And that brought a smile to my face.
Epilogue
Two weeks later, I watched as Phoebe Truber waved to her last student as he walked home from Hock Trail School. The wipers on Mitchell’s department SUV worked overtime, wicking away water as a cold fall rain steadily came down.
After the boy was out of sight, I said, “I should go in before she heads home too.”
Mitchell reached across the console and squeezed my hand. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
I smiled. “Thanks for the offer, but I think Phoebe has had enough dealings with the police to last her a lifetime. I know she must have seen your car out here and it probably made her nervous.”
He squeezed my hand one more time and let it go.
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I am glad that you came with me, though.”
He grinned. “Me too. I’ll wait right here for you.”
Oliver and I exited my car. I reached into the backseat and grabbed the crate I needed to deliver. I waved to Mitchell, and my Frenchie and I dashed through the rain for the school’s front door. I pushed open the door with my foot.
Phoebe was erasing the chalkboard and didn’t turn around when I came inside. Her hand shook as she held the eraser, making a wavy pattern on the board. “What are the police doing here? Is it about Phillip?”
I wiped rainwater from my eyes. “The sheriff drove me to see you, but he’s not here on official business, no. I came to see if you were all right. I hadn’t heard from you.”
Oliver shook water off his fur.
She continued to erase and didn’t turn around. “I am fine. Thank you for stopping by.”
“I brought you something too,” I said, setting the crate of books on one of the children’s desks in the front row. “I thought it might help keep your mind off things.”
She set her eraser in the chalkboard well but still did not turn around. “I’m not sure what can help me now. My brother is in prison for murdering my district’s bishop. I’m living alone on my family’s farm, not sure how to take care of it. Everyone in the community avoids me.”
My heart broke for her. “The community just needs time, and you have friends. Levi and Faith are speaking to you, aren’t they?”
She nodded. “I’m glad they are getting married after all. They are happy together.”
“And you’re still the only teacher in your district. That’s a good sign. It means the district still trusts you, no matter what your brother may have done.”
She turned and saw, behind me, the paperback novels she’d tried to burn in the stove the day after her brother had killed the bishop.
“You kept them,” she whispered.
“They’re yours,” I said. “I thought they would be a good distraction from your troubles.”
She picked up a novel at the top of the pile and flipped lovingly through its pages. “I’m not sure I should have them after what happened. This all started because of books.”
“No, Phoebe, it started because of the fear of the ideas in the books.” I paused. “Maybe it’s time that you decide for yourself if you believe those ideas.”
“Maybe,” she whispered. She held one of the novels to her chest. “Danki. I think I need to decide what I believe about a lot of things.”
I smiled. “If you ever need to talk, look me up. I know I’m not Amish, but I am a good listener. No judgment, I promise.”
“Danki,” she repeated.
“I had better let you close up the schoolhouse for the day,” I said.
She nodded, and Oliver and I quietly left the schoolhouse. I took one last look at her as I shut the door and saw she had sunk into one of the desks, already reading one of the paperbacks.
During the short time that Oliver and I had been inside the schoolhouse, the rain had ceased. It was still damp and cold, though. Mitchell stood outside his car talking on his cell phone. When he saw me, he ended the call. Oliver trotted toward him, and the sheriff bent over and patted Oliver’s head.
I nodded to the phone in his hand. “You get a call-out?”
He shook his head. “That was Anderson. He was just giving me an update on Phillip Truber. Phillip has another court date next week, and I have to be there to represent the police.” His hand tightened around his phone. “He’s facing charges for murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, and lying to police.” His jaw tightened when he mentioned the charges concerning me.
I placed my hand on the sheriff’s arm. “Stand down, Officer. I’m fine.”
He took a deep breath. “But you might not have been. I still don’t know why you didn’t call me right away instead of leading Phillip on a chase through the woods. Anything could have happened. He had a gun . . .”
“He didn’t by the time we were in the woods. I had it.”
He gave me a look as if that was just a small technicality. “It was a risk. There was a one-in-a-million-chance he would step into the snare like he did.”
“But he did,” I said.
Mitchell sighed in defeat. “Zander asked me this morning if it was true you chased a man through the woods into a bear trap. That’s the story he heard at school.”
My mouth twitched. “What did you tell him?”
“That you got yourself into a difficult predicament, but, by luck, got out of it.”
I frowned.
Mitchell studied me. “What’s wrong? Why no wisecracking remark?”
I sighed. “Thinking of Nahum’s snare makes me think of Nahum, the man who is Rachel’s father. I wish that Rachel would talk to her father—really talk to him—even if she only speaks to him one time. I think she needs some closure over her childhood.”
“What does Rachel want?” he asked.
“She asked me to leave it alone for now.” My shoulders drooped.
He grinned. “And that’s killing you because you are a fixer. You like to fix things even if it’s not your job.”
