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

by Perry, Marta

  “Someone...someone was chasing me.” She trembled.

  “Someone was following you? Did you see who it was?” He wiped the tears from her face with his thumb.

  “No, I couldn’t see his face. But he was big. It had to be a man. Oh, Joseph, I was so scared...”

  “Shh. It’s okay now. You’re okay.” Joseph scanned the edges of the forest at the spot where she’d come out. He didn’t see any movement. Of course, with a loud bell ringing out across the countryside, even a fool would know he’d better run in the other direction.

  For a long moment, Joseph held on to Lydia, drinking in the feel of her weight against his shoulder. He had forgotten how nicely she fit against him. How good she smelled. Then she pulled away and he remembered the note and Billy’s death. And he remembered how Lydia had forgotten him the second he’d gone to Indiana.

  He patted her shoulder. “Let’s go back to the house. Your mother is so worried. We’ll get you cleaned up and warm again. And we’ll need to call Detective Macy. Someone left us a threatening note.”

  Joseph didn’t spend any more time with Lydia that evening. Her mother hovered over her, then Detective Macy arrived. By that time, Lydia was tired and had begun to downplay her fears and suspicions.

  The police searched the woods, but they quickly had business to attend to elsewhere, which took precedence. Detective Macy left them, saying he would up the number of patrol cars that passed by and that he thought no one should be out traveling alone.

  Mr. Zook instructed his three sons to sleep in the Stoltz’s living room that night and offered Joseph a ride back to his parents’ place. He left disappointed, worried and confused. He was not looking forward to Billy’s funeral, which was merely hours away.

  *

  Early the next morning, Joseph drove Cherry, his chestnut Morgan, once again up Holly Hill to the Stoltz’s quaint farmhouse. The sun peeked across the eastern sky, casting pale light over the lush green fields framed by the white fencing and bright gray stones. Lydia waited, leaning against a wooden post on the front porch, slender and petite like a china doll. Her pink lips and dark eyes offered the only contrast to her milky skin.

  It would be a long journey to the church where Billy’s funeral was to be held. Like him, she’d probably been up for hours, tending to her animals. Of course, there were no traces of farm on her now. She was dressed in a fine frock, with a crisp white apron pinned over top. Her dark blond hair had been parted down the middle, brushed smooth then twisted in a bun and tucked under a white prayer kapp, which concealed from the world most of its beauty. Joseph, however, could easily imagine her locks reached far down her back and still held the same wavy curls they had when she was a girl.

  “It’s a fine day for a long buggy ride.” He slowed the vehicle at the end of the front walk. She floated down the stairs and helped herself into the buggy before he could get out and assist her like a proper gentleman.

  “I thank ye for offering a ride. The Zook boys were kind enough to take care of my chores this morning.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap, sat tall and looked straight ahead.

  Joseph clicked to Cherry. The mare took off at a nice steady trot. “How are things at the farm?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?” Joseph said. “That’s not what I hear.”

  Lydia stiffened. “What do you hear?”

  “I heard that you and your mamm were running things better than any of the Stoltz men could have ever dreamed.”

  “I don’t like being compared to my dat.”

  Lydia didn’t like anyone mentioning her dat. As close as they’d been, she’d never opened up to him about her father and why he’d left. He supposed now she never would. “So, I didn’t really get to speak to you last night. What did Macy have to say?”

  She shrugged. “He asked a lot more questions. Frankly, it was all a bit overwhelming. What did he say to you?”

  “I gave him the note that I told you about. He didn’t say much about it. I thought he would. Then again, the more I think on all this, the less sense it makes.”

  “How can anyone make sense of murder?”

  “True.” Joseph shifted positions. “Macy asked me again about the old days.”

  Lydia exhaled a sharp breath. “Ya, me, too. But I had nothing to say. Like my mother said, the past is passed.”

  Joseph knew that her words extended beyond the situation with Billy Ferris. She meant that she didn’t want to talk about their past, either. But he might not let her off so easy. After seeing her again, he wanted some answers. He wanted to know why—no, how she’d let go of everything without any explanation. Why didn’t she read his letters or write back to him? “Today might not be the day, Lydia. But we will talk about the past. Our past. I think we must.”

