“It wouldn’t surprise me. If he does and if you want to go, I can take you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
When he turned into her drive, she could feel him studying her again. “You’re sure you’re all right here by yourself?”
“Of course, Noah. I’m fine. It’s my home.”
“If you need anything, I’ll be at my farm until mid-afternoon, then I’ll check on Marlie.”
“All right. Thank you.” She gave him a smile before slipping out of the buggy. She hurried up her steps and unlocked her door, going inside. Only after she shut the door again and locked it did she hear Noah take off.
What a night they’d had. She was tired and felt grungy, but she needed to see to her chickens first. Then she’d shower and maybe bake something for Marlie’s family. She went out the side door and scattered seed for her chickens. They fluttered and pecked happily, seeming no worse for having to wait a bit longer for breakfast. Outside, Leora glanced around more carefully than usual. She realized that she was looking for the hooded person.
She laughed. How unlikely that whoever it was would be lurking around her house. In fact, her house didn’t look so obviously Amish. She had no barn, no buggy sitting around, no horse or cow grazing out back. She gazed at her house. But there were no electrical wires running to the house, and there was the clothesline which was completely visible from the street.
Her house looked Amish all right.
Sighing, she went back inside, locking the side door behind her. She was walking toward her bathroom when she heard the crunch of gravel from out front. Was Noah back? Had he forgotten to tell her something?
She went to the front room window and peered out. It wasn’t a buggy at all. It was Bill Jeffreys’s truck. She sucked in her breath and her hands quickly went to her hair. She patted it, making sure it was still tucked neatly under her kapp. She opened the front door and stepped outside.
He was getting out of his truck. “Oh Leora,” he called. “I heard about the fire. That’s two in one week.”
He shut his cab door and came to her, climbing the steps of her porch. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Bill. Truly.” Her breath made wispy puffs of steam in the cold air.
“I left Donna at the grill. The woman hates me now.” He laughed. “But as soon as I heard, I had to come check on you.”
“I appreciate it. But I’m fine.”
He smiled down at her, and she warmed at his concern.
She hesitated, debating a bit before saying, “Can you come in for a minute? Would you like some tea?”
He nodded and she could see how pleased he was. “I can stay for a while. Not too long, though, or my sister might plan my demise.” He laughed again and followed her inside the house.
She went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She could do with some tea, too. When she returned to the front room, she saw Bill kneeling before the warming stove, coaxing a fire to life. She smiled. He looked natural there, blowing into the stove and feeding it kindling. The fact that he’d thought to get the fire going surprised her. For some reason, she didn’t think of the Englisch as having fire-building skills—an unfair generalization, she supposed.
“Thank you,” she said.
He glanced over at her. “I can’t have my best employee freezing to death, now can I?”
She smiled. “I don’t imagine I’d freeze.”
“I’ve got it going now,” he said with satisfaction. He put in another log and then stared at the flames a while longer before closing and latching the door. “I assume you knew the family whose barn was burnt.”
“Jah. I spent the night over there.”
He stood. “You did? You must be exhausted then.”
“I am somewhat. In truth, I just got home.”
His brow furrowed. “Oh dear. And then you have company within the first minute or two. You probably want to lie down for a bit. I won’t stay…”
“The tea is almost ready. Surely, you can stay long enough to drink a cup.” Why in the world was she pushing him to stay? He was right. She was exhausted. Yet, looking at him, seeing his concern for her, touched her and made her wish he would stay—if only for a while.
“I suppose I could have a bit.” He laughed. “Or as those in England say, a spot of tea.” He’d put on an accent, and she laughed. It felt good to laugh, and she realized just how tense she was.
He followed her into the kitchen and sat at her table. How odd. No man had ever sat there until just recently, and now two different men had been there within days of each other. Bill Jeffreys wasn’t a big man, not as big as Noah, but he still filled the room. She poured the tea, thinking how nice it was to have two kind men in her life.
And just that quickly, shame filled her. What was she doing? Was she encouraging these men somehow? Did they both have intentions toward her?
Was she betraying David’s memory?
“We just got a huge reservation for Thanksgiving dinner,” Bill said. “A party of eighteen want to have their meal at the diner.”
Leora gave a start, yanked from her ruminations. “Ach, but that’s gut, ain’t so?”
“Sure is. And we always have others who come by. We may have to add a couple extra tables for the day. Donna is pleased.”
“I’m glad.” She served him the tea and then stood by the counter, sipping hers.
“You’re not going to join me at the table?” he asked, his voice thick.
She licked her lips, feeling suddenly awkward. For a quick moment, she wished it were Noah sitting there. He was Amish, and this man wasn’t. She couldn’t forget that.
“I-I could join you,” she said, sitting at the end of the table.
He reached over and put his hand over hers. She felt his warmth sink into her.
“I’m real sorry about what’s happening right now to your people. Are you scared?”
His frankness disconcerted her. “I, uh, well, it is a bit of a worry.”
“You’re likely wondering who will be next.”
She stared at him. Was he reading her mind now?
He sighed. “I would be wondering if I were you. Do the police have any leads? Have they made any progress at all?”
She shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
“I’m glad you don’t have a barn, Leora.” He squeezed her hand and then removed his. She stared down at where his fingers had been. She blinked hard and then took a sip of the hot tea.
“How did you get home this morning? Please don’t tell me that you rode your bike.”
“Nee,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t ride my bicycle.”
He gave her an expectant look and waited.
“Noah gave me a ride home,” she said, wondering why she felt like keeping it a secret. What difference would it make to Bill Jeffreys?
But it did make a difference. She could see it in his eyes.
“I see,” he said. Silence stretched out between them, until he asked, “So. Is he your boyfriend?”
“Noah?” she asked, although she knew full well he meant Noah.
“Yes. Noah.”
Bill’s sister had asked her the very same thing the other week. She gave Bill the same answer. “Nee, he’s not.”
Bill’s shoulders relaxed, but Leora felt uneasy. Noah wasn’t her beau, but many times lately, it seemed as though he was. By saying no, it almost felt as if she were betraying him—the same way it felt as though she were betraying David.
Suddenly, she was exhausted. Tired to her very bones. She put her cup down. Bill was watching her closely.
“I think I better go,” he said, standing. “Thank you for the tea, Leora.”
She scrambled up from the table, too. “You’re welcome.”
“Don’t come in today, all right. You stay home and rest.” He looked down at her with tenderness. “Take care of yourself.”
“I-I will,” she whispered.
“Don’t see me out. I know my way.” He gave
her a winning smile and was gone.
She sank back onto her chair and stared at her cooling cup of tea. She needed to go to bed. Maybe she would sleep for days. She didn’t like all the confusion whirling inside her. And the fear. Not until this last week had she felt afraid to stay alone.
She had felt lonely and sad, even a bit displaced, but never so afraid.
She didn’t like it. With an impatient sigh, she carried both cups to the sink. The house was warming up nicely now; Bill must have made a good fire. It’d burn for a while without her interference. She should take a shower, but she didn’t.
Instead, she walked straight to her bedroom, fell onto the bed, pulled a quilt over herself without even changing her clothes, and went straight to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
It wasn’t but two hours later, that something awakened Leora. She opened her eyes and tried to orient herself. What was that? It was a scraping noise of some kind. Instant fear grabbed her, and she jolted upright in bed. There it was again. She tossed off the quilt and got up. She went to her window and forced herself to look outside. It was overcast and the clouds hung low, as if they were ready to dump snow. The fields behind her house stretched bleakly across the land. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
She didn’t move. Only listened.
Nothing.
But there had been something. She’d heard it clearly. Her chickens didn’t seem to be disturbed because she heard nothing from them. If it was a critter out there, they’d be squawking and having a fit. She left her bedroom and went to the kitchen. The sound had seemed to come from the side of the house. She couldn’t get a good view of the side of the house from the kitchen, but she went to window anyway and looked outside. Again, nothing.
She shivered and then scolded herself. It was the middle of the day, and there she was hovering about as if she were under attack or something. This was ridiculous. There could be nothing to hurt her at this hour of the day.
Aggravated with herself, she tried to ignore the situation, but she couldn’t. Finally, with a sigh, she put on her cape and slipped her heavy black shoes back on. She didn’t need to get dressed as she hadn’t undressed. Her feeling of grunginess from that morning had only increased. She would for sure clean up after she had a look around outside.
She unlocked the side door and stepped into the cold. She could see the chicken coop now, and nothing was out of order. She glanced over to her shed and noticed that the door was ajar. Now, that was odd. She never left it open, but then, the latch was old, and it could have opened on its own, she supposed.
In truth, she didn’t believe that, but she held onto the thought anyway. Anything else was likely to only increase her feeling of uneasiness. She walked slowly toward the shed, half expecting a hooded person to jump out and attack her. She swallowed and kept walking. When she got to the shed, she pulled the door open. It had a loose dirt floor and she clearly saw footprints right inside the door.
She gave a snort. Well, of course she’d see footprints. She was going in and out of the shed all the time to get chicken feed and her bike and tools when she needed them. Still, she couldn’t help but study the prints more closely. Her breath caught and she leaned close to the ground.
There was the definite imprint of a large shoe, much larger than hers. To make sure she wasn’t fooling herself, she stepped into the print. Her shoe didn’t come close to filling it. She jerked upright and stepped back, her breath coming fast. Had someone been in there? And why?
She glanced around the shadowed insides, looking for smoke. She inhaled deeply. There was no smell of fire.
Ach, but she was being foolish. There had to be an explanation for the footprint. Then she remembered that Noah had come out for firewood just the other day. The footprint could easily have been his. She leaned heavily on the door. She didn’t keep any firewood in the shed. It was kept under the large overhanging eave toward the back of the house, easily visible. There would have been no reason for him to enter the shed.
Her heart was beating wildly now, and despite the freezing air, sweat broke out on her upper lip. Who had been here? And since she’d just heard the noise, were they still around?
Were they inside the shed, lurking behind something?
