A Rose Revealed (The Amish Farm Trilogy 3)

by Gayle Roper

  “Now wait a minute,” he said. “You can’t talk to me that way.”

  “And you can’t talk to Rose as you did either.” Jake’s black eyes snapped with anger.

  Mr. Metz looked down at Jake, sniffed, and swung to me. “You’ve got a lease. You can’t break your lease.”

  “I’m afraid you’re hoist by your own petard, Mr. Metz,” I said, trying not to be petty enough to enjoy pointing out his self-made trap. “You’ve never been willing to give me a lease for longer than a month at a time, just in case you wanted to evict me for unseemly behavior.”

  “And wasn’t I just right about that!” He puffed his chest self-righteously as he glanced at Jake.

  “Well, no, not in the least,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t believe me. “But that’s not the point. The point is that I can leave. As you know, I’ve paid you through the end of November. As of the first of December, you can rent this place to someone else.”

  “I’m not giving you any money back even though there’s more than a week of November left, if that’s what you’re hinting at.” He glared at me like a kindergartener trying to start a fight over whose father was bigger.

  I refused to lower myself to his level. “I’m not asking for anything back.”

  “And don’t give me your forwarding address,” he hissed, “because I’m not forwarding nothing!”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll contact the post office.”

  “And I’m coming up to make sure you’re not running off with what’s not yours.”

  I looked at Mr. Metz and wondered, not for the first time, how someone who looked so cuddly and Santa Claus-y could be so vile and judgmental. “Be my guest.”

  “And I’m calling the police!” He leaned toward me, his plump rosy cheeks shaking with the intensity of his venom.

  “You needn’t bother. I already called.”

  “Like I can believe that!” He turned away in a huff, but he didn’t go upstairs. He went inside the front door of the first floor which he shared with his little hesitant wife, who always reminded me of a kitten that had been abused so long that she ducked even when there was no threat. In a minute he came to stand in the doorway, a phone in his hand.

  “Nine, one, one,” he said very loudly as he depressed the numbers so we’d be certain to know he was indeed calling the cops.

  Jake and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

  “Is there much more?” he asked.

  “About two more loads.”

  An hour later I surveyed the mess in my living room at the farm and shuddered. I glanced at my watch. Almost time for the TV news. Quickly I set my small, flat screen TV on the battered old desk and plugged it in. I turned to WGAL to hear what, if anything, they were still saying about me.

  “Another bomb.” Matt Dolman, the anchor, looked seriously at the camera. He was the picture of pained disbelief. “And another death.” He paused as if giving his audience time to give a mental tsk-tsk. “Our Patty Carlson is at the scene with the latest report on what has become a story of tragic proportions.”

  I sank into a chair in a daze. Another bomb? Another death? Peter? Please, dear God, no!

  Then the face of reporter Patty Carlson filled the screen. I stared in disbelief as I realized she was standing in front of my old apartment. It was easy to see flames ripping through the roof of the house, smoke billowing into the night sky, and emergency vehicles littering the street.

  “Yes, Matt,” Carlson said earnestly to the camera. “This is a tragic story. Just thirty minutes ago, a bomb ripped through the second-floor apartment of Rose Martin in that house behind me. Martin is the home health nurse police have been looking for all weekend. Martin was present on Friday when Pockets CEO Ammon Hostetter and his mother Sophie died in another bombing outside their Lancaster home.”

  The cameras moved away from Carlson and focused on the firemen showering the blaze with their hoses. Also shown were two uniformed police standing by an unmarked car and two other men in plain clothes standing near them. One of these two was Lem Huber. All four were staring up at the flames still licking the edges of the roof.

  Carlson’s voice continued over the pictures.

  “At this time authorities do not know any particulars about the bomb, but they do acknowledge that they have discovered a body just inside the door of the second-floor apartment where Martin lived.”

  Matt Dolman’s voice was heard from the studio. “Excuse me, Patty. Have they identified the body as Rose Martin?”

