A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  “So how did you get cured of your night terrors?”

  “Fatima says they went away on their own. A few months before I turned twelve, they just faded.”

  “That’s what we’re hoping for with Simon. The doctor said most kids grow out of them. There’s a chance that they’ve been brought on by stress over Mamm and Dat’s deaths. Lately he seems to be reliving the night of the murders, and that part tears me up.”

  “It must be really hard on you. Although I know it’s a form of sleepwalking, it’s really scary to witness.” Simon’s rants in the hall upstairs had turned her inside out for a few tense moments.

  “It’s terrifying, all right.” Adam sank forward until his chin rested on his fists. “Sometimes it takes me right back to last year. The grief at losing our parents, and the fear that Simon was lost to us, too.” He rolled his head to the side to face her. “Sorry. I don’t mean to burden you with—”

  “It’s no burden.” She smoothed back Simon’s hair, covering his perfect shell ear with her palm for one second. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve grown attached to your family. We argued the other night because I worry about Simon.”

  “I realize that now.”

  “And I’d like to know what happened that night. Maybe it’s irrational, but if I piece the details of the puzzle together in my mind, I feel like I’ll be better equipped to help Simon.”

  “Sometimes I feel the same way. But with every detail I learn, it makes things worse. It’s an ugly picture of that night that forms in my mind.”

  So Remy wasn’t the only one who had tried to picture the crime scene—as if, by working through the difficult pieces, she would reach a catharsis.

  “I suppose my biggest question involves the police investigation. How could they just drop everything with a killer on the loose?”

  Adam rubbed his eyes and straightened. “The investigation is still ongoing. I’ve known Hank Hallinan all my life, and he’s not one to let the ball drop, even if the media makes it look that way. He and his deputies followed every lead. They talked up everyone in Halfway, trying to find out who would want to hurt our parents. In the end, they had only a boot print in the mud. A man’s boot. A big foot, like size ten or eleven.” Adam shook his head. “It’s not much to go on.”

  “Still … there had to be something else, some other evidence to pursue.” Remy had seen many crime shows in which perpetrators were found through computer scans of fingerprints, hair, or skin samples left at the scene. It seemed to her there had to be other leads to be investigated.

  “Simon was the only witness, and he was scared into silence.”

  But now he’s remembering things … a bald head, something about a tattoo or birthmark shaped like Florida. It was vital to notify the sheriff about Simon’s newfound memories as soon as the snow cleared, but for now, Remy didn’t broach the topic, knowing it would only reignite their previous argument.

  Adam rubbed his chin, his dark eyes full of rue. “The gunman used a .32-caliber handgun. An automatic. The police did find shell casings at the scene.”

  “But they didn’t find the gun.” Remy knew that if they found a suspect with a weapon, a crime lab could match the gun to the bullets used. At least that was a possibility down the road.

  “Apparently Dat was shot on the lane, almost behind the buggy. Mamm was sitting in the front of the buggy, Simon huddled under her legs but … you probably read about that.”

  “I did.” The thought of Simon hiding beneath his dead mother made Remy shiver despite the warmth from the stove. “So … there were no fingerprints, and the weapon was never found. Though some people speculated that Simon had used the family gun.”

  “A rifle.”

  She shook her head. “People can be so vicious.”

  “That, and they just wanted answers. You can’t blame them for that.”

  “Actually, I could.” Remy adjusted the quilt over Simon, thinking that someone needed to look out for this kid. “He was traumatized, scared silent. And people had the nerve to accuse him of something so … so heinous?”

  Adam took a deep breath, his gaze on the glowing stove. “I can’t worry about what the outside world thinks. And fortunately, Simon was protected from most of the rumors.”

  “Was there anything that didn’t make it into the news reports? Anything unusual at the crime scene?”

  “No.” He frowned down at the floor, then lifted his gaze. “Actually, yes, though they weren’t sure it was part of the crime scene at first. But when the sheriff and his deputies were searching the nearby fields, they found the carcass of a ring-necked pheasant. A fresh kill, apparently. They found that the bullet in the pheasant matched the gun that shot my parents.”

  “Really? Do you use a .32-caliber weapon to shoot a pheasant?”

  “No. Never. Hunters use shotguns. The pheasant was found on King land, and no one ever hunts here. Dat saw the farm as a sanctuary for animals, a safe haven for living things. We eat meat and dairy, but no animal is slaughtered on King land.”

  “I’d say that’s a telling piece of evidence.” Although she wasn’t sure exactly what it might prove.

  “It really rattled Jonah and me. It was like a symbol of broken peace.”

  Remy nodded. Although she had no idea what a ring-necked pheasant looked like, the symbolism was upsetting.

  “So … the police have no official suspects? No more leads to follow?”

  “I’m not a part of the investigation.” Adam shifted in the chair. “Remember, Plain folk cooperate with law enforcement, but we don’t seek revenge or justice.”

  “Between you and me, do you think the police are right about it being a random crime? A hate crime perpetrated by someone passing through?”

  His hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t know what would make someone kill, and I don’t want to know. The bishop has told us not to dwell on the murders. I try not to, but a part of me dies every time I think of how I must have disappointed my parents.”

