Rosemary punched her pillow and tried to find a comfortable position. She’d been tossing and turning in bed for nearly two hours. She couldn’t seem to relax, couldn’t keep the negative thoughts out of her head. What if Judith never got better? What if the attacks continued and they never found out who was doing them? What if Roman had put himself in danger by hiding out at his house?
The words of Romans 12:12 popped into her head: “Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer.”
Rosemary slipped from her bed and went down on her knees. “Heavenly Father, the attacks against my brother and his family have affected each one in a different way. I pray that You will give everyone a sense of peace and the faith to put their hope in You. Help them learn patience in waiting for answers and remind us all that our strength comes from You. Amen.”
As Rosemary got to her feet, she made a decision. She would get dressed and drive over to Roman’s house. Since she couldn’t sleep anyhow, the least she could do was keep him company during his nighttime vigil.
“Did ya hear what I said? You’re gonna pay—each and every one of you has gotta pay!”
“What are you talking about?” Martha pointed the flashlight at John. “Why are you dressed in Amish clothes?”
He yanked on her arm, pulling her over to a bale of hay, and shoved her down. She smelled alcohol on his breath, and his clothes reeked of smoke. How odd. She’d never known him to drink or smoke. But then, she didn’t really know him that well. None of them did. John had moved to the area a few years ago and opened a woodworking shop nearby. He’d been helpful and kind—like any good neighbor should—but they didn’t really know him.
John sank down beside Martha and clutched at his head. “He … he made me do it.”
“Who made you do what, John?” Martha hoped her voice sounded calmer than she felt.
“It … it’s Roman’s fault—Harold said so.”
“Who’s Harold?”
John groaned. “Said it was ‘cause I liked wood. Said I reminded him of Roman.”
Martha had no idea what John was talking about or why he was dressed in Amish clothes, but she knew by the tone of John’s voice that he was deeply troubled.
“Say, where’d you get that?” John pointed to the object Martha held in her hand.
She glanced at the wrench and wondered if she dared—
“I said, where’d you get that?” He leaned closer and snatched the wrench out of her hand.
“I … uh … Luke found it in the field after my dad’s shop was blown up.” Luke. Oh, Luke, where are you? Martha shined the flashlight around the hayloft. She couldn’t see a mattress. If Luke was here, there should be a mattress. But if Luke wasn’t here, why had she found the barn door unlocked? The padlock wasn’t broken. Could John have crawled up a ladder and entered the barn through the small window in the hayloft like Luke had last night? Or could he …
“Gimme that!” John snatched the flashlight out of Martha’s hands, clicked it off, and tossed it on the floor. “What was Luke doin’ in the field with Harold’s wrench?”
“Who is Harold?”
“Harold Crawford—my stepdad.” John sounded more coherent. Maybe the effects of the alcohol were beginning to wear off.
“Did the wrench belong to your stepdad?”
“Harold’s dead. Mom gave me his tools. Guess she figured I needed somethin’ to remember him by.” John’s tone was bitter, and a groan escaped his lips. “I’ve got a lot more’n a few tools to remember Harold by.”
A shaft of light from the moon shone in through the hayloft window, and Martha’s mouth went dry as she saw John run his fingers over the bridge of his crooked nose. A nose that had obviously been broken at some point.
She looked at the wrench in his hands and thought about the initials she’d seen engraved there. H. C. Those must stand for Harold Crawford.
Martha didn’t understand why John had brought up his stepdad, or how the man’s wrench had ended up in their field. She was about to ask, when John leaned forward and began to sob. “No! No! Don’t hit me no more, Harold. Ple–ease it’s not my fault. I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
Martha wasn’t sure what to do. John was clearly upset, but he’d also been drinking. Should she try to run away from him or stay here and try to offer comfort?
She reached out and touched John’s shoulder. “Did your stepdad abuse you, John?”
John’s head jerked up, and he leaned so close to Martha that she could feel and smell his hot, putrid breath on her face. “Harold—worked for Roman—till he got fired.” His words were short and choppy, and he spoke to Martha as if she were a stranger.
“Who got fired?” Martha asked.
“Harold.”
“My dad fired your stepdad?”
“Roman fired Harold.”
“How come?”
John rubbed his forehead with one hand and clung to the wrench with the other hand. “Harold came to work late—after he’d been drinkin’.” He paused, drew in a quick breath, and released it with a shudder. “Got fired—went out drinkin’ some more—came home—beat the stuffing outta me and Mom.”
Martha gasped as a light began to dawn, but John spoke again before she could comment. “Harold begged Roman—’Gimme my job back’—Roman said no—Harold drank even more.”
“Did Harold try to find another job?”
