AFTER SCHOOL THE next afternoon, Cathy lingered in the schoolroom, making a show of being busy. Meanwhile Allie bent over the small table in the corner, totally absorbed in the picture she was drawing.
At least, Cathy hoped she was absorbed. Michael would be here with Chief Jamison any minute, and they should be able to chat in the back of the room without Allie hearing and becoming upset. The child hadn’t realized they’d been followed on their way home from school, and Cathy wanted to keep it that way.
The sound of footsteps sent her scurrying to the back of the room. Chief Jamison came in, closely followed by Michael, looking strained.
They separated immediately, with Jamison waiting for her while Michael crossed to Allie. She heard their animated voices behind her as she showed Chief Jamison to a seat.
Jamison nodded his approval of the arrangement. “This should work,” he said, his voice quiet and calm. “Now, tell me all about what’s troubling Teacher Cathy.”
His use of the title reassured her in a way nothing else could have. She managed to smile.
“I hope it’s not a wild-goose chase.” She glanced out the closest window, seeing nothing but the familiar apple tree by the corner of the porch and the lawn beyond. “You’re sure no one saw you arriving?”
“I can’t be positive, but I don’t think so.” He seemed to understand her stress at the thought. “I drove my own car, not the cop car.”
“Denke. I’m sure it sounds silly, but I’m afraid...”
“Forget it,” he said. “I understand.”
He understood, but what she feared was the other people who wouldn’t.
“Just tell me exactly what happened and let me decide how serious it is. That’s what I’m here for.”
Cathy nodded, reassured. He reminded her, quite suddenly, of her father. Not in appearance, of course, but in the quiet confidence which said he’d never run into anything he couldn’t handle.
“Someone followed us—Allie and me—when we walked home from school yesterday. You’ll think I imagined it with the storm coming on and all, but I’m sure. Someone was there, watching and following.” She looked at him with a touch of defiance, expecting to be doubted.
Instead he nodded. “You never struck me as someone to imagine things. Now, if you were Ethel Bredbenner, seeing Martians landing in her backyard, I might be skeptical. But you’re a levelheaded woman. If you say someone was there, I believe you. Especially when we know that private investigator is hanging around. I haven’t run him to ground yet, but I will, and he’s going to get an earful when I do.”
Cathy breathed easier, but she still had a hurdle to get over. “That’s the first thing I thought of. And if it wasn’t the investigator, I guess I assumed it was connected to Michael’s trouble.”
His sharp eyes questioned her. “And don’t you think so now?”
“Yah, I still think that’s most likely. But Joanna and Rachel said it might be directed at me, and not anything to do with Michael and Allie at all.” She shivered a little. “I don’t see how it could. Do you?”
He considered. “I wouldn’t rule it out, no. But let’s hear all the details first.”
“Didn’t Michael tell you?”
“Just assume I don’t know anything and take me over it.”
He was serious, she could see. Cathy went over what had happened each step of the way—rushing out because of the storm coming, gradually sensing that someone was watching, hearing the rustle of a body moving through the tangle of bushes, coming closer. Telling Allie to run ahead, and feeling the brush of someone’s hand on her skirt as she bolted. When she’d finished, she was shaking inside and her fingers had started to tremble.
“It’s okay.” Michael had come up behind her without her hearing him. His hand rested briefly on her shoulder, sending comfort flooding through her.
“Right,” Jamison said. “That’s nice and clear. I know a sensible woman like you wouldn’t imagine something like that.”
Levelheaded, sensible... They were good things to be called, so why did it sound so flat...so ordinary?
“You want to hear about me chasing him again? I never got within a mile of him, most likely,” Michael said, frustration clear in his voice.
“That’s pretty clear.” Obviously the chief had already heard Michael’s account. “Suppose I walk back along the path with all of you, and you can show me where the tracks were that you followed.”
He pushed back his chair, focusing on Cathy. “I hope I don’t need to tell you that you should take precautions. Have your cell phone on you always, and call if anything happens that seems odd. No matter how trivial, you hear me? And don’t go walking anywhere alone or with just a child. Okay?”
She nodded. He’d moved away from any subject that might lead to the anonymous letter, and she was relieved. No one had to know about it.
Chief Jamison got up. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
“I just have to get my things.” And convince Allie that her picture was finished, she added to herself, moving to where the child sat, still engrossed.
“We’re going home now,” she said, touching Allie’s shoulder lightly. “What a nice picture.”
In actuality, she wondered what it represented. Usually Allie’s pictures were of farmhouses and barns, but this was different.
“Whose house is this?” she asked.
“That’s our house, where we used to live.” Allie’s clear little voice reached Michael and sent him turning around in surprise.
“And that’s the man who used to come. Mommy’s friend.”