  Lydia nearly turned her back to him. “It will change nothing. What’s done is done.”

  Joseph saw no reason to press her. There was already so much emotion in the air. “Did Macy tell you about the red Camaro?”

  “A car? No, I didn’t hear about that.”

  “Billy drove a red sports car. The police found it abandoned in the woods near Miller’s store. Billy’s blood was in the car and so was the murder weapon, a hunting knife. But there were no prints. Whoever killed Billy wiped the car clean.”

  Slowly, Lydia looked his way. “How near?”

  “Near enough that the store was in view.”

  Lydia narrowed her eyes on him. “What are you not telling me?”

  Joseph took a deep breath. “The police think that Billy knew who attacked him. They think it was someone he trusted and possibly allowed into his car.”

  “But once this person attacked Billy, why would he let him get away and go to Miller’s store?”

  “I asked the same question,” Joseph said. “Macy thinks it could be one of two possibilities. Billy could have hurt his attacker and got away. He did have a gun in his hands. Although forensic testing showed it had not been fired.”

  “What’s the other possibility?”

  “The killer allowed Billy to leave. He wanted to see where Billy would go. Maybe he followed him to the store to see who he would talk to. Or he sent Billy to us with a message on purpose.”

  “That would mean we are somehow involved.”

  “Ya. Well, at this point, it seems we are, no?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think Billy knew the killer, got away from him and came to us with or without a real message. Then the killer probably followed him, and in that case, he knows Billy talked to us before he died.”

  “But Billy didn’t tell us anything.”

  “No, he didn’t. But the killer doesn’t know that.”

  FIVE

  Joseph pulled the buggy into the parking lot of Lancaster First Community Church. It was time to pay respects to an old friend.

  Joseph recognized many faces at the small gathering, including Billy’s family. Kind words were shared about the playful and happy side that Billy often showed to others. His father and his little sister, Anna, spoke about their memories of Billy. At the end of the service, Anna played a five-minute video slide show of Billy with family and friends over the years. Joseph was surprised to find himself in three or four of the photos that shone on the big white screen at the front of the church.

  Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image... Joseph recalled the verse from Exodus, which many Amish brethren held to the letter. His shame in being photographed was a sharp reminder of the many careless decisions of his youth.

  Joseph was thankful for a forgiving God.

  After the service, Billy’s father made a point to speak to them. Joseph supposed they were pretty easy to spot in the crowd because of their plain dress.

  “It’s been a long time.” Mr. Ferris gave Joseph’s hand a hearty shake and nodded to Lydia. “You look well. Indiana air must agree with you.”

  “Ya, I suppose so....” He cast a furtive glance at Lydia. “I’m very sorry ab
out what happened to your son.”

  “I understand you were with him just before he died.” Mr. Ferris struggled with his words. “Did—did he suffer greatly?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ferris,” Joseph said. “I’m afraid he suffered a great deal. But I don’t know how conscious he was. I’m sorry we could not have done more.” I’m sorry we couldn’t save him. But it was not the Lord’s will.

  “He was with people who loved him. I’m thankful for that....Come. I have something for you.” Mr. Ferris motioned for them to follow. They cut through the center of the sanctuary to a private room that had been stocked with pastries and other things for the mourning family members. He offered them coffee and biscuits, which they declined. Then he retrieved a small wooden box from a bag in the corner. It was quite plain, made of maple and opened with a simple pin hinge. Joseph recognized it immediately.

  “I made that for Billy.” He smiled. To see the piece again after all these years brought him a sense of sweet nostalgia. “It’s a valet box, one of my first pieces.”

  Mr. Ferris placed the box in his hands. “Billy moved out a few years ago, but he left this behind. He said he didn’t want anything to happen to it because one day he would give it back to you so that...well, so that you would remember the old days.”

  “Did he?” Joseph nodded, turning the little container over in his hands.

