Danger in Amish Country: Fall from GraceDangerous HomecomingReturn to Willow Trace (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Perry, Marta

  Joseph let out a sigh. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.”

  So, what was it like? There was a sadness in his voice, but she ignored it. “Why are we even talking about that? After all that has happened tonight? We should be praying for Billy’s family. We should be asking ourselves why God chose us to be with Billy in his last moments. I feel some sort of responsibility in this, don’t you?”

  “You are right, Lydia.” Joseph tilted his head, as if reflecting on her questions. “But it’s all so strange. If neither of us has seen nor heard from him in all this time, it makes me wonder if he wasn’t wounded near the store and stumbled into the first place he passed. Doesn’t that make more sense than him actually looking for you or for me? Maybe what Billy was mumbling had no meaning or purpose at all?”

  Lydia’s mind flashed over the moment she’d pulled up the shade and seen this half-dead person clinging so desperately to the front doors. “I know. It’s so strange that he was there. How did he get there? There was no car.”

  “No. I didn’t see a car, either.”

  She nodded. “Do you think Macy will ask us more questions?”

  Joseph shrugged. “I don’t see why. We told him everything we know. I think he will concentrate on Billy’s drug connections.”

  A cold chill passed down Lydia’s spine. She pulled her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders. “This is such a tragedy. It will bring grief to the whole community.”

  After ten long minutes, they passed over the small bridge and up Holly Hill to the farmhouse where she and her mother lived. He slowed the buggy as they approached the old gray-stone-and-white-clapboard house. He halted the mare and hopped out. She jumped out, too. She did not want Joseph Yoder walking her up to the porch. It was too much like a visit to the past, too much like reliving their outings in Joseph’s old courting buggy.

  But she wasn’t quick enough. There he was, standing at the passenger side with an umbrella in hand. He held it over her head as they walked together up the front stairs. His shoulder brushed against hers and she tensed.

  When they reached the top stair, the front porch illuminated, flooding them in soft yellow light. Like most Amish farms in Willow Trace, Holly Hill used an oil-powered generator to run a refrigerator, some other small appliances and a few overhead lights. Her mother’s silhouette appeared at the screen door. Naomi had been waiting up, probably surprised to hear the sounds of a buggy in her gravel drive.

  “Hello, Mrs. Stoltz. Gut to see you. I’m seeing Lydia home in the rain. We had a bit of an—”

  “Joseph Yoder!” Naomi flew onto the porch. “Now, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes. Come give this old woman a hug.”

  Lydia sighed. She was afraid the enthusiasm might encourage Joseph to stay longer. She certainly didn’t want that.

  “Please come in. Have some cake and hot tea before heading home,” her mother said.

  Lydia grunted silently in protest. She did not want to spend any more time than necessary in the presence of Joseph Yoder.

  He, on the other hand, seemed pleased enough. “That would be just fine. I haven’t had much to eat since lunch.”

  Mrs. Stoltz cut generous slices of pumpkin bread and poured steaming-hot cinnamon-spiced tea for each of them. They gathered around the small kitchen table, holding hands, and prayed for their food.

  Joseph slid out a chair at the head of the table.

  “Not there,” her mamm said. “That’s Jonathan’s place.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry.” Joseph’s eyes searched Lydia’s as he moved quickly to another spot at the table.

  Heat rushed to Lydia’s cheeks. While she admired her mother’s capability to forgive and to hope, she felt only anger toward her father. Where the gesture was an expression of Naomi’s love and her faith in God to sustain her, for Lydia, the empty place at the table was a reminder of her pain.

  As was seeing Joseph again. Which was exactly why she would maintain her distance during his visit. She had hoped to avoid him altogether, but with him working for Bishop Miller and with the evening’s tragedy, who knew how much they might be forced to be together?

  Lydia swallowed away the lump of emotion in her throat. She turned to her mother and provided details of their encounter with Billy Ferris and what occurred afterward.

