by Marta Perry
Sarah linked arms with her and led her toward the house. “Your mamm sounds like a very caring mother.”
“Yes. She is.” More so with the twins than with her? But that probably wasn’t a fair question. When Allison was small, her mother had worked two jobs just to pay the bills. Everything had changed after she’d remarried, of course. But then there were the twins...
Sarah opened the back door of the house and swept Allison into the farmhouse kitchen—into warmth, light, laughter and wonderful smells. For an instant it confused her, and then Sarah’s mother was greeting her with a warm hug.
“Wilkom, wilkom. We are so glad you’re here, Allison. You must komm often, ain’t so?” With her arm still around Allison’s waist, Hannah Bitler turned to the rest of her family. “Here is Sarah’s grossmammi, Elizabeth Bitler.”
“We are sehr glad you’re here, Allison.” The elderly woman said her name carefully, as if it was unfamiliar. Snow-white hair was pulled back under her kapp, and the severity of the black dress and apron she wore was mitigated by her beaming smile. Her skin creased into a web of fine lines, as delicate as a fading rose petal.
“This is my husband, Eli,” Hannah went on, “and our younger boys, Jonah, Thomas and Noah.”
Allison hesitated, not sure whether it was proper for an Amish man to shake hands with an Englisch woman, but Eli resolved the dilemma by seizing her hand. He shook it, beaming, his ruddy face filled with pleasure. “Wilkom, wilkom.” He wore the usual male Amish clothing of black pants, a plain blue shirt and suspenders, and his beard was brown and curly. Blue eyes surveyed her with a twinkle. “Our Sarah’s partner is always wilkom in our home.” He tapped the nearest boy—Jonah, she thought—on the head. “Greet our guest.”
He grinned. “We’re sehr glad you’re here.”
The other two boys gave echoing murmurs, surveying her with round blue eyes that looked identical. In fact, all three were like stair steps, almost exactly alike with their pale blond hair and fair skin, with only a couple of inches of height to distinguish them.
“Komm, sit down, everyone.” Hannah shooed them toward the table. “Sarah, you sit by our guest. Jonah, help me get the schnitz und knepp to the table.”
Allison tried to remember her high school German, but Sarah leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Apples, dumplings and ham. You’ll like it,” she added, as if sure no one could fail to enjoy it. And the dish, served in an immense pottery bowl, smelled wonderful.
More dishes were whisked on to the table by Hannah and her helper...applesauce, pickles, baked corn, lima beans...were they really going to eat all of these? But judging by the expressions on the boys’ faces, they couldn’t wait to dig in, and she remembered her brothers’ appetites. Teenage boys were bottomless pits, she guessed.
When everyone was seated, Eli glanced around the table and then bowed his head. Silent prayer, she remembered, following suit. But if it was silent, how did they know when it was ended? She peeked from beneath her lashes and saw every head raised again almost simultaneously, as if they had an internal timer.
A cheerful babble of voices broke out as the dishes were passed, the argument between two of the boys as to who had the bigger serving so familiar it made her smile.
“Ach, what will Allison think of you?” Eli reached out to tap his nearest son on the hand. “Don’t be greedy.”
“They sound like my little brothers,” Allison said quickly. “They’re twins, and they never could get through a meal without arguing about who got more. And I heard the same teasing between Nick and his brother when I went there for supper. Brothers just seem to do that.”
“There’s plenty for all,” Hannah intervened firmly. “How old are your brothers, Allison?”
“They’re eighteen now, so they don’t argue as much.” She smiled at the three boys lined up on the opposite side of the table.
“These three might grow out of it sometime,” Eli said, with what they obviously recognized as mock severity.
The platters and bowls of food kept coming. Allison tried to take a little of everything, not sure she could possibly eat it all. She took a cautious bite of the apple and pork mixture and gave an involuntary sigh. “This is wonderful.”
Hannah flushed with pleasure. “Denke, Allison. Sarah thought you would like to try the traditional dishes.”
“Sometimes we have pizza,” Noah, the youngest one, put in. “Is that trad—whatever?”
Eli chuckled. “Only for Italians. But your mamm makes gut pizza, ain’t so?”
“Everything Mamm makes is gut,” Noah said, as if surprised there could be any doubt, making the adults smile.
Allison studied him. Probably about eight, she’d guess, a little older than Jamie. “Do you go to school with Jamie Whiting, Noah?”
The boy shook his head. “He goes to the school in town. We go to Pine Creek School, down the road.” He waved his hand vaguely. “We play together, and sometimes we go fishing.”
“That must be fun.”
“The Amish kinder go to Amish school here,” Eli said. “Some places they might go to school with the Englisch, I’ve heard, but here we have our own school.”
“We go through eight grades,” Sarah explained. “Then we might learn a trade or work in a family business.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what happened if a child wanted more education than that, but she reminded herself that she didn’t want to risk offending anyone.
Eli smiled at her. “Seems strange to you, ain’t so? The Englisch keep their kinder in school much longer. But we believe eight grades teaches Amish children enough to fit them for the lives God wants for them. Whatever else they need, they learn from their parents or by an apprenticeship.”
