by Kate Lloyd
If I claimed I wasn’t attracted to Stephen, I’d be lying. “None of your business.”
“I’d say it is. Don’t you still have feelings for me? I adore you.”
“But you told me you’re marrying Brandy.”
“A rash and foolish remark I regret. Although my heart goes out to her and her unborn child.”
“Yah, mine does too.” I wished I could assist her without forever losing Jake.
“There’s something you could do to help me right now, Jake. As a friend.”
“Yeah? What is it?” His blue eyes darkened, conveying distrust.
“Remember the barn that burned down?”
He ran his fingers through his bangs and then let them flop back across his forehead. “How could I ever forget?”
“Would you take me there?”
“To the barn? Right now? Are you ab im kopp?”
“Nee, I’m not crazy. I just—” I wasn’t ready to share my hunch with him or anyone. “Please, will you take me?”
He paused, as if weighing his options. “Yah, okay. In the car or on foot?”
“It’s close enough to walk, don’t you think? And quieter.”
“But why go there? I heard just a couple of mares are living in that barn now. And the owner’s stallion. Jeremiah Schmucker refuses to give up the horse even though it’s unruly.”
“The farmer doesn’t own dairy cows anymore?” I recalled his two dozen black-and-white Holsteins, but that was more than seven years ago.
“Jeremiah grew too old to milk the herd and had no sons to help him,” Jake said. “As it turns out, we rebuilt that barn for nothing.”
“You rebuilt it because it needed rebuilding. And I want to see it.”
“Evie, you don’t know how close I came to being charged for arson. I could be behind bars.” He shivered for effect. “Some people still think I’m guilty. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to get anywhere near that place.” He jingled the keys in his pocket, making me think he was about to take off.
“Jake, I’m walking over to the barn by myself if you won’t accompany me.” I lifted my chin and headed off in that direction.
All was quiet. I didn’t see Beatrice peering out the window, and I hoped she hadn’t noticed us. An idea took shape. I marched over to the back porch, climbed the steps, and rapped on the door. Missy and Minnie barked, and Beatrice appeared to let me in.
“I’m going for a short walk, and I would like to take Missy with me.”
“Have you ever walked a dog in your life?” Beatrice’s voice got lost amid the barking. “On leash, I assume.”
“Yah. Would you please clip one on her? She needs to go out every evening anyway, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, but why now?” She glanced over to Jake and greeted him with an unenthusiastic nod. “What’s going on in that noggin of yours?”
“She might pick up Heath’s scent,” I said. “Please? I’ll take good care of her.”
“You’d better.” Beatrice’s words came out a threat. “Here, take this.” She handed me a flashlight.
Missy’s body sprang to life when Beatrice snapped on the leather leash and I took hold of it. Her tail beat against my leg. She nearly tugged me off my feet as she pranced down the porch steps.
I jerked on the leash and lowered my voice as I’d heard Stephen do when the dogs became rambunctious. “Missy, if you want to come, you must behave.” She looked up at me, her ears perked, as if she understood I was the boss. For now, anyway.
I sensed Beatrice watching as I ushered Missy across the road and onto a path toward the barn. I heard Jake’s footsteps behind us, praise the Lord. He walked ahead and opened the gate to a low fence. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He closed it behind us.
Missy’s tail wagged with expectancy, and she pawed the ground. She dragged harder on the leash the closer to the barn we got. She barked. Two woofs emanated from the depths of the dark barn.
“Heath, are you in there?” I called, but the air turned silent. Missy tugged on the leash, and it slipped from my hand. Jake leaned down to retrieve it, but he was too late.
THIRTY-TWO
By the time Jake and I caught up with Missy, she was at the barn and sniffing under the door. I couldn’t get it open. “Jake, help me.”
“Are you sure you want to go in there?”
“Yah, we have to now.”
He shouldered it open. Exuberant Heath came barreling out.
Jake said, “Good boy!”