  “Billy bought many of your pieces online. Had them shipped all the way from Indiana. Your tables are in the restaurant. He admired them so. He was very proud of you...loved you like a brother.”

  “And I loved him. Thank you for this.” Joseph raised the small box. “This means a lot.”

  Mr. Ferris gave Joseph’s shoulder a firm touch then turned back to face the crowd awaiting him at the front of the church.

  *

  Lydia could see the tears building in the corners of Joseph’s eyes. He was struggling. As was she. The past few days had dredged up so many difficult memories and emotions. Right now, Lydia just wanted to get back to the farm and be with her animals, where she felt more in control of things. She pressed her way through the lines of people waiting to see Billy’s family. Joseph struggled to keep up.

  “Slow down.” He got close enough to reach her shoulder from behind. “There’s no fire.”

  Lydia cut her eyes toward the warm, strong hand resting on her shoulder. She glanced behind at Joseph. “Okay, slower.”

  But now she couldn’t move at all. A large man had blocked the exit. It was all she could do not to barrel straight into him.

  “Excuse me.” She stepped back, embarrassed. It was Mr. Bowman, the restaurant owner who’d come to the shop the day before.

  “Hello.” He wore a fine wool suit, one of the fanciest Lydia had ever seen. He looked straight at Joseph. “Aren’t you Jason? You used to wash dishes with Billy, right?”

  Joseph gave Lydia’s shoulder another squeeze. It must have been quite obvious how uncomfortable and upset she was.

  “Mr. Bowman.” Joseph shook the man’s hand. “Actually...I’m Joseph and this is Lydia. And yes, yes, I did work for you.”

  “Of course, Joseph and Lydia.” He stared at the wooden box in Joseph’s hands. Lydia could see the top of his shiny bald head. Slowly, she tried to scoot away, but another, younger man came and flanked her on the left.

  “I understand you were with Billy at Miller’s store the night he died,” Bowman said.

  “Yes, sir.” Joseph tipped his head in an abbreviated nod.

  “So sad.” Bowman’s words were flat and rehearsed. “Ferris sure knew how to run that restaurant. Kevin here will have some pretty big shoes to fill.” He motioned to the man on the other side of Lydia.

  “Hi. Kevin Watson.” The young man shook both their hands. Lydia noticed that, he, too eyed the small valet box, which Joseph kept in his left hand. “I worked with Billy for years at the restaurant. Please come by. Have dinner on the house.”

  “Thank you. That’s a kind offer. But for now we must be off.” Much to Lydia’s relief, Joseph tipped his black felt hat and turned to leave. Grabbing her hand, he led her through the exit. Apparently, Joseph wanted out of there as badly as she did. As they hurried off, Lydia couldn’t shake the sensation that Mr. Bowman and Mr. Watson were watching them. It gave her an uneasy feeling, but she resisted the temptation to turn around and see if her assumption was correct.

  Soon, the clip-clop of the horse’s trot steadied Lydia’s unbalanced emotions. She prayed silently for her own strength to get past this tragedy and the memories it had stirred.

  It didn’t help, either, that the more time she was in the presence of Joseph Yoder the more difficult it became to ignore her attraction to him and his changes—this new calmness and maturity that he now possessed. She supposed it was only natural that he’d grown up at some point. Then again, she reminded herself that even maturity didn’t make up for his leaving her.

  Joseph whistled to his mare to pick up speed. “I guess I didn’t realize that Billy was still working for Mr. Bowman.”

  “He startled me. I had not seen him there. I guess he came in after it started.”

  “I saw him. He was in the back playing with his cell phone though most of the service.”

  “How rude. Why even bother coming? I know it sounds like I am judging but he did sound so phony yesterday when he came to the store to order more furniture. I think he just wanted to see where Billy had died. It may be wrong to say so but he gives me the creeps.”

  “Ya, that’s why I quit my job at the Amish Smorgasbord. Remember? Billy and I were dishwashers there a few nights a week. Good tips.”

