“No wonder they didn’t want anyone to find out about it.”
“Where are Pooler and Linton?”
“That we don’t know,” said Langer. “But we will question Dr. Miles and get more answers over the next few days.”
“Well, how did Mr. Morris fit into all of this?” asked Abby. “Why would Pooler give him the files about the adoptions if it incriminated him?”
“Morris knew too much. He had enough information about you and your family to know that you were adopted, and if he dug into it further, he probably discovered that the paperwork wasn’t legit. We imagine Pooler tried to bribe him to keep quiet. And when he didn’t agree, they—Dr. Miles—decided to eliminate him. Linton called him and convinced him to become a patient at Fairview Hospital under the pretense that he’d be able to access your adoption records. The files Pooler gave him were most likely the bait to convince him of their sincerity. Morris fell for the idea hook, line and sinker. Dr. Miles slipped in and—”
“Shot him full of epinephrine,” said Abby. “But why was Blake’s name on the hospital file?”
“Well, when you, Dr. Jamison, transferred to Fairview, they all saw embroiling you in the investigation as a way to distract you from looking up the truth, too.”
“You mean they were trying to frame me for Hancock’s death?”
“Sure. Something to keep you occupied and hopefully get you back to New York.”
“And what about Dr. Granger? Granger had to know that I was adopted. Was he in on all of this, too?”
“We don’t think so,” Langer said. “We think Miles placed his name on the file as another lure to get you back to New York.”
“Then why the phony files from Granger?”
“We think Pooler put him up to it as a favor,” Langer said. “Which means there may be something else illegal going on over there. We’ll look into that another day.”
“Eliminate Morris and get Blake back to New York and all would have been fine, except that Miss Miller here cut through the middle of a closed-off wing of the hospital and ruined the whole plan.”
“Yes, Abby. If it weren’t for you,” said Blake, “no one would have known that Hancock was injected. It would have looked like an ordinary cardiac arrest, and I’d have been questioned by the hospital for possible maltreatment of a patient.”
“Now, the only question that remains is, who are your real parents?” Abby said.
Langer shook his head. “The FBI thinks that may be a mystery that’s never solved. Between the fire and all the stolen and lost files, the chances of Blake finding his birth parents are not very good.” There was a moment of silence as Blake and Abby processed this.
“Well, I think we should all get some rest.” Langer stood and waited for Abby and Blake, who didn’t move. He blushed, finally realizing that they wanted a moment alone. “After I make a few phone calls. Excuse me.”
He slipped into one of the bedrooms.
* * *
“I can’t believe it.” Blake moved in close to her. “It’s all over.”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t know. It still doesn’t seem quite finished. If Dr. Miles has been in New York all these years, then how was he able to continue stealing Amish babies? And who grabbed little Stephen in Eli’s stable and spoke Pennsylvania Dutch to him?”
“Relax.” Blake reached for her hand. “Let the police worry about all that. We’re safe for now.”
Abby didn’t feel safe, but maybe that was because of the man sitting next to her—the one she was falling in love with. She pulled her hand away. Blake Jamison was not for her. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Abby, I know you feel this, too. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t lie to me and tell me you feel nothing for me.”
“This isn’t what I want, Blake.”
“You don’t want...what? Love? A relationship with a man who cares about you? I could take care of you.”
“I have to focus on my work. It’s the way it has to be.”
Blake stood from the sofa and walked away a few feet, turning his back to her. She had hurt him and herself with her words, but he had to know that she was right. They might be attracted to each other, but nothing could ever come of it. They were too different. He knew it as well as she did.
He turned back to her, shaking his head. “Don’t you understand? You would never have to work, Abby. Or you could work anywhere you wanted. I could build a clinic for you. Give you everything you ever wanted...”
“I made a promise—”
“To your father?”
“I made a promise to God and to myself. I won’t break it. And if you really cared about me, you wouldn’t ask me to.”
He continued to shake his head as if he couldn’t even believe what she was saying to him. “So, you choose work over love?”
“I’m choosing what will give me peace. You should do the same. Good night, Blake. I’m riding back in the morning with Detective Langer. You should stay here in New York. It’s where you belong.”
Abby got up and ran into her bedroom. She didn’t look back as she shut the door behind her. She didn’t want Blake to see the tears that might show him what she was really feeling inside.
TWENTY
Abby awoke to the beautiful sounds of birds—larks, bluebirds and robins—singing outside her window. Happy songs of spring and love. It seemed as if the events of the week before had happened years ago. Morris’s murder. The car accident. The fire. The trip to New York. Saying goodbye to Blake.
Had that been a mistake?
Abby had struggled all week with her parting words to him. She wished she’d been more honest about her response. She did have feelings for him. The fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about him was proof of that. But he didn’t know what he wanted and he certainly didn’t understand what she wanted or needed. He’d come to Lancaster looking for parents, not a romance, and he’d certainly never had any intention of staying. He wasn’t a part of her world and she wasn’t a part of his.