As the two dogs danced in jubilation at our feet, the barn remained quiet except for the sound of horses shifting in their stalls. Jake clicked on the small flashlight he always carried with him and stepped inside. He shone the light’s beam around the interior and located one Holstein—an old gal, in my estimation—two mares, and the stallion, his ears flicking back and forth and his tail swishing. The horse held his head high, closed his mouth, and snorted, reminding me of Dat’s gelding when he thought he was in danger.
“Maybe the dogs are spooking him,” I said.
“Sniff the air,” Jake said.
I inhaled. “Cigarette smoke?” We both turned our flashlights to the hayloft above.
“No one would be stupid enough to smoke up there.” I hoped not, anyway. “A hayloft is a tinderbox waiting for a spark.”
Heath let out a throaty growl that made the hairs on my arm prickle. But I was grateful for his protective instincts. Maybe having a big dog around was a good idea after all.
“Who’s up there?” Jake placed his foot on the wooden ladder rung. “Show yourself or I’m climbing up to find out for myself.”
“Be careful, Jake.”
I hoped no one was there, but the floorboards in the loft creaked. Bits of hay floated down like feathers.
“Ralph?” I called. “Is that you?”
“What of it?” Ralph’s words were garbled and sloppy. “I sleep here all the time, and the Amish owner has never complained.”
Jake scaled another rung. “He would if he knew you smoked.”
Ralph belched an expletive. “You stupid idiot, you made me spill my whiskey.”
“Ach, that’s almost as flammable as lighter fluid!” Jake scrambled up the ladder as Ralph revealed himself, arms extended.
“I’ll show you.” Ralph rushed at Jake, who teetered, but regained his balance and brushed past him.
“Look, your cigarette butt started a fire!” Jake’s voice emanated panic. I could hear him trying to stamp out the flames, without success. He leaned over and tossed me his cell phone. “Call 9-1-1!”
From the hayloft, crackling erupted. “Go down,” Jake told Ralph. “Hurry.” But Ralph ignored him.
“Please come down, Jake,” I said. “I can’t get the phone to work.” I wanted him safe, and maybe Ralph would follow him.
Jake scaled the ladder as nimble as a cat. He snatched the phone and pressed some buttons. “Barn fire at the Schmuckers’, across the road from Yoder’s Nursery.”
The stallion pawed the ground, his head raised and his nostrils flared. Ears back and the whites of their eyes enlarging, the mares snorted and kicked against their stalls.
The crackling, burning straw gained momentum, sounding like an oncoming locomotive.
“Evie, let the mares and cow out.” Jake ran to the stallion and opened his stall. The horse reared up and refused to leave. The mares had much the same reaction. I was flabbergasted that they wanted to stay in their stalls.
I pulled off my sweater and covered one of the frantic mare’s heads. I felt a metal shoe gouge into my leg—but no time to look. I led the blinded mare out of the barn, and the other followed. Both galloped into the descending darkness.
As Jake struggled with the stallion, I unclipped and led the bawling cow outside, but I had nowhere to tie her. “Shoo!” I clapped my hands and she trotted away, disappearing into the field.
The sky lit up from the flames. The heat increased.
I ran back into the barn in time
to see snarling Heath dash into the stall and nip at the stallion’s legs, further enraging the horse. When the stallion turned to bite Heath, Jake shoved the horse’s rump. The frantic animal left the stall, but then it paused. Heath stood with bared teeth and blocked the stallion from returning.
“Come out of there!” I yelled to Heath. He ran to me. I dashed over to close the stall’s gate.
A thunderous noise above reminded me of a jet flying too low. Flames leaped and danced. Sparks flew. The heat grew unbearable.
Jake grabbed a rope halter and maneuvered it onto the stallion’s head. He seized control of the frantic horse and forced it out of the barn, and then gave its rump a whack. It bolted into the darkness.
The multiplying flames were hypnotizing me. I tried to breathe, to fill my lungs. I gulped for air and put my hand in front of my face to ward off the heat.
“Come out, Evie.” Jake grasped my hand and pulled me to safety.
A moment later, the blazing loft collapsed, as loud as a stick of exploding dynamite. I thought my eardrums would burst.
“Thank you, Lord,” I said, knowing no one but God could hear me.