  “I can’t believe it.” Her mamm shook her head. “Such a young man. And so well liked by everyone.”

  “Ya. Who would want to kill him?” Lydia said.

  “The detective seemed to think it related to his selling drugs.” Joseph rinsed his cake down with a cup of tea.

  “Oh dear.” Her mother let out a deep sigh. “Well, it is all business for the Englisch to deal with. You must put it behind you. Let the past be passed.”

  Her mother patted Joseph’s hand and looked at both of them in turn. There was nothing subtle in her message, which was not about Billy’s death. “At least it’s nice to see the two of you together again. After all these years.”

  Joseph stood abruptly. “I should be getting home now. It’s late. Thank you, Mrs. Stoltz. Lydia.”

  He took his hat from the wooden pin on the wall where he’d hung it earlier. He placed it on his head. “I’ll let you know when the funeral arrangements have been made.”

  Lydia stared at the floor as Joseph left through the kitchen door. Then, in the shadows of the dining room window, she watched him climb into the buggy and set off down the lane. It was a little ritual from their courting days. Filled with warm and tender love, she’d watch him disappear over Holly Hill.

  Tonight there was no tender warmth. She felt only the memory of heartache cutting through her.

  *

  There were a couple of reasons why Lydia returned to the furniture store on Friday afternoon. For one, she had not been back to complete her cleaning. Now that the police had finish their work, the storefront really needed a scrubbing. But also Lydia had thought that by coming earlier in the day she could avoid running into Joseph. He would be busy in the back and not even know she was there. In any case, she’d see him soon enough when he drove her to Billy’s funeral the following day.

  “I didn’t expect you, Miss Lydia.” Bishop Miller stepped up to the front of the shop when the little bell rang over the front door.

  “I’m just finishing up my cleaning from Wednesday. Mamm and I got our chores done early today, so I hope you don’t mind. I know it must need a thorough going-over.”

  “Of course not. Should I let Mr. Yoder know that you’re here?” The old man gave her his sly grin again.

  Lydia forced a frown and shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I won’t be staying long.”

  It was hard wiping away the remaining traces of blood where poor Billy had spent some of his last moments. In a way, the act of cleansing wasn’t merely physical; it helped to process the terrifying events of that evening. Then tomorrow she would face her sorrow at the funeral. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. Life’s events didn’t always make sense, but as she’d been taught, she accepted them as the will of the Lord.

  Lydia was running her cloth over the last few pieces of furniture and humming when the bell over the shop door rang. She stopped and looked up.

  “Mr. Bowman.” Bishop Miller offered his hand. “What business brings you here today?”

  “Please, Levi, we’ve known each other for years. Call me Hank.” They shook hands. Lydia turned away and went back to her work.

  “Well, first I came to say that Mr. Ferris was my restaurant manager and a good friend,” the large man said.

  Lydia couldn’t help but overhear.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Bishop Miller said. “Such a sad, sad business.”

  “Billy was a good man. I don’t know what happened to him getting involved in drugs. If there were any damages to your store, I am happy to cover the cost.”

  “That won’t be necessary. But I thank ye for the offer.”


  “I also heard that some of your employees were here and had to deal with him. Please pass on my gratitude for calling 911 and trying to help him. It must have been terrifying for them to see a man in such a state.”

  Lydia ducked behind a large piece of furniture. She didn’t want to talk again about what had happened that night and she feared the Bishop might call her over for an introduction.

  “Well, they knew Mr. Ferris.” The Bishop’s voice filled the room. “Lydia and Joseph. Would you like to speak to them?”

  “Oh, no, no. That’s not necessary. If they were his friends, then I’ll see them tomorrow at the funeral. I do have one other order of business, however. Billy used an Amish furniture maker to build all the tables we have in the restaurant front. I’d like to order twenty more for our back room.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Ferris didn’t order them from here,” Bishop Miller said.

