Where Secrets Sleep

by Marta Perry

  “If I’d thought to find the manager...but I’m not sure I knew there was such a thing. In any event, someone must have called her eventually, because she came to see what was going on. When I told her why I was there, she kept shaking her head. She said Hugh Standish had moved out days earlier, not telling anyone where he was going.

  “I didn’t believe her, of course. Finally she opened the apartment and let me see for myself. All the closets and drawers were empty. It was as if he’d never been there.”

  He didn’t know what to say to her. Rage shook him like a dog with a bone between his teeth. If he could get his hands on Hugh Standish—but Hugh had gone beyond the reach of retribution.

  “I’m sorry,” he said finally. There didn’t seem to be anything else that fit. To say that he understood would be an insult, because he didn’t. He couldn’t understand how any father could do that to his child.

  She shook her head. “Stupid, I know, to feel it still. I’d have said I’d forgotten it entirely, but when I saw Jamie this afternoon...” She shrugged again. “Well, I guess it wasn’t buried as deeply as I thought.”

  “Someone got in touch with your mother, I assume. She must have been furious with him.”

  “Right. There were no cell phones then, so it wasn’t a simple matter. Since I was, she thought, safely with my dad, she’d decided to go shopping and then have dinner with some friends. The apartment manager was very nice, though. She insisted I have supper with her family, and her teenage daughter played games with me that must have driven her crazy with boredom.”

  “I am sorry.” He touched her wrist lightly. When she didn’t pull away, he encircled it with his fingers, feeling the pulse throb against his skin. “Every parent makes mistakes, of course. Sometimes there isn’t any best answer, and you just have to pick the least hurtful. But that—well, people around here always did say how selfish Hugh was. It sounds as if he didn’t improve with age.”

  Allison’s eyes seemed glazed with remembered pain. “It’s hard for a child to admit that about a parent. You always want to believe that your mother and father love you, no matter what.”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at their linked hands. “I’ve made it a rule never to bad-mouth Sheila in front of Jamie, no matter what she does. But it’s tough to keep that promise when I hear him talking about how pretty she is, and how if she were here, she’d pick him up from school and all the kids would see her.”

  Allison turned toward him, putting her other hand on his arm. The bars between them were gone for the moment, at least, and he could read the concern shining in her eyes.

  “He needs that now,” she said. “Believe me, I know. One day he won’t need it any longer, and it will fade away. But for now...”

  “For now,” he said, and the words carried the gravity of a promise. “Thank you, Allison. Thank you for trusting me with your story. It helped me understand.”

  A smile trembled on her lips. “Maybe that’s the purpose of painful things.”

  “Maybe so.” He raised his hand, letting his fingers trace the line of her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft and alive to the touch.

  Allison didn’t move. She looked almost dazed. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her face to his.

  Nick smothered the voice that was crying this was a bad idea, it would lead to trouble, he’d be sorry. His lips found hers, gently at first and then surer, claiming them. No point in saying this shouldn’t happen between them, not when it already was, not when it had been happening since the first moment he saw her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BY THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Allison had still not shaken off her guilt over her deepening relationship with Nick. Her rational mind was telling her one thing, and even as she listened to it she was doing the opposite.

  And when she could manage to wrench her thoughts away from Nick, there was the possibility of a job in San Francisco to tempt her. She’d have to respond to the email soon if she was ever going to. But pursuing the position would just confuse her already mixed-up life even more.

  “Here you are.” Sarah’s voice was a welcome disruption. She propped a plastic bin on the quilt shop counter. “If you’re going to make a nine-patch place mat or wall hanging, you won’t need anything larger than these cuts of fabric. Except for the backing, of course.”

  Allison blinked. “Am I making a nine-patch?”

  “Mamm says you are.” Sarah’s eyes sparkled. “If you don’t want to...”

  “No, no, I don’t want to disappoint her. Anyway, I’d like to try it. I suspect it’s going to give me a whole new respect for quilters.”

  “You’ll do fine.” Sarah took the lid off the bin, revealing stacks of fabric pieces, obviously left over from other projects, all neatly pressed and stored away for possible use. “You’ll want to pick nine colors. Then you can use something contrasting or a matching one for the binding and reverse.”

  “How do I begin to choose?” She picked up a stack of pieces and fanned them out on the counter, attracted as always by the texture and color.

  “A nine-patch has nine small square patches joined together to make a bigger square. Then those squares are joined together to make a larger square and on and on, depending on how big a piece you’re making.”

  “Small,” she said quickly. “Place mat–size sounds about right.” She riffled through the pieces again, automatically beginning to sort them into color groups. Solids, prints, maybe a stripe...

  “You must work a lot with fabric and color when you’re designing people’s houses,” Sarah said, watching her.

  Allison nodded. “I love it, but it’s frustrating when people just want what’s fashionable at the moment or what they’ve seen in a decorating magazine.” She darted a look at Sarah. “That idea must sound odd to an Amish person.”

  “Ach, I know about it, that’s certain sure. People come in and buy a quilt because it’s made with certain colors, not because it’s beautifully crafted and useful. Can you imagine?”