Sirens screamed in the distance, traveling our way. The whole barn was a blistering furnace, illuminating the sky.
Three fire trucks careened to the farm—two stopped in the barnyard, and one screeched to a halt in the lane from the road, spewing up gravel. Several dozen firemen—both Englisch and Amish clad in gear and helmets—descended upon the scene like an orchestrated team. I’d heard most firefighters in the county were volunteers, but each brave man was well trained. Minutes later, water gushed from the trucks’ hoses, fighting to subdue the crackling flames consuming the blackened timbers. Hissing like serpents filled the air, the black flames raging, refusing to submit. Sparks rained down.
Cars stopped by the side of the road. Ach, I wondered if one belonged to a reporter. If not now, soon enough. Amish neighbors—men dressed in black, wearing hats, rubber muck boots, and leather gloves—arrived on foot or in buggies. Several offered to help locate and care for the missing horses.
Police cars, their blue lights flashing, crunched to a halt at the side of the road.
The smoke continued to billow, and the gushing water sent steam into the sky. Finally, the smoke turned gray. The uniformed fire chief wearing a badge and carrying a clipboard approached us. “This your barn?” He appeared to be in his midfifties.
“No. It belongs to the Amish farmer here, Jeremiah Schmucker.” Jake pointed to the small clapboard house. A woman stood on the porch, crying with her husband’s arm around her shoulder. Other Amish and Englisch had gathered. Knowing the Amish community, women were already preparing food and gathering supplies for the family and workers who would arrive to clear away cartloads of debris and ruined timber, preparing for the upcoming barn raising.
“Hey, you look familiar.” A uniformed fireman stopped. “You Jake Miller?”
I knew where he was headed with his line of questioning. “We came looking for our dog,” I said.
Heath and Missy were milling nearby, sniffing the tall grasses. I wished they could talk.
“Aren’t these Glenn Yoder’s Labs?” the fire chief asked.
The smoldering wet ashes made me cough. “Yah, they are.” I cleared my throat. “We think Ralph Hastings stole Heath, and we came looking for him.”
“Oh, yeah? Then where’s Ralph?”
“Dear Gott, what happened to him?” My words burbled out. “He was up in the hayloft drinking whiskey and smoking when we came in.” My mind spun with the gruesome possibility he’d fainted from smoke inhalation and burned to death. “He tried to push Jake off the hayloft. That’s the last time I saw him.”
“You mean there was an altercation?” The man started writing on a tablet. “The two men were fighting?”
“Not really,” Jake said. “Evie and I smelled cigarette smoke coming from the hayloft, and then Ralph started swearing and yelled that he’d tipped his bottle of whiskey over. When I climbed the ladder, Ralph rushed at me, but he was so snookered he missed his chance to push me off the loft. Then I saw the hay had caught fire, and I lost sight of Ralph. I tried to stomp out the flames, but I was too late. Sparks had started flying.”
“Jake tossed me his cell phone to call 9-1-1. I couldn’t get it to work, so he came down and made the call.” My hands cupped my cheeks. “The fire spread so quickly that all we could think about was freeing the livestock.” I was proud of Jake’s courage and thoughtfulness. Other men might have turned tail and run rather than risk their lives to save the frantic horses.
The fire chief called to several firemen. “Did you find anyone in there?”
Their faces grim, they shook their heads. “The next shift had better sift through the debris in the morning when it cools down. And call for the arson squad. This barn didn’t torch itself.”
I bent to snatch up Missy’s leash. “May I take the dogs home now? I’m afraid Heath might wander off.”
“This woman is innocent of any wrongdoing.” Jake had tied some twine around Heath’s neck to serve as a leash and made a loop at the end. He handed it to me.
“Yah, you can ask Officer Wayne Grady or review his reports,” I said. “And Stephen Troyer might still be looking for Ralph and Heath.”
“Okay, but I’ll need a signed statement from you. Can you come by the office tomorrow?”
“I have to work in the nursery’s café all day.”
“Okay. Someone will stop by the café.”
I turned my face away as a photographer got out of his sedan and took pictures of the barn.