  “Not at this point, Matt. But it is certainly a strong possibility, isn’t it?”

  I couldn’t catch my breath. They thought I was dead. I shivered and remembered my grandfather, Joseph Phineas Martin, who opened the paper one day and read his own obituary. It turned out that someone with the same name had died, and they’d run a write-up on Grandpop, an ex-mayor of Honey Brook.

  Then my blood chilled as I thought of my mother. What if she was watching? She’d been close to hysterical this afternoon. How would she react to my presumed death?

  I grabbed my cell phone and began to dial when Jake bellowed, “Rose! We’ve got trouble!”

  I rushed to the top of my stairs and looked down at him. He was forcing his arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

  “I know! I saw it too.”

  “Get your coat and let’s go over there and see what happened. While we’re at it, we can tell them you’re okay.”

  I clicked the phone off and ran for my jacket and purse.

  “I’ve got to call my mom,” I said as I thundered down the steps.

  “I’ll drive,” Jake said. “You make the calls you need to.”

  We hurried out through Jake’s apartment with its ramp and over to the van. I climbed quickly into the passenger seat, my mind a sea of conflicting emotions. I wasn’t dead. Thank You, Lord. But someone was. Who? Did I feel guilty because it wasn’t me? Was it really a bomb like Patty Carlson said? Or did Mr. Metz’s heating system finally explode? Was he hurt? Was mousey Mrs. Metz hurt? Who was the body?

  Suddenly I realized I was jiggling my foot with impatience. It felt like it took Jake so long to lower his lift, to lock his chair on it and lift to the van, to unlock, roll to the driver’s seat, and lock his wheels again. I was biting my nails by the time he turned the key in the ignition.

  He glanced at me with that uncanny understanding of his. “Everything you do with me will take you ten times longer,” he said. “Fact of life for a paraplegic.”

  “You’re much too perceptive,” I said. “And I don’t mean to be impatient.”

  “You’d be superhuman if you weren’t in a situation like this.” He put the van in reverse. “Now calm down and make your calls.”

  I spit a final piece of nail out of my mouth and dialed my mother.

  “Mom!” I all but screamed when she answered the phone. “I’m okay. You don’t have to believe the TV. They’re wrong!”

  “I’m glad you’re fine, dear,” she said, her voice full of the disinterest that had marked my life. “But what are they saying now? I don’t have it on.”

  “There was someone killed in a fire in Bird-in-Hand, and they thought it might be me.”

  “I see.” Ah, yes, I thought. She saw, but did she care? “Why would anyone think it was you?”

  “Because the fire was in my old apartment.”

  “The one you lived in before you decided to become Amish?”

  “Mom, I haven’t decided to become Amish, but yes, that’s the place.”

  “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you decided to move, isn’t it? Even if you do have strange plans.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in frustration. “Mom, I don’t have strange plans. I just decided to live somewhere else.”

  “Certainly, dear.” Noncommittal, non-involving, non-caring. That was how I heard it.

  I was confused and not a little hurt. Where had the caring attitude of just a couple of hours ago gone? I sighed. Probabl
y the way of the dodo and the carrier pigeon. Finally I said, “Well, I’ll call you later.”

  “Good, dear. And don’t forget Thursday is Thanksgiving. We’ll put up the tree.”

  Another bomb and we were talking about the Christmas tree? But of course the Christmas tree was important to her. Every year for as long as I could remember, Mom put up the Christmas tree on Thanksgiving Day. Every year for as long as I could remember, she encouraged me to decorate it as I pleased. And every year for as long as I could remember, she rearranged everything the first time I left the room.

  I disconnected and began rubbing my forehead, concentrating on the vein in the center of my forehead, the one that throbbed with pain.

  “Oh, please, God,” I said in desperation. “Don’t let me become my mother!”

  Jake reached for my hand, clenched in a fist in my lap. He squeezed it. “Don’t let her control you, Tiger. Only you can let her have that power over you.”