  Allison had to laugh at Sarah’s expression. “They probably don’t even know what their favorite colors are. Only what’s in style.”

  Sarah laughed with her. “But it doesn’t stop me from selling quilts to them, and I suppose it doesn’t stop you from decorating their houses.”

  “True enough. You have to work, and it’s satisfying enough of the time to keep me happy.” Her mind flickered to the job in San Francisco and back again. “And I think you’re even happier with the quilt shop, aren’t you?”

  Sarah nodded, looking around with a smile. “When Evelyn talked to me about a shop, I had no idea it would bring me such satisfaction.”

  Allison studied the peaceful expression. Sarah would never have her today spoiled by worrying about tomorrow. It was a rare gift to take life that way. Still...

  “When you told me about it, you said Evelyn approached you when she realized you weren’t going to marry. But you’re young. You could fall in love—”

  Sarah shook her head, lips setting in a firm line. “Evelyn knew, you see. I...I loved someone, but he didn’t love me back.” She shrugged. “Funny how Evelyn understood even better than my mamm and daad. They thought I could get over him, marry someone else and be happy. Evelyn saw that I couldn’t.”

  An argument was on the tip of Allison’s tongue, but she held it back. Sarah had the right to her own feelings. If she felt there was only one person she could love, it wasn’t Allison’s place to argue the point. Besides, she didn’t have all that strong a case for happiness herself. She’d never really loved anyone.

  She suddenly seemed to hear herself telling Nick the story about her father. How much had that early betrayal had to do with her inability to dismantle the barricades that protected her heart?

  “Ach, what are we doing, making each other sad?” Sarah shook her head, as if to shake of
f a dark cloud. “I’m nearly forgetting. Mamm wants you to come home with me for supper tonight. Is it okay?”

  “It’s very kind of her.” Allison hesitated. “Is there anything special I should know about visiting an Amish home? I don’t want to make a mistake.”

  Sarah’s laugh bubbled over. “You couldn’t make a mistake with us. We’re friends. Daad will have silent prayer first, but then we eat just like anyone else. Except that my little brothers will bicker about who got the biggest piece.”

  “That will seem just like home, then. The twins are always doing that. My mother used to try and reason with them, but my stepfather finally said the next time he heard it, neither of them would get any dessert. They—” She stopped, because someone was coming into the shop.

  Not just someone. Brenda entered, followed by Krysta, looking bored and carrying a shopping bag.

  Sarah, with a glance at Allison, hurried forward. “Brenda, Krysta, wilkom. Are you shopping or bringing things for the sale on Saturday?”

  Brenda gave a dismissive glance around the shop. “Krysta has a bag for the sale. I’d like to speak to Allison.”

  Her tone came close to outright rudeness, and Allison stiffened. But Sarah was already moving toward the door.

  “Komm, Krysta. I’ll show you where to put things for the sale.”

  In a moment the two of them were gone, leaving Allison alone with Brenda, except for two Amish women who had been browsing among the quilt fabrics for a good half hour and didn’t seem near a decision yet.

  “What can I do for you, Brenda?” Allison kept her tone cool. She should have expected a visit from the woman. It was hardly likely she’d give up on gaining control of the building so easily.

  Brenda didn’t waste any time. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

  “Your offer or Thomas Blackburn’s?” she asked.

  Brenda’s sallow skin flushed. “Mr. Blackburn told me that he had increased the offer. I don’t think the place is worth that much, but it’s an old man’s dearest wish, after all.”

  If Brenda was making a bid for pity for Blackburn, Allison wasn’t buying it.

  “Blackburn House is worth every bit of it and more. I’m quite sure you both know it as well as I do.”

  “Your sense of property value has been distorted by city prices,” Brenda snapped.

  Allison shook her head, smiling slightly. “I’ve seen the valuation for taxes, you know.”

  “Yes, but you have to stay here in Laurel Ridge for a year to realize anything on the property.” Brenda pressed what she obviously saw as her advantage.

  And maybe it was. Allison thought again of the position in San Francisco. If she pursued it, if it worked out, she’d have no choice but to walk away from Blackburn House.

  That was a lot of ifs, but it only made sense not to burn any bridges behind her. If Brenda discovered that Allison actually needed to sell in order to take another job, she’d control all the cards.

  “I honestly haven’t made a decision about staying.” It was a good thing Sarah wasn’t within earshot. “I’ll think it over.”

  “Very well, then.” Brenda’s smile was stiff. “I’ll wait for your answer, but the offer won’t be good indefinitely.”

  Allison just smiled. From what she’d seen of Thomas Blackburn, she suspected the offer would be open as long as it took.

  They stood there awkwardly until Sarah and Krysta reappeared from the direction of the storeroom. “Krysta has some more bags in the car,” Sarah called. “I’m going to help her with them.”

  “I’ll do that,” Allison said quickly, skirting the counter. She’d had enough of skirmishing with Brenda. “You have customers ready.” The two Amish women had picked up some bolts of fabric, apparently having finally decided.