Stephen’s pickup zoomed to an abrupt stop at the side of the road. He jumped out. “Evie, what on earth happened?”
“Missy needed a walk, and it occurred to me she might lead me to Heath. Which she did.”
Stephen glared at Jake, who stood answering questions. I heard Ralph’s name tossed about, speculation on his whereabouts, and the words smoking in the loft.
“Can you prove Ralph was here?” the fire chief asked.
“I saw him,” I said, but Jake frowned.
“She did nothing wrong,” Jake said.
The chief stepped closer. “I’ll do my job if you don’t mind. Weren’t you involved with a barn burning here a few years back? Did you arrive with the intention of burning this barn down too?”
Jake didn’t look away, but he clamped his lips together.
“He came because I asked him for help.” A blue-white flash told me my photo had just been taken. “He was never charged or found guilty.” Another flash, but I couldn’t run away.
To my surprise, Stephen stepped in. “Jake didn’t burn the first barn down. I was with him that night and can attest to that. My guess is someone noticed his car parked outside earlier that night and reported it. The barn was still standing when he and I and a few buddies took off.”
The fire chief’s expression turned severe, his eyes bulging. “Why didn’t you speak up? Maybe you were the guilty party.”
“Absolutely not.” Stephen stood tall and looked the man in the eyes. “Just a friendly card game and a couple bottles of beer, and then we went home. No kerosene lanterns, no smoking, no matches.”
“But that was then and this is now. Were you Jake’s witness today?”
“No, I can’t vouch for him. We haven’t been friends for years. But everything Evie said about Ralph is true. He’s been breaking into the nursery’s café and stealing food. Then he upped the ante and took Glenn Yoder’s dog right out of the man’s house.”
“Any witnesses?”
“No.” Stephen swiped his mouth.
The fire chief stepped closer, his gaze intense. “Can this Amish woman be trusted?”
“Yes, but after tonight I have to wonder about her common sense. She was with Jake Miller.” Stephen’s lips formed a grim line.
“Maybe I should take her down to the station.”
“No need,” Stephen said. “Her name’s Eva
Lapp, and she won’t run off. I’ll keep an eye on her. She lives and works at the nursery and reports directly to me until Glenn Yoder returns.”
The officer looked over to Jake. “Would she take off with Jake? What’s to keep him here?”
Jake must have heard his name. He spun around. “I’m not running away. After I help rebuild this barn, I have to care for my ailing father and his farm.”
“You’d better not leave town, or I’ll issue a warrant for your arrest.”
“The fire was an accident, and I wasn’t responsible. Nor was Evie. If she hadn’t insisted on coming over here to look for Heath, the Schmuckers’ horses, cow, and Heath could have been lost.”
“Let’s get something straight.” The chief narrowed one eye. “If you two hadn’t been poking around on private property, this barn might not have caught fire. For all we know, Ralph may have slept in here a hundred times.” The corners of his mouth drew back. “No matter, really, as the owner probably won’t press charges. What’s with these Amish?” he asked the air.
“Forgiveness,” Stephen said, for which I was grateful.
“But they carry it too far when they stop us from doing our job.” The police chief glanced over to the Schmuckers’ residence. “I need to get a statement from the owner.”
The crowd watched the smoke and smoldering fire. It wasn’t long before slow-moving cars and buggies caused a traffic jam. A truck honked, frightening a buggy horse into rearing. Wayne, in his sleek squad car, sped up and came to a stop at the side of the road. He got out and positioned himself in the center of the lanes. “Nothing to see,” he said as he motioned cars to continue. “Keep moving.”
“Isn’t that Eva Lapp?” a woman said from her buggy to her female passenger. I recoiled and pretended I couldn’t hear her stringent voice. “She’s the one who had a baby—”
I should be used to malicious gossip, but I’d suddenly heard enough. Like a cork popping off a bottle of sparkling apple cider, I twirled around, rage oozing out my pores. “None of that story is true!”
The two women stared back in silent surprise. The driver prompted her horse to move forward.
“May I be of help?” Bishop Harvey asked me, seeming to appear out of nowhere.