  “Well, I like to buy local when I can, and of course, you’re local and original.”

  Miller nodded. “Then I’ll send one of my craftsmen over and you can show him what you would like. First thing Monday morning.”

  Bowman shook the Bishop’s hand again and left the store. Then he called Joseph to the storefront. Lydia put away her cleaning. Her first encounter with Joseph had been so difficult. She need not put herself through more than necessary.

  But he was too quick. She sensed him enter the showroom. She looked up as he approach the bishop.

  His face glistened with hard work and the front of his trousers was sprinkled with sawdust. He had never looked more handsome. He smiled at her and her pulse raced. Lydia nodded to them both then escaped through the front doors. She scurried across the parking lot, crossed the highway and fled into the woods. She would take the long way home following an old path that led to her stable. The fresh air and exercise would set her right.

  *

  Joseph listened halfheartedly to Bishop Miller as he asked again about his uncle’s furniture business in Indiana, about the mess with Billy Ferris the other night and then about making tables for some restaurant in town. But most of his thoughts were on Lydia. She had just grabbed her shawl and headed out of the store. His eyes followed her petite figure to the edge of the woods across the street. With a smile, he remembered many times walking alongside her, relaxing in the low afternoon sun. Now it was only tension that seemed to live between them.

  “I have done some tables like this before,” Joseph answered the bishop. “But I won’t have time to make twenty of them before I go back to Indiana. Better put one of your other craftsmen on it.”

  “Ach. They won’t want to do it, either.” Bishop Miller slapped Joseph on the shoulder and let out a loud chuckle. “I’ll tell Mr. Bowman that it will have to wait until after the Christmas rush. But we will not worry about that now. But you, young man, it’s Friday afternoon. Put down your tools and go home. You’re buried in work. You’re too young fer that. You should be thinking about marriage and family—not just furniture, my boy.”

  He wasn’t positive, but the old man seemed to be looking out the window toward Lydia’s place as he spoke. Or was that his imagination? Joseph nodded and turned back toward his workstation.

  *

  Lydia stopped and turned in a circle on the forest path. The wind blew hard, and small animals scurried over the leaf-covered ground. She had walked through these woods a million times, played in them, even hidden there from her parents on occasion when she was younger. She loved the forest. She felt close to God, breathing in the fresh air, listening to the quick waters of the brook and watching the intermittent rays of sunlight dancing through the trees. Today, the walk had been so invigorating that she’d passed her farmhouse and taken a second path, which led to her fields on the far side of the farm. This section was sadly overgrown and made for difficult walking. After a few hundred yards, Lydia decided to turn around and go back to the stable path. As she swung around, a large shadow floated over the path then disappeared. It was the shadow of a man. A twig snapped. The sound had been close. Lydia froze and swallowed hard. Nervously, she glanced around. Was someone following her? She saw nothing but trees and leaves. Perhaps she was more tired than she had realized.

  Whatever the case, she turned back again and continued to trek up to the fields. The terrain might be more difficult, but she was closer to that opening than to the stable. She walked on, increasing her pace. Again, there was movement behind her. Leaves crunched, more twigs snapped. Lydia sucked in a quick breath. She paused and listened. Were those footsteps she heard? She wasn’t sure but something was behind her. She could sense it. Oh dear Lord, let me find my way home.

  FOUR

  At his workstation, Joseph found a folded note that had been placed next to his tools. Someone must have left it there while he was chatting with Bishop Miller. He opened it and read the computer-printed message.

  If you’re smart you’ll disappear back to Indiana and take your girlfriend with you. If you’re not smart, I’ll help you both disappear.

  Joseph searched the work space. Only one other craftsman remained this late on a Friday afternoon.

  “Did you see anyone come in?” Joseph asked him.

  The man shook his head. He was busy sanding, which was noisy. So someone could have slipped in through the back doors, which were open for ventilation, left a note for him then slipped back out unseen.