  “But you came back,” she pointed out. “You liquidated years of your life. You gave up a successful carpentry business to come home and take care of your family.”

  “Ya, but I didn’t get back in time.” His eyes burned black with despair. “My parents never knew their oldest son would return to the Plain life.”

  “You’re beating yourself up,” Remy said. “You couldn’t have known … no one could have predicted what happened to your parents.”

  “But if I’d been here, maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all. When they were late coming home, I could have ridden out to find them—”

  “Adam, don’t do this,” she interrupted. “You couldn’t save them. If I’ve learned anything these past few days, it’s that God’s will is unexplainable. We need to accept the things He hands down, even if it hurts.”

  He squinted at her as if trying to decipher a code. “That is what the Amish believe. How do you know that?”

  “I’ve been talking with Mary and Sadie. And I listen.”

  “You are a good listener.” He leaned toward her, the room suddenly warm and intimate around them. “I remember a train ride when I talked and talked, and you listened.”

  She thought of their first encounter on that train. So many obstacles had been encountered since that day, and here they were, both wiser from the experience. “After we met on the train, after I learned the details of what happened to your parents, I was overwhelmed. There I was, feeling sorry for myself for returning home a failure, while your circumstances were a thousand times worse.”

  “You can’t really compare lives that way.”

  “But sometimes we need a dose of reality to jolt us out of self-absorption.” She turned away from the sleeping boy so that she faced Adam. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you. It might sound weird and obsessive, but I became consumed with your story for a while. I read everything I could find about it, as if I could vicariously help you wade through the heartbreak.”

  “That
was kind of you.” His brown eyes captured hers. They were knee to knee, face-to-face; she wondered what it would take for him to kiss her.

  Just a few inches closer, she thought, wishing that he could read her heart.

  “But you did help, more than you know. Did you know you were the only person I could really talk to in the past year?”

  She swallowed, her heart beating strong for him. “Really?”

  “Ya. I thought you were an angel. Sent from God.”

  She smiled up at him. “And now what do you think?”

  “You’re no angel.” His lips spread in a grin as he took her hands in his. “You, Remy McCallister, are a real woman. Flesh and bones.” His touch warmed her, and cradled in his large, strong hands her own hands felt tiny and delicate.

  “You’re a real woman, and I thank God for bringing you to me.”

  A tiny gasp escaped her throat as he tilted his face toward her and their mouths came together. The kiss was wide and white as the snowy fields beyond the window. Huge and expansive, the kiss opened up her world like a camera lens clicking open.

  He still smelled of wood smoke and soap, a scent becoming familiar to Remy as she squeezed his big hands, wanting even more. How she longed to rise and press against him, their bodies aligned in that perfect fit of man and woman.

  But even as she wanted more, she became aware of Simon snoring softly behind them. They were not alone. And they were in the wide-open kitchen of his house.

  No, this would only be a taste.

  But as their lips separated and Remy waited for her heartbeat to slow, she was struck by how simple it could be: two people, falling in love, wanting each other, dazzled by the first taste.

  Love was truly a beautiful thing.

  And this was only the beginning.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  dam leaned back in the chair, trying to put a safe space between them before his heart, mind, and body raced too far ahead of good sense.

  Such a kiss.

  He’d never known a kiss that could turn a person inside out even as it healed. That kiss—like manna for the hungry, sweet spring water on a thirsty tongue—it was amazing.

  He took a deep breath, trying to recover, and she turned away shyly, tending to Simon, who was still fast asleep. He expected his heartbeat to slow, but his pulse only quickened as his mind raced ahead. The sight of her leaning over Simon, soothing the child, was suddenly a picture of all their tomorrows. He saw her tending a baby—their child—with all the instinct and love of a mother.

  He closed his eyes to clear his head, but the images came at him quick as the white lines down the center of a road.

  Remy stretched out beside him in their marriage bed, her long curls gleaming over her supple ivory skin.

  Remy astride a horse, her skirts flapping as she galloped ahead.

  Remy with child, her small hands rubbing her round belly.

  Remy seated at his right hand, passing a platter around their dinner table.

  He could see her here, living on this farm as his wife.

  He leaned back in the chair, counting the familiar points of the dark kitchen. The potbellied stove. The window facing the paddocks. The cabinets that were built by his grandfather.

  His palm pressed the ancient grain of the oak table, where countless meals and meetings had taken place. This old slab of wood had supported the elbows of his family members through laughter and tears, joy and grief. He could see Mamm sitting in her spot at Dat’s right hand, showing Mary how to even out her stitches on a quilt. Dat sat there, at the head of the table, the first one to start talking every morning at breakfast.

  Adam had inherited Dat’s place at the head of the table. Was there any way on God’s good earth that Remy could find a place beside him?

  He reached for hope. The fact that Remy kept coming back was no accident; God was at work in his life.

  “So …” She turned back to him, her lips still swollen from their kiss. “Sadie says you’re the man to talk to about becoming Amish, since you’re baptized and everything.”

  “What do you mean? That you’re curious?”

  “More than curious. I’ve been feeling at odds with God … sort of drifting. Honestly, I haven’t been a member of a church since I was a little kid, but I’m searching now.”