  Without waiting for any goodbyes, she hurried out, following Krysta to a late-model hatchback that was parked at the curb.

  Krysta handed out bags, filling Allison’s arms, and took another full load herself, balancing them on her knee as she closed the hatchback.

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “No problem.” They went up the walk, one behind the other. Allison propped the front door open with her shoulder and followed Krysta back to the storeroom.

  Inside the storeroom door she paused, trying to pick the best spot for the bags she carried. Krysta propped hers on top of a box that was turned on its side, spilling its contents on the floor.

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “Farther back.” Allison nodded toward the end of the row. “This looks as if someone was hunting for early bargains. I’ll have to clean it up.”

  “Most of it looks like junk, but I guess some people will buy anything.” She plunked down her bags where Allison indicated and turned to face her. “Look, I guess I need to thank you for not telling... Well, you know.” Her fair skin flushed, making her look younger.

  “No problem,” Allison said, wondering if T.J. shared Krysta’s attitude.

  “Are you going to take this offer my mother and Mr. Blackburn cooked up between them?” Krysta asked abruptly.

  “I haven’t really decided.” Allison was surprised the teenager cared in the least.

  “Well, I just want you to know that I think the two of them are nuts. I mean, who cares who owned a building thirty or forty years ago?”

  “Apparently Thomas Blackburn cares,” she said, her tone dry.

  “Nutty,” Krysta said. “And T.J. says the same thing, too. Who cares about that dead and gone family history, anyway? T.J. says his grandfather is obsessed with getting the building back, and he thinks it’s ridiculous.”

  “Does he?” Allison’s memory presented her with a picture of T.J. walking quickly away from the scene the night the power went out. “Are you sure T.J. wouldn’t do something to make me want to sell, if just to please his grandfather?”

  “You’re talking about somebody vandalizing the building, aren’t you?” Krysta’s eyes sparked fire. “I heard about that.”

  “Not necessarily. I just wondered—”

  “You can’t go around saying things like that! T.J. would never—” She stamped her feet, looking as if anger had taken away her ability to express herself. “I should have known I couldn’t talk to you!”

  Krysta whirled and darted out of the room. By the time Allison reached the hallway, Krysta was disappearing out the front door.

  * * *

  APRIL WEATHER HAD turned fickle, and a brisk wind swept clouds across the sky amid a shower of rain. Allison was relieved that Sarah hadn’t insisted on transporting her by horse and buggy, and instead they both went to the Bitler farm in Allison’s car.

  “I’ll take you for a buggy ride another time,” Sarah said, seeming to assume that Allison would consider it a treat. “There’s the lane, coming up on the right.”

  Allison made the turn, passing between a mailbox on one side and a willow tree, already turning green, on the other. The farm lane was a long gravel stretch, much like the lane at the home of Nick’s parents. Glancing across the intervening field, she could see the farmhouse Nick and his family called home.

  The Bitler house was actually very similar from the outside—white frame with a long porch across the front. Beyond it were several outbuildings—a large barn, twin silos and a number of smaller buildings whose purpose she couldn’t guess.

  As they neared the house, Allison found herself tensing. She’d never been in an Amish home before. What if she unintentionally insulted someone? Sarah had laughed at the idea, but Allison couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she was stepping into unfamiliar territory.

  “You can park right by the back porch,” Sarah said, pointing to a gravel pull-off bordered by a long hitching rail.

  Allison followed instructions. “Your place is very similar to
Nick’s,” she commented.

  “I’d guess most of the houses along this road were built in the same time period. Some are Amish, some are Englisch.”

  “So, you can’t tell the difference.” That was oddly reassuring.

  “Well, the sure way to tell is to look for an electric line running into the house. If there isn’t one, it’s Amish.” Sarah settled her bonnet in place. It was practical wear on a day like this. It would protect her from the rain.

  “You don’t have any electricity in the house?” Allison couldn’t imagine living without electricity.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Sarah seemed used to the attitude on the part of outsiders. “We have gas appliances and lighting, and an oil furnace. Of course, we can use things run on batteries or even a generator for something like a dairy operation. To keep the milk safe, you see. We couldn’t sell it otherwise.”

  “I see, but I don’t understand. If you can use electricity in that way, why not from the lines?” Sarah seemed to imagine she’d understand all of these rules. People who lived in the area probably did.

  Sarah turned toward her, hand on the door handle. “Well, it’s because the Scripture tells us to live separate from the world. We Amish try to work out what that means in today’s world. So we use modern appliances, but we don’t connect with the power grid because then we wouldn’t be separate.” She smiled. “It sounds silly to you, most likely, but it’s what we feel is right. And the other side of it is that we’re not going to be running televisions or computers off bottled gas.”

  “Televisions are bad?” Allison slid out, buttoning her jacket against the chill wind.

  “Not bad in themselves,” Sarah said, following suit. “Just bad in that they isolate families. If everyone’s watching a screen, they’re not talking to each other.”

  Now, that did make sense, she supposed. “My mother would probably agree with you. She always put a tight control on how much television the twins could watch. She said it hypnotized them.”