"I wish I was kidding," said the man whose ID badge identified him as Jim Killinger. "The engine you worked on that day had an accelerant in it."
"It would have had some gas to make it run—" Chris began.
"This was an unusual type of accelerant, not gas."
"Unusual how?"
Killinger looked at Matthew, then at Chris. "It's used by the military."
"I see," Chris said slowly. His heart started beating faster, and he felt sweat trickle down his back despite the coolness of the day. "So that's why you wanted to talk to me . . . because I'm former military?"
The fire marshal just looked at him.
Chris raised his hands. "I don't know where you think I'd get something like that. I've been in a veteran's hospital for the past year. You can verify that."
"Already done."
"I wouldn't do this to you," Chris told Matthew. "Why would I do this to you?"
"He told me that," Killinger said. "And after I did some of my own research on you, I'm inclined to believe he's right."
"Research? What kind of research?"
"I just looked up your military record."
Killinger stood. "I'll take another look around the barn. You haven't let anyone poke around in there, have you?"
Matthew shook his head. "We've just done some boarding up until we're finished harvesting. We're using Phoebe's barn to board the horses."
"I'll be in touch." With a nod, the other man left them.
Jenny opened the door and stuck her head out. "Finished out here? Why not break for dinner before you go back out there?"
Matthew hesitated, and then he nodded. "Sounds good. It'll give me a chance to settle down."
Chris stood. "I think I'll skip it if you don't mind."
"I knew you'd be upset," she told him. "But Matthew and I told him there's no way you'd do something like that."
"Thanks. I appreciate that. But I'm not hungry. I'll see you after dinner, Matthew."
As he walked down the stairs, he heard Jenny sigh. "I knew he'd be upset."
But she was wrong, Chris thought.
He went straight to the dawdi haus and pulled out his backpack, throwing in his Bible and the neatly folded stack of laundry Mary had brought him last night. Fishing in his pocket, he took out the key to the front door and left it on the table near it. Then, after an inner debate, he wrote a quick note thanking them for their friendship and telling them that he needed to get back home. He wasn't sure that was where he was going, but they didn't really need to know any more than that.
Opening the back door, he gave a surreptitious glance to the right, then the left, before slipping outside. When he didn't spy anyone around, he quickly crossed the fields to Hannah and Phoebe's house, hoping that Jenny and Matthew wouldn't look out their window and see him.
Phoebe came to the door and looked surprised to see him.
"Is Hannah home?"
She shook her head. "It's her day to teach quilting classes in town. She borrowed Matthew's buggy."
Holding the door open, she invited him inside.
"I can't stay."
Phoebe eyed the backpack. "Going somewhere?"
He shook his head, looking away from the kindness in her eyes.
"That backpack looks like it's holding everything you've got," she said. "And those shoulders look like they're carrying the weight of the world. Come into the kich for just a few minutes and let me make a sandwich for you to take on the road. And you can sit down and write Hannah a note to tell her what you came to say to her."
How she knew he was leaving he didn't know. But he went inside and sat at the kitchen table and let her make him a sandwich. And while she made it, he took a piece of paper and a pencil out of the backpack and wrote a note to Hannah.
He couldn't tell her the real reason he was leaving, so he just told her that he had to leave and he was sorry he hadn't been able to say goodbye. Pausing, he tried to find the words to tell her how much he'd come to care for her.
Then he decided that it wouldn't do any good. He had a pretty good idea that she was as attracted to him as he was to her, that she'd come to care for him, but it wouldn't have worked anyway, he told himself.
Phoebe walked over to hand him the sandwich and a plastic baggie of cookies, and he tucked them into his backpack.Before he could rise, she laid her hand on his shoulder.
"I saw the fire marshal's car over at the house a little while ago."
He stiffened. "Yeah. I didn't start the fire."
"Of course you didn't. Any more than you poisoned Daisy's food."
Surprised, he turned to face her. "What?"