Yes, she had done the right thing in leaving. Blake would be back in New York permanently now. Dr. Finley had returned early to resume his work in the E.R. Abby could once again concentrate on her clinic and her family. Like today, there was the big wedding at Lydia Yoder’s farmhouse. Or rather, soon-to-be Lydia Yoder—today she would marry Joseph Yoder. It was an unusual spring wedding, as most Amish weddings took place in November. The couple had been separated for a long time and requested a special date from the elders of the church.
Her father would be there. He might not like her choices, but today at least he would appreciate that she was wearing an Amish frock and upholding all the traditions that were allowed her under the circumstances.
The smell of roasted coffee brewing rose up to the bedroom from Hannah’s kitchen. She’d been staying over at Eli and Hannah’s since she’d returned from New York. The FBI had said that the case was wrapping up but she got the impression from Eli—whom she knew had been talking to his police friends behind her back—that it was still not safe for her to go home. But today she was putting all that behind her. She was with family, forgetting the past and moving forward.
“Hey, Abby, are you ready to come on down? There’s someone here to see you.” Her brother’s voice boomed up the narrow stairwell.
Abby hesitated at the bedroom door. It was probably Detective Langer or Chief McClendon, neither of whom she wanted to see. She didn’t really want to talk to them any more about the case. She just wanted to move forward.
“I’m coming,” she said. “Just a minute.”
Why did she feel so nervous? Was it seeing her father again? Abby let out a deep sigh, hoping to expel all her anxiety along with it. Then she prayed a short prayer of thanksgiving and faith for her future. Oh, Lord, You give me all that is good. And fro
m You I accept whatever You offer me from Your hand.
Abby knew that all would be well. It just took patience. And then, mentally, spiritually and especially emotionally, it would all make sense again.
Or not...
Abby paused halfway down the stairs. It was not chief McClendon. Nor Detective Langer.
It was Dr. Blake Jamison at the bottom of the stairs. But why? What was he doing back in Willow Trace? Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked as if he planned to go to the wedding, too. His hair was combed back and he wore a grand smile on his face. He had never looked more handsome. Abby walked slowly down the rest of the staircase. She wondered what he thought of her dressed in her traditional Kapp, frock and apron.
“You promised me a ride in your buggy. Remember?”
* * *
Blake wanted to savor every moment of their buggy ride. He wanted to memorize every detail, from the azure-blue of Abby’s frock, complementing her regal eyes, to the ivory creams of her skin, the peach blush of her lips and the golden tendrils of hair, which peeked out from under her pinned-on prayer Kapp.
He loved the feel of the buggy, the slow movement of the vehicle rocking back and forth. The steady beat of her gelding Blue-jeans as his hooves clip-clopped across the asphalt matched the even rhythm of Blake’s heartbeat. The fresh air he breathed in gave him hope. Part of him wanted to gush out every feeling he had. But his common sense told him that to touch Abby’s heart, to fix the damage he’d done, he had to move slowly—slow and steady, like the trot of her brown-and-white horse.
It hadn’t taken Blake more than twenty-four hours to realize that he’d said all the wrong things to Abby that night after Dr. Miles had been arrested. He only hoped she hadn’t been saying no to him, just no to his stupid offers of buying her things and taking her places. That wasn’t what Abby wanted. Abby had everything she wanted right here in Lancaster. And so did he, away from the fuss and nonsense of New York that he was more than ready to leave behind. He just hoped that when he moved back here as he planned that she would let him be a part of her life.
“How did you get invited to the Yoder wedding?” She eyed him curiously as she held on to the reins of her horse.
“It’s a long story.” He smiled, not sure how much to reveal.
“Well, how about the short version?” Her tone told him he still had a ways to go in coaxing her to a softer mood and winning her heart.
“I had to come back to get my things from the bed-and-breakfast. While I was there, the Youngers...well, they convinced me to stay the night. Some of the wedding party was staying at the bed-and-breakfast and they...”
“Invited you to the wedding? Just like that?” Her suspicious look told him she wasn’t completely buying his story.
“Hey, you wanted the short version.”
“Fair enough.”
“I wanted my buggy ride,” he said. “And I wanted to see you.”
Abby looked away. “Don’t. I don’t want to go through that again. Let’s just enjoy the day.”
But I’ve changed.... The words were silent on his lips. Everything has changed. His cell buzzed in his coat pocket, killing his hopeful thoughts. Ugh. He’d forgotten to turn it off. “Sorry. Look. I’m turning it off. Not even looking to see who it is.”
He pulled the phone out, turned it off and threw it into the backseat of the buggy.
“That’s a smart thing to do,” she said. “No one wants a cell phone to go off during a wedding.”
“Especially an Amish wedding, right?”
She smiled and, for a second, all felt right with his world. If only Abby would give him another chance. He would make her see that he did understand her.
“Don’t worry. There will be a lot of Englisch guests at this wedding. You won’t be the only one. Joseph has a lot of Englisch clients for his beautiful furniture and I think many of them will be there today.”