“Said he couldn’t find one. Moved us to Oregon ‘cause that’s where his brother lived. Said he might have a job for Harold.” John clutched Martha’s arm, and his nails dug into her flesh. “Harold hated Roman for firin’ him. I hate Roman, too! It’s his fault Harold drank. It’s his fault Harold beat me and Mom when he got drunk.” John touched the side of his nose again. “I never shed a tear at his funeral, neither.”
“I’m sorry you and your mother were mistreated, but—”
“Roman’s gotta pay! It’s Roman’s fault Harold couldn’t find a job.
It’s Roman’s fault Harold hated me! Roman’s gotta pay for every year we suffered!”
Martha’s heart pounded so hard she heard it echo in her head. “Are … are you the one who’s done all those horrible things to us?” she asked, already knowing the answer but not wanting to believe it. Ever since John had moved to Holmes County and opened his own woodworking business, he’d been nice to them, loaning Dad tools, buying Martha’s dog, and offering his assistance in any way it was needed. It was unthinkable that he could have done such hateful things. It was as if he were two different people—one kind and helpful, the other hateful and full of revenge. John Peterson was a sick man who obviously needed help.
“I did most of those things.” John emitted a high-pitched laugh. “Made it look like it was Luke.”
It was all coming together. John had befriended Luke and then tried to make it look like Luke had been the culprit so no one would suspect it was John.
“Why did you come here tonight?” Martha dared to ask.
“Came to burn this barn down; that’s why I came.”
Martha’s palms grew sweaty as she thought about the dream she’d had where the barn was on fire. Had it been a warning of things to come?
“You can’t do this, John.” Martha struggled not to cry. She had to remain calm. She couldn’t let him know how frightened she felt.
Dear God, she silently prayed, show me what to do.
“Who’s gonna stop me from burnin’ the barn?” Before Martha could respond, John grabbed her around the neck and jerked her to his side. “If you tell Harold, you’re gonna burn, too.”
“I wish you’d believe me, Roman,” Luke said as he paced in front of the kitchen table. Even though it was dark in the kitchen and Roman couldn’t see Luke’s face, he could tell by the tone of his voice that he was agitated.
Well, I’m agitated, too. I can’t believe that one of our own could stoop so low as to attack a fellow Amish man. Roman gritted his teeth and clasped his fingers tightly together. And I can’t believe one of my own daughters would betray me by falling for the one who’s been attacking us.
“I’d really like to go look for that key,” Luke said.
Roman was about to reply when the back door opened and clicked shut.
“Roman, are you here?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” Roman replied, recognizing his sister’s voice.
“It’s dark in here. How come you don’t have a gas lamp lit?”
“Didn’t think it’d be a good idea to light up the place and let anyone know I was here.”
“Oh, right.” Rosemary’s voice grew closer as she moved across the room.
“Hello, Rosemary.”
“Luke? Is that you?”
“Jah.”
“What’s going on here?”
Roman could see Rosemary’s silhouette as she came closer. “Luke and I are havin’ a little discussion,” he mumbled. “I caught him sneaking around in the yard.”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Luke defended himself. “I was just checking things out by the house; then I was going to the barn to spend the night so I could keep an eye on things, when Roman came up and startled me.”
“You were planning to sleep in the barn?” Rosemary’s tone was one of disbelief.
“That’s right. I knew Roman and Judith were gone, so I figured I’d take advantage of the fact that nobody was around and hide out in the barn a few nights.”
“Whatever for?”
“He made up some wild story about him and Martha working together to find out who’s been attacking us,” Roman said before Luke could respond. “Did you ever hear such a tale?”
Rosemary cleared her throat a couple of times. “Actually, Martha did tell me she and Luke—”
“I know, I know. She and Luke are in love.“
“It’s true we are,” Luke spoke again. “That’s one of the reasons I need to clear my name and find out who’s responsible.”
Rosemary moved over to the table and placed her hand on Roman’s shoulder. “Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that Martha told me she and Luke were doing some investigating because they wanted to find out who was behind the attacks. I believe Luke when he says he was planning to sleep in the barn so he could keep a watch on things. Maybe we should go up to Grace and Cleon’s place and ask Martha to confirm what Luke’s said,” she suggested.
Roman shook his head. “No way! It’s the middle of the night, and I’m not waking my daughter out of a sound sleep so she can tell me how much she loves Luke.” He grunted. “She’d probably say most anything to keep him out of trouble.”
“Then at least let’s go out to the barn so I can look for the key I dropped,” Luke said.
“What key?” Rosemary asked.
“The key to the padlock that locks the barn. Martha gave it to me so I could get inside at night.”
Rosemary touched Roman’s shoulder again and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I think we should see if the key is there, don’t you?”
Roman ground his teeth as he mulled things over. Should he go look for the key to please Rosemary, or should he phone the sheriff?