She nodded. "The vet called a little while ago. I was out returning his call in the phone shanty, and that's when I saw the fire marshal's car."
"I didn't—"
"Of course you didn't poison Daisy. I saw how much you love my horse. How much you love these friends you've made here—and Hannah."
"I—"
"My old eyes work just fine, young man. Don't tell me you don't have feelings for Hannah."
She sat heavily in the chair beside him, seeming to have run out of breath.
He looked at her swollen ankles, then into her eyes. "When are you going to tell them that your heart is giving you trouble?"
Startled, she stared at him. "How do you know? Hannah didn't tell you because she doesn't know."
"My grandmother had congestive heart failure. She'd get swollen ankles and she got breathless when she did too much."
Sighing, Phoebe sat back. "No one needs to know. They'd just worry and make an invalid of me, fuss over me, do so much for me I wouldn't feel I had a life."
She took a deep breath and let it out, then shook her head."And don't try to distract me. You shouldn't be leaving. Not the way you're doing it—so quickly, without seeing Hannah and Matthew and Jenny."
He didn't know how she knew he had left a note for Matthew and Jenny. "I have to." Phoebe reached over and took his hand."Tell me what's wrong. Please? I want to understand what's making you leave when you love it here."
"All the bad things will stop when I leave."
"But you're not doing them." She squeezed his hand. "I know you're not doing them. So don't even try to tell me you did."
"No," he said at last. "A man who wants to hurt me is. He was put in prison because I testified against him, and he said he'd get me when he got out. I don't know how, but he's gotten out of prison and he's doing these things. I just know it. The barn fire. Daisy. The note to the bishop. The only way to keep everyone safe is to leave."
"Why do you think you'll keep everyone safe if you leave?"
Chris sighed. "If I leave he'll follow me."
"But Chris, he could hurt you. We'll call the police. Matthew and Jenny and Hannah wouldn't want you to go if they knew.They'd want to stand with you."
He looked up at her. "I can't risk anyone else getting hurt."
Her eyes were sad. "So you'll draw him away and take him on yourself? You remind me of David taking on Goliath."
"The man who hates me isn't a giant, but he's had a powerful effect on my life."
Phoebe considered that. "Well, the giants of Gath were felled by David and his fellow kinsmen and servants. Why not this devil too?"
She tried to argue with him but he was resolute. He was nearly undone when she stood and hugged him. He'd come here and fallen in love not just with Hannah but with so many people.
There was no changing his mind, though.
When he stepped outside, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
But it was almost as if the air was charged as he stepped off the porch.
He walked toward town, knowing that he was putting himself right out in the open. There were other ways to get there without exposing himself, but this way it would be very clear that he was leaving and he'd keep the people he'd come to care for safe.
Several buggies passed on the opposite side of the road and some of their occupants who'd met him waved.
/> And then he saw the oncoming buggy driven by Hannah.He bent his head, hoping that she wouldn't recognize him.
"Chris!" She pulled the buggy over to the side of the road."Where are you going?"
"Just into town for a while."
He hated the lie but didn't know how else to get rid of her.His eyes swept the area to see if he was being followed.
"No you're not."
"Yeah, I'm just on my way to town."
She climbed out of the buggy. "You're leaving and you weren't going to tell me."
He lifted his hands. "Okay, you caught me. Yeah, I'm leaving.It's time to move on, babe."
"Babe?"
"Yeah. Hey, it's not like we were an item or something. We didn't even have sex, so it's not like I'm gonna have to worry about you showing up in nine months with some brat."
She looked like she'd bit hit by a two-by-four. His stomach turned over at the way he had to hurt her, but he needed to move her along just in case they were being watched.
"So, I'll be hitting the road now, if you don't mind," he said."It's looking like it's going to rain. Gotta make some time so I don't get wet, you know?"
"You're being deliberately cruel," she said, her lips trembling."Why? Something's wrong. You wouldn't do that unless something was wrong."