Cathy’s breath caught, and now it was Jamison who turned. He looked at Michael. “Seems that’s something I should know about,” he said. “Did you know about this?”
Michael’s face hardened. “I just found out a few days ago myself. I was trying to figure it out.”
But Jamison didn’t wait for an explanation. He came to the table and squatted down next to Allie. “Can I see your picture?”
Allie eyed him for a moment and then pushed it over to him.
“Very nice,” he said. “I especially like the tree you put in.”
“I didn’t put it,” she explained with no sign of embarrassment or shyness. Apparently Chief Jamison’s ability to put people at ease worked with children as well. “It’s really there.”
“That makes it a true-to-life picture, then,” he responded gravely. “Who is this coming up the walk?”
“That’s Mommy’s friend,” she said as she had before. “I don’t know his name.”
“I see. Did he often come to see you?”
She actually giggled at that, sounding like Ruthie for a moment. “He didn’t ever see me. Mommy always had me go to a friend’s house when he came.”
“So you just made him up to go in the picture, then.”
“No, he’s really real. Like the tree. I saw him outside from the bedroom window at Mr. Alan’s house.”
Cathy’s fingers were clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She glanced at Michael. His face had actually eased a bit, maybe because Allie didn’t show any signs of distress. She’d come a long way in a few short weeks.
“I see you used a brown crayon. Does he have brown hair?”
Allie nodded. “I could see that, but I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, so I made them brown, too.”
“Good idea. Was he taller than your daddy or shorter?”
Allie wiggled, showing signs of tiring. “I don’t know.” She started to roll up the picture. “Is it time to go home, Daadi?”
“Yah, it is.” Michael’s look at Jamison warned him not to interfere.
But the chief seemed satisfied he’d heard all Allie had to say. He rose, nodding to Cathy.
She acted with alacrity, grabbing her bag with one hand and Allie with the other. “We’ll go now.”
No one objected, and she hustled Allie to the door, leaving Michael to walk with Chief Jamison. He’d be asking questions, trying to identify the man. It would come out eventually. It seemed that everything did.
MICHAEL TRIED TO clear his mind of everything except the task at hand that evening. He was doing yet another job at the home of Mrs. Carpenter, who seemed to have an endless list of repairs needed to her aging Victorian house. Tonight it was shoring up the rough wooden steps going down to the basement.
He frowned. What he should be doing was putting in a railing. He shuddered at the thought of the elderly woman plunging down toward that unforgiving concrete cellar floor.
He’d have to suggest it, even if she thought he was trying to drum up business. It was too dangerous to ignore.
One thing he’d learned about her—if she thought that, she’d say so. Blunt, outspoken, even a bit abrasive, that was Mrs. Carpenter. It probably put some people off, but he couldn’t help admiring her. And being amused by some of her blunt comments. She had no illusions about people, it seemed.
He moved down a step, checking carefully for any signs of weakness.
Unasked and unwelcome, his mind returned to the case the police had against him. He hadn’t heard anything more from the Harrisburg detective, but that didn’t mean the man was idle. Chief Jamison, at least, didn’t seem to take his guilt for granted.
When they’d walked back along the path, identifying where Michael had gone in pursuit, Jamison had been intent, obviously eager to find something that would tell him who it had been.
That didn’t mean he had any illusions about the chief. If he found indications that Michael was guilty, he’d act. He’d pressed the subject of the friend when they were alone, and it was impossible to tell if he believed Michael hadn’t known.
He’d been good with Allie, though. Michael had to admit that his worries there had been unwarranted. Jamison had struck the right note, managing to elicit the information he needed without alarming her. It was a testimony to how good this life was for Allie that she seemed to have no fears.
He’d reached the bottom, checking the treads and underpinning as he went. Then he went back up, stepping heavily on each tread and detecting no tremors. Satisfied, he emerged into the kitchen...old-fashioned by Englisch standards, but typical of houses of that period.
Mrs. Carpenter was waiting for him. “All done?”
“It’s as good as it can be, but—”
“Is it safe? That’s all I want to know.” She never hesitated to interrupt.
“It won’t collapse under you.” He could be just as blunt. “But it’s not safe. There should be a railing. Don’t take my word for it. Ask any contractor, and he’ll tell you the same.”
Her answer was a short grunt. With her square, bulldog face and strong jaw, she didn’t look as though she’d take anyone’s advice readily.
When he didn’t say anything, she glared at him. “No more arguments?”
“I’ve had my say. If you want to take chances, it’s up to you. But you need a railing.”
Silence for a moment. Then she shrugged. “I’ll think about it.” She thrust his money toward him. “Thanks.”
He nodded. That was progress. His work hadn’t always rated a thanks. “Okay. Just let me know if you need anything else done.”