“So how does it work?”
“You all, the Englisch, will be seated on one side, with the Amish men and all the women on the other side.”
“Oh, I’m used to bride’s side/groom’s side.”
“If I’d known you were coming,” Abby said, “I wouldn’t have worn the traditional dress. Then I could have sat with you and explained the ceremony.”
While Blake liked the idea of sitting next to Abby at the wedding, he wouldn’t have wanted to miss seeing her in the traditional Amish dress. “You’ve never looked more beautiful. The last week has been so hard.”
He tried to take her hand, but she shook her head with an expression of regret.
“Don’t. I really just want to enjoy the day. Okay?”
Blake wanted to enjoy the day, too, and in his opinion, holding her hand and talking about the future would make the day quite agreeable. Too bad she didn’t feel the same way.
Abby tapped her horse with the reins and Blue-jeans pulled them up a great hill. “This is Holly Hill. It’s a beautiful farm. My favorite in all of Willow Trace. Joseph works for my father, who’ll be conducting the ceremony.”
Abby parked the buggy along with all the others. There was a long, long line of them up and down the hill and many cars, too. She directed Blake toward her brother and off she went with the women. He wondered how long it would be before he’d be able to talk to her again. He already missed her.
The ceremony was brief, only a few words said by her father. Then there was a great meal, more like a feast. The men were seated first in rows and rows of tables and benches lined up in front of the farmhouse. The women served them. Abby was among them. She was busy but he was able to catch her eye a few times. When the meal was over, Blake followed the men to the stable area, where there was much talk and laughter and games. Eli must have read his long expression.
“The women eat inside. They will be out soon.” He patted him on the back. “Give her time, Blake. She’s a stubborn girl. But she’s a smart one, too, and the way she’s been moping around here over the last week? Well, I think you two have some things you need to iron out.”
“I just hope she’ll listen.”
It was another hour before the women began to trickle out of the farmhouse kitchen. But Abby was not among them. Blake was starting to lose hope, especially when he saw Hannah bringing a large slice of cake to her husband.
“Is Abigail still inside?” he asked the couple.
Eli looked around, then shrugged. “I suppose she’s still helping.”
He looked down the long line of buggies. Blake didn’t know much about horses but Abby’s was a paint, so he was patched with white and brown. He was pretty easy to spot—and he wasn’t there.
“Can you ask Hannah? Looks to me like her buggy is gone.”
Eli flipped his head toward the line of buggies. “What?”
“Blue-jeans. He was just there between the two chestnuts.”
“Yes, he’s gone.” Eli looked concerned. “The buggy is still there. Someone’s unhitched Blue-jeans.... Hannah,” he called to his wife, “have you seen Abigail?”
“She was inside a minute ago. Should I go back and look?”
“Yeah, we haven’t seen her. And Blue-jeans is missing.”
Blake could feel the panic rising through his veins.
Hannah jogged over. “Oh, wait. I remember now. She got a phone call while we were doing dishes.”
“A phone call?”
“I assumed she was talking with a patient. That’s what it sounded like. But it was noisy in there. You know, all those women talking at the same time.”
Blake and Eli exchanged glances.
“She’s gone to deliver a baby,” Blake said. “I’m sure of it.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell one of us?” Eli said, his voice a mixture of worry and frustration—the same things Blake was feeling himself.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” Blake turned to Hannah. “Who is close to delivering? Do you know?”
“Francis Cook and...um,” Hannah stuttered, “Becka. Becka Esche.”
Blake looked at Eli. “Tell me how to get to the Esches’ home.”
* * *
Abby had been helping in the kitchen when her phone buzzed against her hip. While Blake had left his phone in the buggy, she had not. It was too close to Becka’s delivery date and she couldn’t risk missing her call.
She slipped the phone out of hiding and answered. The other women shot her some disapproving looks, but they would understand soon enough. Still, Hannah raced over, worried that Abby had upset Lydia’s mother with her phone call.
“What are you doing?” Hannah said. “Put that away or the ladies are going to kick you out of here for good.”
“Becka is due any minute,” Abby explained. “I had no choice.”
She slipped out the back door of the kitchen. “Hello.”
“This is Becka Esche. I know you are at the wedding. But it’s time.” Becka’s voice sounded strange.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Where is Jonas?”
Becka moaned. “I—I don’t know.”
“What? You’re alone?”
There was a lot of hesitation before Becka answered, “Yes, I’m alone. Hurry, Abigail.” Becka cried out as if a labor pain had passed over. At the end of it there was a quick whisper. “Don’t come.”
“What? Becka, you sound...”
Then the line went dead. Abby paused for a second, anxiety filling her every fiber. Don’t come? Why would Becka say that? Perhaps she’d meant the baby? Perhaps she was in a lot of pain. It was only natural she’d be scared after losing her first child just after delivery.
After Abigail hung up her cell phone, she raced toward her buggy, berating herself for giving in to Blake’s stupid request for a buggy ride. Right now she needed a car.
Lancaster County Target Page 17