“Well, yeah,” I said. True enough.
“Give Rachel time. I think she will eventually be able to deal with her father, and when she is, she will come to you for help.”
I met his gaze. “You think so?”
He nodded. “I’ve accepted the fact that the Amish come to you with their problems, and there is nothing I can do to stop you from helping them.” He wrapped me in a hug. “I just hope in the future those problems don’t involve murder and kidnapping.”
“They don’t always,” I said, looking up at him.
He snorted.
I grinned back, and the rain picked up again. Oliver whimpered at our feet. He was ready to head back to Running Stitch, to see how Dodger was terrorizing Mattie, and to curl up in his dog bed for a late-afternoon snooze. Returning to the quilt shop sounded like a good idea to me too. “Okay, Ollie,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
Mitchell grinned. “Good idea, and on the ride home you can explain something to me.”
“What’s that?” I asked suspiciously.
“Why your mother called me this morning and asked if I thought yellow was a good color for a baby’s room.” His aquamarine eyes twinkled.
I gulped. “Oh, you know my mom. She’s always redecorating.”
As the three of us walked back to Mitchell’s car, I frowned—though it wasn’t over my mother’s uncanny ability to embarrass me. My thoughts were still on my best friend. I hoped the sheriff was right, and that Rachel would ask me for help when she needed it.
GUEST ARTICLE FOR THE HOLMES COUNTY TOURISM BOARD
Amish Quilted Pumpkin
by Angela Braddock, Owner of Running Stitch
When I think about fall, I think about pumpkins and autumn crafts. Running Stitch has you covered on both counts. Stop by our quilt shop in beautiful Rolling Brook, and we can get your started on the your next project. I
f you are like me and are thinking pumpkins, we have the perfect quilted-pumpkin project just for you. You can make one for all your friends. They make wonderful autumn decorations and gifts.
Supplies
fabric
scissors
thread
needle
dowel rod cut into two-inch pieces
polyester stuffing
wide green ribbon
thin green ribbon
glue gun
Step One
Choose a quilting pattern and create one twelve-by-twelve-inch quilting square. You can always adjust the size to make the pumpkin you are creating larger or smaller.
Step Two
Take polyester stuffing and form a ball to place inside of the completed quilt block. Wrap the block around the ball and stitch closed.
Step Three
Now you should have a pumpkin. Pull thread from the top of the pumpkin to the bottom, tight to create a rib in the side of the pumpkin. Repeat four more times.
Step Four
Glue the dowel rod onto the top of the pumpkin to become the stem.
Step Five
Cut leaves out of the wide green ribbon and sew to the top of the pumpkin. Using your scissors, curl several pieces of thin green ribbon to make vines. Sew the end of the vines to the top of the pumpkin. You’re done!
Read on sneak peek of
CRIME AND POETRY
a Magical Bookshop Mystery
written by Isabella Alan
writing as Amanda Flower.
Coming from Obsidian in April 2016.
“Grandma! Grandma Daisy!” I called as soon as I was inside Charming Books. There were books everywhere—on the crowded shelves, the end tables, the sales counter, and the floor. Everywhere. But there was no sign of my ailing grandmother.
Browsing customers in brightly colored T-shirts and shorts stared at me openmouthed. I knew I must have looked a fright. I had driven from Chicago to Cascade Springs, New York, the small town nestled on the banks of the Niagara River just minutes from world-famous Niagara Falls. I made the drive in seven hours, stopping only twice for gas and potty breaks. My fingernails were bitten to the quick, dark circles hovered beneath my bloodshot blue eyes, and my wavy strawberry blond hair was in a knot on top of my head. Last time I had caught sight of it in the rearview mirror, it had resembled a pom-pom that had been caught in a dryer’s lint trap. I stopped looking in the rearview mirror after that.
A crow gripping a perch in the shop’s large bay window cawed.
I jumped, and my hands flew to my chest. I had thought the crow was stuffed.
The bird glared at me with his beady black eyes. He certainly wasn’t stuffed. “Grandma Daisy!” he mimicked me. “Grandma!”
I sidestepped away from the black bird. I thought parrots were the only birds that could talk. The crow was the only one who spoke. None of the customers made a peep. A few slipped out the front door behind me. “Escape from the crazy lady” was written all over their faces. I couldn’t say I blamed them.
A slim woman stepped out from between packed bookshelves. She wore jeans, a hot pink T-shirt with the bookshop’s logo on it, and, despite the summer’s heat, a long silken scarf. Silk scarves were Grandma Daisy’s signature. I could count on one hand the number of times I had seen her without one intricately tied around her neck. Today’s scarf was white with silver dollar–sized ladybugs marching across it. Her straight silver hair was cut in a sleek bob that fell to her chin. Cat’s-eye-shaped glasses perched on her nose. She was a woman in her seventies, but clearly someone who took care of herself. Clearly someone who was not dying.
