revealing a craggy, bearded face camouflaged with streaks of black paint.
It was Chuck Baker.
Chapter 14
Rachel stared at the hulk of a man, her thoughts racing. Her mouth went dry as prickles of fear raised goose bumps across the nape of her neck. “Charles?” She sounded breathless and frightened. She didn’t want to sound like that . . . to sound so helpless. Think, she told herself. She took a step backward, and her gaze darted toward the pitchfork leaning against the wall.
The prepper’s expression sagged from fierce to sorrowful and he drew back. “Rachel, what’s wrong? Are you scared of me? You aren’t scared of me, are you?”
She caught her breath. “You . . . you startled me,” she said. Not just his sudden appearance but the fact that he’d barred the door. Why had he barred the door if he didn’t mean her any harm?
“You needn’t be afraid of me,” he said. “I’d never hurt you. I’d never hurt anyone. At least . . . I hope I wouldn’t.” He looked down and then up again.
“Okay,” she said, still a little uneasy. “Why did you bar the door?”
He looked at her quizzically, then hitched his thumb in the direction of the door. “Because it’s windy out?”
She almost laughed out loud when she realized how silly her response to him had been. “I’m sorry. You just startled me,” she repeated.
“I came to apologize for yesterday . . . for turning you away yesterday.”
Rachel shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I mean it, Rachel,” he said. “You’re the last person I’d ever hurt. You’ve been so kind to me. I was hoping . . . I was thinking maybe we could be . . . friends. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend.”
Relief washed over her, and her knees felt suddenly weak. She glanced at the bale of hay, wondering if what was left of it would hold her or she’d end up looking like a total fool by sliding onto the concrete floor.
Chuck took another step forward and touched the smudge of camouflage on his cheek. “I don’t like people to see me at night,” he said. “So, I guess I am a little crazy. That place where they sent me would make anyone crazy. Four tours, four too many. You can’t trust anyone, you know. An interpreter we had, someone we’d eaten with and laughed with and slept beside, he shot two of the guys in my patrol. Shot them in the back. Killed them without blinking an eye. And I’ve seen cute little kids rigged with suicide vests. I shouldn’t be telling you this stuff, but I can’t get it out of my mind. Still, it’s wrong to talk about it. No need to keep you awake nights.”
Rachel remembered with a rush of compassion that he’d said he’d had a bad night. “Do you have nightmares?” she asked him. “Maybe you
should talk about it. Have you considered—”
“Seeing a shrink?” He gave a grunt of disdain. “Saw my share of them in recovery. They think they’ve got it all figured out, but they don’t. It makes no sense. We kill them. They kill us. You can’t tell friends from enemies, and friends today may be enemies tomorrow.” He paused. “Not you, I mean.”
“It must have been terrible for you,” she said, taking a step toward him. “But I was thinking about God. I find comfort in prayer.”
He scowled. “I’ve tried praying. My mother raised me to believe, but . . . it’s hard, you know. You keep wondering if there is a God, how can He allow such pain? The psychiatrists say I’m depressed. That I’ve got brain damage and PTSD. Maybe I do, but who wouldn’t? There aren’t any rules over there. There should be rules. Good guys, bad guys, civilians. Little kids shouldn’t be sent out to blow up people, and they should be able to sleep in their beds without bombs dropping on them. Don’t you think?”
Rachel nodded.
“I was afraid to let you in yesterday. Sometimes I get worrying about nuclear war, about the end of what we have in this country. I’m better off alone then. I jump at shadows, you know. And Patton, my raccoon, didn’t come home. I thought . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I thought. One of the dogs tangled with a black bear. Not much of a contest. I had to bury him, and I was afraid that Patton might have . . .” Chuck slapped his forehead with the palm of an open hand. “A lot of steel up there, you know. I get headaches, but don’t worry, I’m good tonight. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t think I could hold it together.”
“Is your raccoon all right? Did you find him?”
“Yeah. Patton’s fine. Came trailing in early this morning looking like he’d had himself a good old time. Probably got himself a lady raccoon he—” Chuck’s face reddened. “Pardon me. No call for such talk to a lady. I guess I do spend too much time alone. I forget my manners.”
“Won’t you come into the house? Have some coffee and a piece of pie? I’ve got at least three kinds of pie.”
“No, thank you. I’m not much for making social calls. I feel easier on the mountain. I don’t usually leave it except to take on supplies or pick up a pit bull that needs a place to call home.” He glanced around as if to confirm that they were alone. “I felt bad about turning you away yesterday, real bad. You must have come back for a reason.”