He picked up his toolbox and headed out. He’d reached the door when her voice stopped him.
“Wait a minute. No need to be in such a hurry.” Getting up, she grabbed her cane and stumped over to him. “Got a hot date?” She let out a crack of laughter.
Michael smiled in return. “With my daughter. It’s almost her bedtime.”
“How’s she doing? Fitting in okay?”
He hesitated, but it seemed well-meant. “More than okay. She’s happier than she’s been in a long time.”
She nodded. “Folks are happier when they’re where they belong.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she didn’t give him time anyway.
“There’s been talk going around about you.”
He’d expected that was true, especially after his attempted interview with Bernard Wilcox. “What are they saying?”
“They wouldn’t say anything to my face.” She let out a crack of laughter again. “I judge people by what I know, not what others say.”
“So what do you know?” Was she building up to saying she didn’t need him any longer?
“Just that you should be careful, that’s all. And take care of that little girl.”
“I intend to.” If he sounded grim, he meant it. Nobody was getting to Allie.
“Right. Go on home now. You can stop by tomorrow and give me an estimate on the railing.”
Before he could collect himself and thank her, she stamped away.
He went out and closed the door carefully. Well. She’d been warning him, that was sure. And declaring herself on his side, it seemed.
But what, exactly, was threatened?
WHEN MICHAEL HAD settled Allie for the night, he came downstairs to find that Lige had come back. He was sitting at the kitchen table, with Aunt Verna cutting into a pie.
“What brings you back again?” He sat down across from Lige. Before he could refuse, Aunt Verna had set wedges of cherry pie in front of them.
“He brought a present for Allie.” She turned to lift something from one of the pegs by the door. “A new dress Sarah made.”
The dress was a clear green color, bright and pretty. When Aunt Verna held it out to him, Michael ran his hand down the fabric, touched at his sister’s thoughtfulness.
“It’s great. She didn’t have to do that. Allie will love it.”
“Ach, I should have thought of it.” Aunt Verna smiled, hanging the dress up again. “Sarah is wonderful kindhearted. Every little girl wants a new dress all her own.”
“She’s been happy with the dresses Ruthie lent her, but she’ll love having one her aunt Sarah made just for her.” He might have thought of that himself, instead of just accepting what had been given.
His feisty little sister had turned into a generous, thoughtful woman. She had her hands full making clothes for her own kinder, without taking on Allie, too.
Aunt Verna, finishing pouring coffee, sat down with her own cup. “You did some more work for Mrs. Carpenter, ain’t so?”
“Mending her cellar steps.” He frowned. “She ought to have a railing on them. Somebody her age shouldn’t take such chances. I told her so.”
Lige choked on his coffee, and Aunt Verna set her cup down hard.
“You didn’t say so to her. She doesn’t like people interfering in how she lives.”
“Is she giving you any more work?” Lige struck a practical note.
He shrugged, amused at their reactions. “She said she’d think about the railing. And told me to come back and give her a quote on the work.”
“She did? Ach, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Shaking her head, Verna stood.
“Where are you going? You didn’t finish your coffee.”
She lifted down the dress. “I’ll hang this in Allie’s room so she’ll see it when she wakes up.” She smiled, touching the dress tenderly. “She’ll be wonderful happy.”
Lige forked up a large bite of pie. When they could hear her footsteps on the stairs, he nodded. “Verna’s the one who’s happy. She’s starting to feel like Allie’s her own granddaughter, ain’t so?”
“It’s good for Allie, too. She’s never had grandparents.” Or much other family.
“That reminds me.” Lige looked as if he contemplated walking on eggs. “Sarah wanted me to remind you that she’s supposed to take Ruthie and Allie to your father’s house tomorrow after school.” He seemed braced for an explosion.
Michael felt a flare of resentment, but he forced it down. His father was the way he was, and there was no changing him. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be a good grandfather to Allie.
Finally he nodded. “Okay.” He hesitated again. “If Allie has a chance to have a relationship with her grandfather, I don’t want to mess that up. Tomorrow after school.” He forced a smile. “She’ll want to wear her new dress.”
Lige seemed relieved. “Gut. Sarah will be happy. Not satisfied, but happy.”
“Sarah wants a happy ending,” he said. He shrugged and then moved on to another thought. “If Mrs. Carpenter does hire me to build the railing, I could use another pair of hands. Feel like working a few evenings?”
“Sure thing.” Lige grinned. “Always glad to earn a couple bucks. I—” He stopped at the sound of a car coming down the drive. “Wonder who that is at this hour? It’s dark out.”
“He’s going too fast.” Apprehension sent Michael to his feet. Even as he spoke, brakes shrieked and there was the sound of gravel spattering.
In the next instant, it seemed, they heard the crash of breaking glass. Michael charged to the door, with Lige right behind him. Together they burst out into the night.
