She seemed to take that in for a long moment, avoiding eye contact. But that was typical. Being Amish, Thomas was used to Englisch people either staring for too long, or just the opposite—not wanting to make any eye contact.
He frowned at the scattered mess. Of course, break-ins did happen, even in Amish communities from time to time. But they were rare, and usually there were teenagers involved. Jesse was a sixty-year-old widower with no children. Not exactly a typical target for a teenage prank. And as for robbery as a motive, he had no electronics, no money, no jewelry.
The strange woman bit her upper lip nervously as she moved around some of the clutter and farther into the house. “Who do you think did this?”
“I was just wondering that my—”
A faint moaning sounded overhead from the loft.
There was someone else in the cottage. Thomas looked at the woman. “Stay here.”
Thomas raced up the back stairs. “Jesse? Is that you?”
The Englisch woman didn’t listen to him. She was on his heels, on the narrow staircase to the loft.
At the top of the stairs, Thomas paused. More chaos. The loft looked much like the downstairs. Completely trashed. He took a few wide steps over the debris and made his way to an odd-looking lump in the corner, from where he estimated the sound had originated. Jesse!
The old man lay in a heap on the floor. His face was swollen. His lips bloodied and bruised. Jesse had been beaten. And from the looks of it, nearly to death.
His wounds looked fresh and in some places were bleeding out. And worse, Jesse wasn’t moving. Thomas dropped down to his hands and knees and grabbed the old man’s hand. Thomas had seen men after fights a few times. He’d never seen anyone roughed up like this, as if the people who’d attacked him hadn’t cared whether he survived or not.
“It’s okay, Jesse. It’s Thomas. I’ve got you. Just rest. You’re going to be fine.”
The woman had slowly edged her way around the loft. She let out a horrible squeal as she saw Jesse on the ground. “Oh, no, no, no. Jesse. No.”
She dropped to the floor to get closer to the wounded man. Her body moved in waves of silent sobs.
“He’s not dead,” Thomas said, although he could barely detect the old man’s pulse. “Hang on, Jesse. Hang on. Help is here.” He looked to the woman. “You have a phone in that fancy bag of yours?”
Still crying, she scrambled through the little bag, plucking out a shiny smartphone. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to try three times to enter her pass code to unlock the phone. For efficiency’s sake, Thomas grabbed it from her and called 911. He gave thorough directions to the dispatcher. He also asked him to notify the local clinic, which was even closer than the fire department and the EMS. He hoped they would make it in time.
As he spoke, the Englisch woman placed a small pillow under Jesse’s head and a blanket over his torso. She touched Jesse’s hand and whispered something low into his ear. Who was she?
He held the phone out for her to retrieve. Thomas’s own hands were trembling, too. It was all he could do to control his emotions. He was filled with a mixture of horror and anger. What had happened? Who would do such a thing to a kind man like Jesse? And why?
He looked at the woman, wondering if her sudden and strange appearance had anything to do with the beating Jesse had taken. Thomas sighed aloud. He had to refocus his thoughts.
He had to remind himself that God was in control. His anger would solve nothing and it certainly wouldn’t save Jesse, which should be his only concern at the moment.
The woman took the smartphone from his hand. “How long will it take someone to get here? Maybe you should carry him to my car? I can get to a hospital faster than waiting for an ambulance. Right?”
“Wrong.”
“What?” She looked back at him with surprise. “Of course that would be faster.”
“Maybe faster but not better. He may have broken bones that need to be stabilized before he can be moved. I don’t want to cause any more damage than has already happened. I’m not moving him.”
“Right. Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” She stood back and put her hand to her forehead. She was trembling like a leaf. “But what can we do? We have to help him.”
We? Thomas took off his hat and put it back on his head. It was something he did when his thoughts or emotions were getting away with him. A little trick his father had told him about when he was very young that reminded him to take a deep breath and pull himself together.
“For starters,” he said, “why don’t you tell me who you are.”
The woman wiped her tears and swept her bangs carefully away from her face. At first, Thomas thought she hadn’t heard him or was once again avoiding an answer. But then she looked him dead in the eye and sighed. “I’m...well, I’m Darcy Simmons and I’m—I’m Jesse’s daughter.”
Daughter? What? Jesse didn’t have any kin that Thomas had ever heard of. Yes, he’d been married. But that had been years ago. In fact, his wife had died before Jesse had moved to Willow Trace. Jesse had always been all alone...
The woman—Darcy—had hardly gotten the words out when her fancy smartphone rang out a series of loud beeps that was apparently her ringtone.
She looked at the phone and frowned. “I don’t know that number.”
Still, she touched the screen to accept the call and lifted the phone to her ear. She was so close that Thomas could hear every crazy word of the call. The oddly distorted voice filled the room.
“Oh, Darcy, honey, you’re just as lovely as your mother, but you do have your daddy’s eyes... And you also have something of mine. I’ll be coming around soon to get it back. You can either cooperate when I see you, or you can end up like your dear old dad. Either way, I get what’s mine. See you soon.”
The phone slipped from the woman’s hand. Her head dropped back and her eyes fluttered as her legs collapsed under her and she fell toward the floor.
Copyright © 2017 by Kit Wilkinson
ISBN-13: 9781488019227
Rocky Mountain Sabotage
Copyright © 2017 by Jill Elizabeth Nelson
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