  “I remember. Even then, Mr. Bowman would tell us to eat lunch for free.” Lydia gave a half laugh. “Like any of us would want to eat that food. I’m afraid the only thing Amish about that restaurant is the name.”

  “And apparently, the tables.” Joseph gave a teasing grin. They both had a laugh, which felt good and natural. But as quickly as the connection was made and felt, they fell into an awkward silence.

  After a few minutes, Lydia picked up the valet box that Mr. Ferris had given to Joseph. She studied the plain style of it, then stopped as she felt Joseph’s gaze on her hands. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have asked. Do you mind if I look it over?”

  “No, please.” He smiled. “Open it.”

  Despite the cool autumn air against her cheeks, Lydia blushed. She turned the box over and studied the rounded edges and clean lines. “It is very sturdy. Perhaps you remember that you made one for me, as well.”

  “Of course I remember. I made yours first and I spent a lot more time on it.” If Lydia didn’t know better she would have said there was a hint of pride on his smiling face.

  “It keeps all my sewing needles, scissors and thread. It is very useful.” Usefulness was the highest compliment she could give his work. Saying it was beautiful or better than another’s would sound like praise, and praise was something the Amish did not indulge in for fear of truly becoming proud.

  Lydia unlocked the pin in front and opened the lid of the maple box. The insides were rough and unfinished. “It’s empty.”

  “Were you expecting something?” he teased her. “A golden treasure or jewels perhaps?”

  “Don’t be silly, Joseph Yoder,” she protested. “It just seems a shame that something so suitable was given no purpose.”

  A large sky-blue pickup truck had dashed around and in front of them, then slammed on its brakes to make a left turn. Tires screeched across the road. A blur of blue swirled around Lydia.

  “Whoa.” Joseph pulled back hard on the reins.

  The truck had allowed almost no space between it and the chestnut mare, which was traveling along at a nice clip.

  Cherry broke her gait and pressed down hard to slow herself and the buggy. Her metal shoes slid on the slick, oily asphalt. Joseph applied the hydraulic brakes, common in a buggy of such size. But nothing seemed to slow their forward momentum.

  Joseph’s eyes wen
t wide. He pumped the pedal again and again. The buggy was not slowing down and all of its weight pressed against the backside of the poor mare.

  “The brakes are gone.” Joseph stretched an arm across in front of Lydia hoping to keep her from slamming into the windshield, but she was just out of his reach.

  Lydia braced for the crash. At the same time, the mare turned to the side to avoid crashing into the truck. The buggy, of course, turned, too. The torque pulled Lydia from her seat. Lydia felt herself slipping.

  Joseph reached again for her. The tips of his fingers caught the sleeve of her frock. But it was not enough to hold her in. The thin garment pulled from his grasp. And the momentum of the turn threw Lydia from the vehicle.

  *

  The buggy jolted, tipped as it turned, then landed back on all four wheels. It was still settling when Joseph leaped from his seat and ran to where Lydia lay on the asphalt. “Are you okay? Lydia? Lydia?”

  Lydia did not move. She lay lifeless in the middle of the highway, face up, eyes closed. The valet box was smashed to pieces on the street beside her.

  An unrelenting tightness grabbed hold of Joseph’s lungs. His heart seemed to stop. He couldn’t breathe but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Lydia.

  “Please, someone call 911.” Joseph sensed other cars had stopped around his buggy along the side of the highway. Someone was holding Cherry by the reins. Another person shouted they had a cell phone. Another said they’d written down the license-plate numbers of the truck that had cut in front of them.

  Joseph knelt and scooped Lydia’s head and shoulders into his arms and held her close. She was warm against his skin and he could feel her pulse, slow and steady at her throat. She did not wake. She did not respond. No matter how he stroked her cheek or whispered to her, she was limp in his arms.

  Please, Lord. Please. Not Lydia. Please don’t take Lydia...

  Joseph only opened his eyes when two EMTs pulled Lydia from his embrace. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he didn’t want to let go of her. As Joseph felt the separation, he realized what he had done. By going to Indiana, he had abandoned her just like her father. And for that, she would never forgive him.