“Or by taking trade school classes,” Sarah added. “Sometimes they might need that for a particular job.”
Allison nodded, determined not to argue. Was that really satisfying? It seemed to be for Sarah, at least. Despite having only eight years of education, she was running a successful business. Clearly the Amish had different ideas about what constituted a good life than most Americans.
And they seemed satisfied. Happy. She glanced around the table at the cheerful faces. They didn’t have the things most people would consider essential to their happiness, but they seemed content.
Could she be content if she gave up her busy urban lifestyle, the advantages of city living, the possibility of advancing in her career? If she decided to stay in Laurel Ridge, that’s what the cost would be.
Odd that she was even considering such a thing. But she didn’t know if she wanted to or even if she could. And until she did, she’d be sitting on the fence.
* * *
IT WAS NEARLY dark by the time Allison drove back into town, still feeling so full she couldn’t think about eating again anytime soon. After supper, she and Sarah had washed the dishes while her mother put away the food and Eli and the boys had headed out to do the evening chores. There always seemed plenty of work to do on a farm.
Once they were all back in the house, the boys had talked her and Sarah into a board game. Judging by the battered condition of the box, it must have been one they played often, sort of a farmyard version of a game her brothers had played before they were lured into electronic games. She had to confess it was more fun to be actively playing around a table, watching the exultation of the boys when they made a good move and listening to their laughter and teasing. Allison was still smiling when she pulled to the curb in front of the bed-and-breakfast.
She grabbed her handbag and reached for her computer case, only to realize that it wasn’t there. She paused for a moment, mind scrambling, before she realized where it was. She’d left it on the counter of the quilt shop when they’d locked up and headed out for supper.
It would be safe enough the
re, but there were some emails she’d intended to answer tonight, and that would be much easier on the computer than on her phone.
Hesitating on the sidewalk, Allison glanced at her watch. Only eight o’clock, and the clouds had been replaced by a nearly full moon. Voices and laughter spilled out from the café across the street when someone opened the door.
How childish, to be afraid to enter a building she owned just because it was dark. It would only take a moment to run into the quilt shop, and she wasn’t going to let herself start imagining things. It was Ralph’s talk of feeling malice in the air that had her spooked, and that was ridiculous. Ralph had a malicious streak of his own, for that matter, and he’d probably done it deliberately, just to see her reaction.
Somehow that decided her. She marched briskly toward the door, pulling out her keys and fumbling for the right one.
She finally found it, reflecting that there should be a brighter light on the pole lamp. Still, for the most part, people weren’t coming in after dark. She stepped inside and let the door swing closed behind her.
The dark, echoing space seemed to press on her, as if the very air was heavy. Shaking off the feeling, she slid her hand along the wall until it met the switches and flicked the nearest one, which turned on the fixture directly over the door.
In the instant that the light came on, she glanced back down the hallway. The door to the bookshop was ajar, and the window reflected a faint sliver of light. She stopped, frowning. A reflection from the hall light? She took a step to the side, but the light was still visible. She felt for her cell phone, pulling it out of her bag. If there was an intruder, the sensible thing was to slip back outside and call 911.
Allison held her breath, taking a step back, and heard a faint scraping sound, as if a box had been pushed along the floor. In an instant she realized what was happening, and her tension vanished, leaving her feeling rather foolish.
Ralph had received a new shipment of books that afternoon, and he’d been rather testy over the fact that he couldn’t fit them in the storeroom to his satisfaction. He’d finally declared, with a martyred air, that he’d have to put them in the tiny back room of the bookstore and stay late to unpack them. The slant of light must be coming from the back room of the bookshop. If she’d called the police over something like this, they’d have every right thinking her a hysterical woman intent on dramatizing herself.
She paused, keys in one hand, cell phone in the other, tempted to retrieve her laptop and slip out before Ralph realized she was there. Sarah would think that less than neighborly, she felt sure. Maybe, in the interest of good relationships with her tenants, she should at least ask if he needed help.
She walked quickly back down the hallway and pushed the door open, stepping inside. “Ralph? It’s Allison. Do you—”
The light in the back room went off. She froze, the words caught in her throat. For an instant her mind didn’t work, and then she knew. It wasn’t Ralph. He wouldn’t switch off the light at the sound of her voice.
She had to get out. Get clear of the building. Call the police. With only the dim light that reached it from the bulb in the front of the hall, the bookstore was a place of looming shapes and dark shadows. Her heart thumped. Turn back toward the door, then she’d be able to see enough to get out. But she’d be seen, as well. If she were between an intruder and his only way out...
Anyway, she couldn’t. Some atavistic trait demanded that she not turn her back to an enemy. She took another step back, fumbling for the buttons on the cell phone.
The phone light came on, allowing her to press the buttons. Pinpointing her position to someone there in the dark.