  Joseph read the message again. Girlfriend? Could it mean Lydia?

  Lydia, who’d gone home alone through the woods. His heart began to pound. He didn’t waste a second. He was probably overreacting but he wasn’t taking any chances. He ran out the back, around to the parking lot and across the street then tore down the old footpath that Lydia had taken.

  By now, she should have reached the farmhouse or at least her stable. But he called to her anyway. There was no answer. But he could see her footprints in the muddy path.

  He reached the creek—the halfway point—and crossed. The mud was thicker on this side, but strangely Lydia had left no prints. The path was clean. It was as if she had disappeared. Shock and panic pumped through Joseph’s veins. He hurried on, calling her name with every other step.

  Running hard, he reached the farm quickly. The stable was just ahead. He scanned the open area, panting, his leg muscles aching with lactic acid. “Lydia...Lydia.”

  A couple of miniature ponies lifted their heads from the grass, then, seeing it was him, went back to their grazing. Joseph checked toward the house. No one. Could she still be in those woods? An uneasy feeling took hold of him. The words make you disappear in the message were ever present in his frantic mind.

  Joseph paced the edge of the forest. He could go back in and try to find the spot where her footprints had ended. But by that time she could be even farther away. He hated the thought. Once again, Joseph scanned the fields and gardens around the farmhouse and the stable, calling for Lydia. Finally, he saw movement at the house, but before he sighed with relief, he realized that it wasn’t Lydia but Naomi Stoltz running out to join him.

  Naomi wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried toward him. “Joseph, what is it? Where is Lydia?”

  “Lydia’s not in the house?”

  Naomi shook her head.

  “I should have passed her on the path through the woods. She should be home. She left the store a while ago. I think she’s still in the woods.”

  “You seem worried.”

  “I am. She should have been home by now.” He thought it best not to mention the threatening note at this time.

  “Go look for her, Joseph,” she said. “I’ll ring the bell and call for help.”

  Mrs. Stoltz fled to the big bell in the front of the farmhouse. Whenever anyone in the Amish community rang a bell, neighbors knew someone needed a hand. Friends would come from all over. It was the Amish call for assistance. Joseph rushed back to the edge of the woods, searching and praying. Please, Lord, let the bell call her home.

  Benjamin Zook and his thre
e burley sons rolled up to the farmhouse in their open wagon only minutes after the bell sounded. They must have been close by the hill on the main road. When Joseph saw them, he ran across the far fields to the other side of the woods. Maybe she had missed the path at the creek and gone on to the fields...maybe...

  *

  Lydia’s legs churned as fast as she could make them. Uphill. The wet leaves and muddy earth made for slick ground. She slipped and struggled to make her way. It seemed that whatever was behind her was only getting closer and closer. Nervously, she looked back.

  He was there. A dark figure. A man. He wore black clothing and a dark cap, which shaded the whole of his face. Like a ghost, he vanished behind a tree.

  Sharp tremors rattled her. She could not ignore what all her senses were telling her. Someone was there. She’d been foolish to stop. Each time, he had only moved closer.

  As fast as she could, Lydia ran up the second half of the hill. But his footsteps were close. Gaining. At last, she rounded the peak and finally she saw a break in the thick of forest trees.

  If only she could make it out into the open. Please, Lord...

  Lydia had barely started her prayer when a bell sounded. Like manna from heaven, she followed the sweet ringing over the ridge of the hill and into a small clearing. She was almost home.

  “Lydia! Lih-dee-yah!” Her name echoed across the enclosure. It was Joseph.

  *

  Lydia’s figure appeared at the far west end of her property. She scrambled out of the woods at an alarming speed. Her blond locks fell loose around her face, which was twisted with fear. Her white apron had bits of leaves and mud from the forest. She glanced more than once over her shoulder before running into his arms.

  “Thank God, you are safe.” He pulled her tight to his chest.