  “A seeker?”

  “That was what Sadie called me, and I sort of like the sound of that.”

  “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but most seekers do not become Amish.”

  “Oh. Why not?”

  He smiled. “Too much work?”

  “I’m not afraid of work.”

  He’d seen that. “In the end, I don’t think they’re willing to give up their personal freedoms to follow the Ordnung.”

  “That sounds like more of a challenge, but I don’t scare easily.”

  He smiled at the way Remy wiggled bits of light into the dark cracks. They talked for a while about the Amish faith. Remy already knew some history. She had learned about their beginnings in Europe and their belief in adult baptism, but she had some questions about the structure of their Order.

  Adam tried to answer her questions. “If you’re interested you should talk to the bishop sometime, or Preacher Dave. They could answer your questions better.”

  “Would you come with me?” she asked.

  “Ya, sure. Just as long as you know that joining the Amish, getting baptized, isn’t something to take lightly. It’s the biggest decision of a person’s life. And you haven’t even been around Amish much. A few weeks with one family is nothing.”

  “We’ll see,” she said, hiding a yawn.

  “It’s late.” Adam rose. “We’d better get some sleep.”

  Remy took the lantern from the table. “I’ll take the light. That one’s a bit too much for me to carry.”

  “I got him.” With ease Adam lifted his little brother into his arms and headed up the stairs. Simon’s bare feet dangled, but he burrowed his head against Adam’s chest.

  Following the glow of Remy’s lantern, Adam felt that sense of rightness once again. If he followed her up the stairs every night with a child in his arms, that would be a good life. A very good life.

  Over the next few days snow fell continually, piling on layers of powder that made every nook and cranny on the farm seem clean and new. God’s hand over everything.

  Adam felt cleansed, too, washed white as snow by the grace of the Father. Something about Remy chipped away at his bad temper, warming his heart with the light in those moss green eyes. And if the milk truck couldn’t get through, there was no way a city girl like Remy would be able to drive these country roads. Who could argue with God’s hand through a blizzard? For now, Remy belonged here, and he no longer felt guilty about the joy he felt in her company.

  Now, in search of Gabe, Adam moved through the shoveled lane of snow between the house and barn. A few yards from the barn he spotted Gabe and Simon in the paddock. Simon was walking Shadow, his favorite horse, in the area of mashed-down snow, while Gabe sat on a hard ridge of snow by the fence, giving him a few pointers.

  Adam reached up onto a snowbank, gathered a mound of fresh snow, and packed it between his gloved hands.

  The perfect snowball.

  He launched it at Gabe—and struck! A patch of white snow clung to his black pants, just above the knee.

  “Hey!” Gabe swiped at the spot, his narrowed eyes searching the perimeters before they landed on Adam. “You!”

  Simon held back a grin as he kept his horse steady. “Don’t hit Shadow!”

  “Don’t worry, my aim isn’t that bad.” Adam ran one glove over the packed bank of snow. “We need you at the house, Gabe. Mammi wants to go over the costs for bathroom renovations and adding to the herd.”

  Gabe waved him off. “I’ve got no head for numbers. And you know how I feel about those changes.”

  Striding toward the paddock, Adam knew his brother didn’t want changes to the farm procedures or the house. Gabe said it
was all in the name of loyalty to Dat, who believed that milking the cows by hand helped to maintain their way of life, with its slower pace and simpler ways.

  And Adam respected his father’s decisions, but he also knew that Dat would want the farm to survive. That meant some modernization in the cowshed. Their current methods of milking did not allow them to sell fluid milk, and that limited their earning power and profits. Based on the numbers Adam had gone over with his grandmother, expansion of their cow herd with the addition of milking machines could triple their profit, which was now marginal at times.

  Add to that the fact that a machine could milk a cow in five minutes, while the process took fifteen to twenty minutes by hand. Adam was convinced that this would be better for the entire family.

  “Come on, Gabe. We need your help with this. You know the cow herd best.” He also needed Gabe on board, and he believed that if his brother heard the details, he would see the logic in making the changes permitted in their district.

  “Gabe?” Adam rounded the snow bank and faced the paddock, just as a white missile shot toward him. “Ach!” At the last minute he spun, and the snowball hit him squarely in the back.

  “Oh, come on.” Gabe faced him, hands on his hips. “That couldn’t have hurt.”

  “No, but you wounded my pride. Are you coming?”

  “Ya, sure.” Gabe started toward the shoveled lane. “Just as soon as I give you this.” He lunged for a pile of snow and paddled frantically, sending snow spraying toward Adam.

  “Denki, brother!” Adam raced away, circling behind Simon before he ducked behind the cover of the snow bank. “Kumm, before Mammi loses patience. And no fair smuggling snowballs into the house.”

  As Adam headed toward the house, the sound of laughter floated toward him, muted by trees and snow flurries. On the other side of the bare trees the women and children stood in clusters on the frozen pond, their dark shapes recognizable against the brilliant white snowscape.

  Mary skated slowly beside Samuel, who took small heavy steps on the ice. Sadie chased after Leah, while Susie and Ruthie practiced pulling each other along.