"Nothing's wrong," he said. "It's just time for me to go."
He started walking, and from the corner of his eye he saw her climb back into the buggy. After a moment it began moving down the road. He breathed a sigh of relief.
But the relief was short-lived.
Several minutes later, a car slowed and then stopped. A man with a ball cap pulled low over his sunglasses leaned out the open window.
"Hey, Pretty Boy."
Only one man had ever called him that, the nickname a sarcastic comment on what he thought was Chris's boy-nextdoor looks.
Chris's blood froze.
It was Malcolm Kraft.
Babe!
How dare he talk to her like that! Hannah fumed. Like she was some—some—well, she didn't know what word to use.
And talking about how he felt relieved that they hadn't had sex so he didn't have to worry about her showing up to make him claim a "brat"! That was just plain crude—even more unlike Chris. She realized that she hadn't known him long, but she couldn't be that wrong about a person. Could she?
Was he really like that and he'd just covered it up all this time? No, she didn't believe that. She'd always been a good judge of character, even if she didn't spend a lot of time out in the Englisch world.
It took another half mile of thinking hard, trying to puzzle out his behavior. Why would he drive her away? Why? He seemed to be trying to put distance between them. Like he wanted to get her to leave for some reason. She didn't know the reason, but she remembered that he'd been looking around so carefully, as if he expected someone.
Well, she didn't intend to just go away. He owed her some answers.
She slowed the horse and then guided it to make a U-turn.Then she yanked on the reins, urging Pilot to go faster in Chris's direction.
He had some explaining to do.
But as she drew closer, she saw that he stood not far from where she'd left him and he was talking to someone in a car.What was going on? she wondered as she slowed the horse to a stop and waited.
Chris raised his hands, the way she'd seen a man do once when a police officer arrested him. Glancing over, she saw then sun glint off something shiny in the hand of the driver of the car.
He had a gun, and he was pointing it at Chris!
Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt nauseous for a moment.Then she forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down.She glanced up and down the road, hoping someone would be around.
But the road, usually busy at this time, was empty. There were no homes or businesses close enough to go to, and she didn't have a cell phone.
But there was God.
She sent up a quick prayer to Him and then got the buggy rolling.
Both men turned to look at her as she approached. Her eyes were on Chris and she saw his widen with fear. He mouthed a word she knew, even if she'd never used it. She wiped one clammy hand, then the other, on the skirt of her dress.
Pulling up beside Chris, she waved to him. "Hi, need a ride?"
"He's coming with me," the other man said.
She glanced at the man and gave him a bright smile. "It's okay, I can give him a ride."
"No, really, he's coming with me."
"It's okay. You can go now."
"I know who you are," said the man in the car. "Your name's Hannah."
"She's just passing by," Chris said. "Let her go."
"I know who she is," the man repeated. "Don't try to pull something over on me."
Hannah studied the man. His photo had been printed with the article. "And I know you too."
"Don't," Chris hissed at her. Turning to Kraft, he held out his hands, palms up. "C'mon, man, I'll go with you. Just leave her out of it."
"Why? You didn't care what it did to my wife when you accused me."
"You talk like he's the one who did the bad thing. But you did it. You're the one who should have been thinking of your wife when you took that girl and raped her. I read that her parents turned her out saying she'd been dishonored."
"The sex was consensual. I can't help that they have weird religious customs there." He gave her a disparaging glance."So, Chris, you been crying to little Pilgrim girl here?"
Hannah merely looked at him. "No. I looked it up on the Internet. You raped her. Why are you blaming Chris for what you did? Why can't you leave him alone?"
Malcolm told her furiously. "Shut up!" he yelled. "You don't know what you're talking about! He ruined my life!"
"It's time to stop blaming others, Malcolm," she said, her tone quiet and reasonable. "Ask God to put you on a better path. It's not too late to start new."