  I nodded. “I know. Why do you think I live in Bird-in-Hand instead of Honey Brook?”

  “Because you are very fond of the charming Mr. Metz?”

  The corners of my lips twitched upward. “Thanks.” I squeezed his hand back before he returned it to the wheel.

  There was no sound for a few minutes except the light purr of the engine.

  “She’s back to not caring.” I tried to keep my voice emotionless. “Even though I didn’t know what to say for the fifteen minutes she did care, I liked the idea of being important to her. I could have learned what to say if she’d continued.”

  “I’m sure you’re important to her,” Jake said, glancing at me in concern. “How could you not be? You’re wonderful. You’re my favorite Tiger.”

  His words made me glow. “I’m your only Tiger.” A thought struck. “Aren’t I?”

  He gave a short bark of laughter. “You are.”

  I was smiling when I phoned Lem Huber.

  “Well, well,” he said when we connected. I could hear the noises of the fire scene in the background. “So you’re all in one piece. I’ve got to say I’m relieved. Though now I’ve got an unknown here.” He sounded pleased for me in spite of his unknown.

  “We left the house before anything happened,” I said. “I was back at the farm unpacking.” I paused. “Uh, what did happen?”

  He didn’t answer my question. Instead he said, “So where are you now?”

  “In a van about two miles from where you are and closing fast.”

  Lem was silent for a minute. Then he said, “Rose, don’t come to the scene.”

  “What?” I said, taken by surprise at the request.

  “Don’t come. Let them think that it was you we found.”

  Jake made a turn and the glow of the flames in the night leaped, all rose and red, gold and orange, undulating along the sky like an active northern lights.

  “Jake, stop.” I grabbed his arm. “Don’t go to the scene.”

  Jake immediately slowed and looked at me.

  “The police don’t want me to be seen.”

  “Pull over a block before you get here,” Lem said in my ear. “I’ll find you. Make sure you turn off the inside light. Our bomber may be here watching the fun, and I don’t want him to see you when the van door is opened.”

  “We’re in a dark green modified Caravan,” I said and clicked off.

  As we approached the scene, Jake had to drive carefully because of the usual gawkers paying more attention to the fire than the road. A little over a block before we reached my old apartment, he pulled over. We sat in silence and stared.

  The flames shimmering along the roofline slowly diminished as the firemen played their hoses with great skill. There was lots of smoke pouring from the shattered windows of the second-floor living room. The flames flickered with one last effort to control the night and then were doused. The sky was once again an opaque black. Other than the smoke, there was nothing to see of the catastrophe, at least from this distance. Rather, it was a matter of smelling it. The stench of wet burned wood and smoke hung thick and rank over the neighborhood.

  “I wonder if the Metzes are all right,” I said, “or if he was the body.”

  “He did say he was going up to check that you didn’t take any of his things.”

  “Like I wanted any of his things.”

  As I spoke, the back van door slid open and Lem Huber climbed quickly in. He brought with him a great, reeking wave of smoky fumes.

  “I’ll never get that smell out of these clothes,” he groused. “I ought to know better than to wear anything good to work.”

  I smiled at his ill humor. “There’s a lot to be said for uniforms.”

  He smiled back. “We knew it wasn’t you up there, but it’s still good to see you in person. Congratulations on being alive.”

  I shivered. “Last week at this time, I would have been there.”

  “Last week at this time, you weren’t in danger.”

  “And she is now?” Jake asked.

  “I’m afraid so.” Lem studied Jake with interest. “Are you her new landlord?”

  Jake nodded. “She’s taken rooms at our family farm.” Jake introduced himself, and Lem wrote down his phone number and the farm’s address.

  Then Lem turned his attention to me. “Who knows you’re living at the farm?

  “Only my mother,” I said. “I was afraid she might have heard something on TV and think I was dead, so I called her to explain why I wasn’t at the apartment.”

  “No one else?” Lem was very intense. “Think carefully.”