In panic, she slammed the door shut and closed the latch and ran back inside her house, locking her side door with fumbling fingers. She stumbled to the kitchen table and sank down on her chair.
No. No. No. She was being ridiculous. Ach, but those fires had gotten inside her brain. There was a perfectly good explanation for both the noise and the footprint—she just didn’t know it. Her imagination was playing tricks on her. Goodness, but she’d have a good laugh about this later. Why, she could even tell Noah about it, and they’d laugh together.
Noah. She wished he were there. She glanced out the kitchen window as if wishing would conjure him up. But all she saw were the naked branches of her oak tree reaching to the sky like a massive disjointed rake, rustling ever so slightly in the breeze.
Her heart was beating wildly, and she worked to take slow calm breaths.
She was being ridiculous.
Where was Noah? Why didn’t he come?
Why should he? she asked herself. He had no cause to come over right then. She needed to stop shivering. Do something, she told herself. Get up and do something.
She stood up and looked around almost frantically. No dirty dishes to wash. Wait. She hadn’t eaten for a while. She could fix herself a nice meal. That would be calming. And she could pray while she worked. Yes. This was a good idea.
She murmured a prayer to God as she went about fixing herself a nice fat sandwich of left-over meatloaf. She was generous with the ketchup and mustard, slicing the sandwich into neat halves. She poured a glass of milk and sat down to eat. She said another silent prayer and then picked up one of the halves and took a bite.
It was good. In truth, the meatloaf had been one of her best. But right then, she could hardly enjoy it. Her gaze kept darting outside, scanning her yard. Was he there? The hooded man? Was he somehow watching her right then? She jolted from her chair and yanked the curtains closed. She swallowed hard and sat back down.
She picked up her sandwich and took another bite, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t eat. She forced herself to chew and swallow the bite and then dropped the sandwich back to the plate.
What was wrong with her? This wasn’t like her. She wasn’t a fearful person. She stood up and began pacing a circle in her small kitchen. This was unacceptable. She would not live like this.
Goodness, but she hadn’t even taken off her cape. Good. She would go back outside. Prove to herself that she was being ridiculous. Prove to herself that she wasn’t a fearful woman who cowered inside at the merest breath of danger.
She would go out the front door this time. She would go out there for anyone to see. And she would check on her chickens, and she would go to the shed, open it up, and grab a few handfuls of seed. The chickens wouldn’t mind being fed another time that day. Maybe they’d reward her with a couple extra eggs the next morning.
She smiled at the thought and went outside, stepping bolding onto the front porch as if proclaiming her presence to the world. Then she marched around the house to the shed and clenching her jaw, she slid open the latch. She opened the door, letting the light fall in a swath of white onto the dirt floor. She stepped inside, reaching into the feed bag. She took two handfuls of seed and went to the coop, deliberately leaving the shed door open to prove to herself that she wasn’t afraid.
She scattered the seed, to the delight of her chickens. They fluttered about, pecking the earth with complete cackling joy. She grinned at their display of enthusiasm. The cold nipped at her cheeks, and she began to feel some better. Nothing like watching chickens to lighten one’s spirits. When her fingers began to grow numb, she turned back to the shed to go over and close it.
It was closed. She gasped and froze, and the truth slammed into her. There had been
someone inside. She had trapped someone and then let them free. She swallowed and her chest tightened. Wait. Maybe the wind had closed the door. She was creating scenarios again. Imagining things. She swallowed and walked the short distance to the shed, biting her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
The shed door was latched.
She fell back a step. She was not imagining things. The wind had not shut the door. Tears sprang to her eyes and for a long minute, she couldn’t move. The cold air filled her, and she shivered.
Go inside. Go inside. Go inside.
She hadn’t locked the front door. What if whoever it was had gone into her house? No. They wouldn’t have. This behavior made no sense, right? The hooded man was an arsonist, not a murderer.
Murderer?
Her mind was going crazy now. Without thinking, she went to her shed, opened the door again and rolled out her bicycle. After latching the door, she mounted her bicycle and took off down the road. She was so intent on her mission that she barely felt the frigid breeze that blew against her.
She wanted to go see Noah. He’d know what to do. But she could hardly do that, could she? A widow pedaling over to a single man’s farm? She couldn’t do that. She’d go to Martha’s. It was only a bit further down the road. She’d feel better if she stayed a while at Martha’s house. Besides, hadn’t she promised Martha she would visit more often?
And if Tom were there, he could come back with her and check her house for intruders.
She heard a car behind her and moved as far to the side of the road as she could. It zoomed past, its tailwind making her waver slightly. She was becoming more aware of the cold air, but she ignored it. Martha’s house wasn’t that far away.
But when she neared Noah’s house, which came first, she couldn’t help herself. She turned in and rode straight to the barn. The door was open, and she felt sure Noah would be inside. He saw her coming before she spotted him.
“Leora!” he called.
She looked to where his voice came from and saw him put down some kind of tool. He walked straight to where she’d stopped, straddling her bike. His brow furrowed.
Thanksgiving In Hollybrook (Hollybrook Holiday Amish Romance) Page 10