Chris walked over to Hannah's side of the buggy. "Let it be," he said, looking at her intently. "You don't know who you're dealing with."
"I thought Amish chicks knew how to keep their mouths shut," Malcolm muttered.
Malcolm pulled his cap lower as a car approached. "Don't try anything stupid."
The car stopped and a man leaned out the window. "You folks need some help?"
"We're good," Malcolm told them. "Thanks."
The man nodded and drove on.
"Let her go, and I'll go anywhere you want."
"Chris—"
Malcolm nodded. "Get in the car."
"Chris!"
"Turn the buggy around, Hannah. Now."
When she hesitated, Chris leaned in, his voice low and intense. "Trust me. I was a soldier. I know how to get out of a tight spot. Now don't do anything stupid."
"But—"
"Don't you understand?" He grasped her arm with a grip so tight it hurt. "I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Promise me you'll go straight home and be safe."
Without waiting to see that she did what he told her to do, he got in the passenger side of the car.
He just didn't know her. She'd always been a little rebellious.Matthew could tell him story after story about that. Torn, she stared at him sitting in the car for a long moment.
Then, inspiration struck. She pulled the buggy into a U-turn.
And stopped directly in front of Malcolm's car.
She turned and saw the two men struggling. She prayed and prayed as Chris fought to grasp the gun. But Malcolm slammed it against his head and got out of the car.
Chris was right behind him, clutching his head. "Hannah, get out of here!" Chris yelled.
But Malcolm already stood beside the buggy. "What, are you nuts?" He raised his gun. "I've had enough of you!" He pulled her from the buggy and shook her.
Chris came up behind him and grabbed at the gun, and the two men tussled for it again. Malcolm slammed the weapon against Chris's head again, and he sagged from the pain.
Malcolm turned
and aimed the gun at Chris.
Hannah didn't think. "No!" she cried, flinging herself between the men.
She heard the shot, felt the burning pain in her arm and her side.
She stared down at the blood pouring out, then at Chris grappling with Malcolm, slamming his fist into the other man's face. Malcolm collapsed onto the road and lay still.Chris pulled off his belt, dragged Malcolm's arms behind his back and secured them.
The scene reminded her of the movie she'd seen once during her rumschpringe—not real. She watched Chris finish tying Malcolm's arms and held out her own injured one, staring at it as if it didn't belong to her. It dripped blood, dark red blood.Her head felt light and things were going gray.
She watched Chris jump to his feet and rush toward her, then everything went dark, as if it turned from day to night.
The second Chris made sure he'd subdued Malcolm, he jumped up and rushed to Hannah's side.
She lay on the road, so still. Her eyes were closed, and the color had drained from her face. Blood pooled around her side and her arm. Everyone who'd served in the field had been taught basic first aid. The pumping of blood from her arm meant the brachial artery had been nicked or severed. If he didn't stop it right away, death would come in a matter of minutes.There was no time to wait for paramedics.
Forcing himself to stay calm, he checked her arm and guessed that the bullet had only nicked the artery. He yanked at the sleeve of her dress and it tore away at the shoulder seam.Wrapping the sleeve around her arm just above the wound, he tied it tightly, and the bleeding slowed to a trickle.
The wound in her side wasn't as bad as he feared. The bullet had torn through her arm, exited, and traveled through her side. If she was lucky—and so far she was because she was still alive—it might have missed vital organs. He prayed that it had.
Shrugging off his jacket, he folded it and pressed it against her side to stem the bleeding. When his shaking fingers touched her throat, he found her pulse was thready but still beating against his fingers.
When he looked up to scan the road, he saw that Matthew's horse and buggy Hannah had borrowed were barreling down the road, the horse terrorized by the sound of the gun firing.
Malcolm's car was parked behind him, but even if he managed to pick Hannah up and move her into it without her losing too much blood, he didn't have any idea where the nearest hospital was.
A Time to Heal Page 18