She took a step to the side as she raised the phone to her ear. If he came toward her she’d hear the footsteps, she was closer to the door, she could run—
A sharp crack, something looming over her, plummeting toward her. She raised her arms in a defensive gesture. And then it hit her, knocking her to the floor, books raining down on her head. She crouched, curling herself together and waited for another blow to fall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NICK’S PULSE THUNDERED in his ears as he burst through the front door of Blackburn House and ran toward the bookshop. He could hear his brother’s young patrolman behind him, telling him to wait, and ignored the warning. Allison— Mac’s call had been brief, saying only it appeared Allison had been attacked. He hadn’t waited to hear more.
He shoved through the partially open door, groping for a light switch. “Allison! Where are you?”
“Here.” Her voice sounded blessedly strong. “I’m okay.”
He finally connected with the switch. He flipped it, flooding the room with light, and looked at chaos. One of the freestanding bookcases had been knocked over, scattering books across the floor. And over Allison. She half sat, half lay under the heavy fallen bookcase. He was next to her in a second.
“Are you all right?” He grabbed the bookcase, trying to ease it off her.
“I’m okay.” Her face was pale, and there was a streak of dust across her cheek, but otherwise she seemed in one piece. “I just can’t get out.”
“We’ll have it off you in a minute.” He gestured to the patrolman, who was returning his phone to his hip. “Give me a hand with this.”
The kid nodded, looking a little pale himself. He’d probably never been first at the scene before. “Chief’s on his way. He’ll be here in a second. You sure we should move it?”
Nick choked back a sharp retort and knelt next to Allison. “Will you be all right if we lift it up? We don’t want to hurt you trying to free you.”
“I’m fine. Just get it off me.”
“Okay.” He seized one end while the patrolman grabbed the other. “One, two, three.”
They lifted. The bookcase came reluctantly, a few last books spilling out as they set it back in place.
“Wait. Let us help you get up.”
It was probably a measure of how shaken Allison was that she didn’t argue. He and the kid, Johnny Foster, eased her on to one of the upholstered chairs Ralph had placed around the shop to encourage people to linger.
Foster seemed to be gaining confidence. He leaned over Allison, his young face concerned. “Do you hurt anywhere, Ms....”
“Standish,” Nick supplied the name. “Did you call for EMTs?”
Foster nodded. “Chief did. Should be here in a couple minutes.”
“I’m all right. Really.” Allison propped her head on her hand. “I think I’d just better sit for a moment.”
“You take all the time you need.” Foster straightened. “I should take a look around for the intruder. Probably long gone, though. You’ll stay with her?” He made it a question.
Nick nodded, his pulse slowly returning to normal. “I’ll be here.” He knelt next to Allison, taking a firm clasp on her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thanks.” Allison’s voice held a slight wobble. She seemed to hear it, because she straightened, meeting his eyes. “You always seem to be around in emergencies.”
“I could do with fewer of those,” he said, relieved that the color was returning to her cheeks. “Don’t I remember asking you to be careful?”
She rubbed between her eyebrows with two fingers. “I’ve been giving myself that advice, too.” She shook her head, then seemed to regret it. “Ouch. I thought it was Ralph, you see.”
He opened his mouth to ask for details and changed his mind. “I hear Mac coming now. He’ll want to hear the whole thing, so maybe you’d rather wait and tell it once.”
“Right.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, the lashes making dark shadows against her pallor.
The approaching footsteps stopped, and Nick heard the murmur of voices as Mac probably spoke to young Foster. When he came through the door, Nick greeted him with a frown.
“How come you’re never on duty when you’re needed?”
“I am on duty. Was out at a fender bender on Dillstown Road.” After a quick glance around, he joined Nick in kneeling next to Allison. “Paramedics are right behind me. Don’t try to move, okay?”
“I’m all right,” Allison said for the third or fourth time. Her voice seemed to sound a little stronger each time she said it.
Mac studied her face for a moment and seemed to accept it. “You feel okay enough to tell me what happened?”
She nodded, then winced as if the movement hurt. “I’d been out at Sarah’s for supper. When I got back, I realized I’d left my laptop in the quilt shop, and I came into the building to get it. I saw the bookstore door was ajar, and there was a light on in here.”
“This light?” Mac pointed to the overhead fixture with the pen in his hand.
“No, the one in the back room. I thought it was Ralph.” She rubbed her forehead again. “He’d had a shipment this afternoon, and he was upset because he claimed there wasn’t space in the storeroom. There was, but he seemed to want to make an issue of it. So anyway, I thought he was unpacking, so I came to see if he needed help.” She managed a faint smile. “Trying to soothe his ruffled feathers, I guess.”
“Ralph doesn’t like all the stuff piling up for the Jumble Sale,” Nick explained.
“I see. So you came in. What happened next?”
Allison frowned. “I called his name, and when I did, the light went out. So I knew it wasn’t Ralph.”
“You should have run out then.” Nick tightened his grip on her hand.
“Of course, but it wasn’t so easy in the dark. I knew someone was there, but I couldn’t see where he was...” Her eyes had widened, and now she was grasping him. “I didn’t want to get between him and the exit. I had my cell in my hand, so I pressed 911. About then the roof caved in.” She shot a glance at the scattered books. “I guess he ran out.”
“You didn’t get a look at him?”
“No.” She clearly wasn’t going to make the mistake of shaking her head again. “I had my hands over my head in case anything else came down.”