  “No one.” I was definite.

  “Then I think you can continue to live there. But you can’t go to work. You can’t go into Bird-in-Hand or Lancaster. You have to stay hidden for your own safety.”

  “But I have to go to work! What about my cases?”

  Lem shook his head. “No.”

  “What you’re saying,” Jake said, “is that you think that the bomb that exploded here tonight was meant for Rose, and you’re afraid that if whoever sent it knows she’s alive, he’ll try again.”

  “Bingo,” Lem said.

  “But why should anyone want to kill me?” I asked. “I don’t know anything. I didn’t see anything.”

  “Someone thinks you’re dangerous in some way.” Lem was very emphatic. “I don’t know why any more than you do, but there’s no avoiding that conclusion.”

  “So I stay hidden until you solve the case?”

  Lem nodded.

  “How long will that take?” I tried not to whine. Much as I liked the farm, the thought of being cooped up there was upsetting.

  “I don’t know.” Lem looked apologetic but adamant. “But until the bomber is apprehended…” His voice trailed off.

  I nodded. “Okay. So who lets them know at work? You or me?”

  “Neither,” he said. “You’re dead. They’re hearing it on the news tonight just like the rest of Lancaster County.”

  I thought of Madylyn, my grumbly office manager. I thought of the rest of the nurses I worked with and the people I ran with on the Squad, especially Harry. “It seems cruel,” I said. “Believe it or not, some of them like me.”

  “In a way it is cruel,” Lem said. “But it’ll keep you alive.”

  I looked at Jake to see what he thought, and he gave a slight shrug that I heard in the movement of material more than saw.

  “What about my mother?” I asked. “What if the papers or TV comes to interview her? She knows I’m alive.”

  “I guess we’ll have to have a policewoman live there and pretend she’s your aunt. She can deal with the media, saying your mother is too distraught to talk with them. Which is true in a way. She can’t handle the pretense. No one could if they knew the truth.”

  “You actually have a spare policewoman who can go live with my mom for the duration?” I asked.

  “Now there’s an interesting question,” Lem said. “Probably not. I’ll ask for one, but realistically we’ll just have to hope
no one goes to see your mother.”

  We were silent a minute, digesting this thought.

  “For your information, Huber,” Jake said suddenly, “I have a gun and I know how to use it.”

  I gulped and stared. “You have a gun?”

  “Several, in fact. And not just hunting rifles either.” Jake grinned. “Can you think of a better way for a son of nonviolence to rebel?”

  Lem laughed. “But are you any good?”

  “I target practice frequently. You can check me out any time you want.”

  Lem grunted.

  Jake’s mouth thinned. “I know what you’re thinking. With no legs, what use am I, right?”

  Lem looked him straight in the eye. “Can you blame me?”

  “No. But I’ll do my best to see that she’s never in a dangerous place alone.”

  Just then I saw a familiar car drive by. It roared to a stop by the ambulance. Harry Mast climbed out. He walked to the front of the vehicle and leaned against the grillwork. He stared, shoulders slumped, at the damaged house.

  “That’s my partner,” I said, appalled at the sight of him, obviously upset. “We have to tell him I’m all right!”

  Lem grabbed my arm as I reached for the door handle. “No, Rose. You’re dead.”

  “He’s right, Tiger,” Jake said. “You’re dead.”

  I shrank into my seat. “I hate this.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, me with tears running down my cheeks as I watched Harry.

  “I’ll be in contact,” Lem finally said and let himself out. He walked past Harry as if he didn’t see him.

  “Let’s go,” I whispered to Jake. “I’ve got to get out of here before I rush up to Harry and hug him.”

  When we reached the farm, I climbed out of the van on my side and waited morosely for Jake. I heard the motor as he lowered to the ground and again as the lift went back into the van. I heard the door slam.

  Then I heard a sound that made my blood run cold. I heard Jake gasp, curse, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a body and a wheelchair hitting the ground.