My mouth fell open, and I knew I must look a lot like those tourists I’d frightened. “Grandma!” The word came out of my mouth somewhere between a curse and a prayer.
“Violet, my girl.” She haphazardly dropped the pile of books she had in her arms onto one of the two matching couches in the middle of the room at the base of the birch tree, which seemed to grow out of the floor. “You came!”
I stepped back. “Of course I came. You were dying.”
More customers skirted for the door. They knew what was good for them. I wouldn’t have hung around either. The only one who seemed to be enjoying the show was the crow. He was no longer in the front window, but on the end table to my right. Great. A crow was loose in my grandmother’s bookshop. I wished I could say this surprised me, but it didn’t.
Grandma Daisy chuckled. “Oh, that.”
“‘Oh, that’? That’s all you can say?” I screeched. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through? I left school. I left my job. I left everything to be with you at your deathbed.”
Grandma had the decency to wince.
“Look at you. You look like you are ready to run a marathon. When I spoke to you on the phone last night, you were coughing and gasping. You sounded like you were at death’s door.”
Grandma Daisy faked a cough. “Like this?” Her face morphed into pathetic. “Oh, Violet, I need you. Please come.” Fake cough. Fake cough. “The doctor said I don’t have much more time.”
Heat surged up from the base of my neck to the top of my head. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been this angry. Oh, yeah, I did: It was the first time I left Cascade Springs twelve years ago. I had promised myself I would never come back that day, and look where I was: back in Cascade Springs tricked by my very own grandmother.
“You were dying,” the crow said.
“Quiet, Faulkner,” Grandma Daisy ordered.
The large black bird sidestepped across the tabletop. It seemed that the crow was a new addition to the shop. It’d been twelve years, but I would have remembered Faulkner. I wondered why Grandma Daisy had never mentioned the bird. I would have thought a talking pet crow would have made a great conversation piece.
Grandma Daisy searched my face. “I may have fibbed a bit. Can you forgive me?” she asked, giving me her elfish smile. It wasn’t going to work, not this time.
I spun around, ignored Faulkner, who was spouting “You were dying!” over and over again, and stomped out of the shop.
Behind me the screen door smacked against the doorframe. I stumbled across the front porch and gripped the whitewashed wooden railing. Charming Books, “where the perfect book picks you,” sat in the center of River Road in the middle of Old Town Cascade Springs, a historic part of the village that was on the National Historic Landmarks list. Every house and small business on the street was more adorable than the last, but none was as stunning as Charming Books, a periwinkle Queen Anne Victorian with gingerbread to spare and a wraparound porch that was twice the size of my studio apartment back in Chicago.
The tiny front yard was full to bursting with blooming roses and, of course, daisies—Grandma’s personal favorite. On the brick road in front of me, gas lampposts lined the street on either side, and prancing horses and white carriages waited on the curbs, ready to take tourists for a spin around the village and along the famous riverwalk at a moment’s notice. The horses’ manes were elaborately braided with satiny ribbons, and their drivers wore red coats with tails and top hats.
It was charming. It was perfect. It was the last place on planet Earth I wanted to be.
I had half a mind to jump in my car and head west for Chicago, never looking back. I couldn’t do that. My shoulders slumped. I was so incredibly tired. Coffee wouldn’t be any help. Coffee had lost its ability to keep me alert my third year of grad school. And as much as she vexed me, I couldn’t leave Grandma Daisy, without saying good-bye. For better or worse, she was all the family I had left in the world. And then, there was the whole pom-pom-hair situation, which could only be tolerated for so long. I’d need a hairbrush and maybe a blowtorch to get that under control.
The screen door to the Queen Anne creaked open. I didn’t have to turn around to know
it was my grandmother. The scent of lavender talcum powder that always surrounded her floated on the breeze. “Violet, I know it wasn’t right for me to lie to you.”
I folded my arms, refusing to look at her. I knew it was childish, but I was going on two hours of sleep and tons of betrayal. Being a grown-up wasn’t on the top of my priority list.
She placed her hand on my shoulder. “It was wrong of me. Very wrong, but it was the only way I could convince you to come back here.”
She was probably right in that assumption, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. “So you pretended to be dying?”
She let out a breath. “What I said about needing you to come back was true. I do need you here. I want you to stay.”
She had to be kidding. She knew what had happened to me in this town. She knew why I had left the day after I graduated high school. She knew better than anyone. “Well, that’s too bad,” I said. “I’m not staying.”
“Can’t you stay a little while? For me?”
I felt a pang in my heart. I didn’t want to leave Grandma Daisy, and despite the whole lying thing, it was wonderful to see her, but I couldn’t stay. It was too hard. “I’ll wait until tomorrow, but I’ll leave in the morning.”
Of course that last statement came to be known as “famous last words.”
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