Three men were attacking the nearest greenhouse. Michael saw the swing of a bat and yelled.
As if his shout had been a signal, the men raced toward the waiting car. Michael ran to cut it off. By the time they turned, maybe he could get there and stop them. It was already moving as the last man jumped in.
It swung in a circle, turning, and then headed out the lane. If he could just get in position to see the license number...
The car veered and suddenly it was headed right at him. He froze for an instant, heard Lige shout and then dove to the side, rolling over in the soft grass. The car spurted by, turned onto the road away from town and vanished.
He stood, panting, his fists clenched. If he’d gotten his hands on one of them...
Lige’s hand fell on his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Could you see the license plate?”
“No chance, not with the lights off. There’s no way of telling who it was. Let’s see how bad it is before Verna gets out here.”
It was too late already. Verna had paused to grab a battery lantern. Face grim, she held it up to focus on the damage.
Michael’s stomach twisted. Thank Heaven the men hadn’t reached the other greenhouses, but they’d done plenty of damage to the first one, where Verna kept the annual plants that were currently selling best. Shattered glass—that was the first thing that struck you. Glass had scattered far and wide—they’d have to find a way to clean it all up. And then the repairs...
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t find any way of comforting her. “This is my fault. It’s because I’m here.”
To his astonishment, Verna put her arms around him, holding on tight, as if finding comfort that way.
Lige, face working, put his arm across her back awkwardly. “We’ll fix it,” he said, his voice husky. “We’ll make it gut as new, ain’t so, Michael?”
Michael nodded, but was it really for the best that he help? If he left now, this persecution would cease. “If I left—”
“No.” Verna’s voice was sharp, and Lige was already shaking his head. “That’s not how we deal with trouble.” She straightened, standing on her own. “I will call the police.”
He and Lige exchanged looks as she marched toward the phone shanty. “I never thought she’d do that.” Lige was the first to speak.
Michael rubbed the nape of his neck, trying to think. “I guess it’s best,” he said slowly. “This is what Mrs. Carpenter meant, I guess. She said people were talking. Stirring up feelings against us.”
Lige shrugged. “It’s happened before. It’ll happen again. It goes with being Amish.”
“It shouldn’t, not this time. This time it’s because of me.”
Lige eyed him seriously. “Best if you quit saying that. It doesn’t help. We’re all in this, not just you.”
Lige’s severity shocked him, but at the same time it woke him up. Whether or not it was his fault didn’t matter. The fabric of Amish life was woven so tightly that what touched it affected all. Declaring that this trouble was his alone would be seen as pride, in an oddly inverted way.
He nodded. “Okay. You’re right.”
“I’ll get more light,” Lige said. “We’ll have to see what we can save from inside.”
Michael roused himself to concentrate on the immediate problem. “Right. I’ll go up and check on Allie first.” Without waiting for a response, he headed inside.
Tension tightened his muscles as he hurried up the steps. If only she could have slept all through it. This ugliness couldn’t be allowed to shatter the peaceful world she’d found here.
He eased her door open. Allie slept curled up on her side, her face relaxed, her loose braid hanging over her shoulder. Her breathing was even and relaxed, and the stuffed dog was under her arm.
Michael smoothed the quilt over Allie’s back with gentle hands before heading back downstairs to face the current crisis.
The police had arrived in the form of Guy Smethers. Michael stifled a groan. Smethers was the last person to be helpful in the current situation.
“Got some trouble,” he was saying as Michael approached. “Not much we can do about it when you didn’t even get a description of the vehicle.”
“You mean you only investigate when other people have done your work for you?” Michael snapped.
Smethers flared up instantly, fists clenching. “If these people want to escape trouble, they’d be better off without you. You were trouble when we were kids, and you’re trouble now.”
Before Michael could say what he wanted, Lige and Verna had moved next to him. “We are family.” Lige’s tone wasn’t combative, but it was firm.
Smethers seemed to fight for control. It hung in the balance, but then another car turned into the lane, dissolving the tension.
The new vehicle drew to a halt, and Chief Jamison stepped out. For a moment he stood surveying the chaos of the greenhouse, and then he came to Aunt Verna.
“I’m awful sorry about this, Mrs. Forster. We’ll do our best to get to the bottom of it.” He turned to Smethers. “Guy, get some photos of those tire tracks where the vehicle turned around. Let’s have a look for any paint scrapings. They might have hit something in their hurry to get out.”
Smethers seemed to hold back a retort. Then he turned to follow orders.
“We need to save what we can from inside,” Lige said. “Okay for us to go in?”
“Did any of the men go inside?” He looked from Lige to Michael.
They both shook their heads. “They ran along this side. I saw rocks and one man had a baseball bat.”
Jamison nodded. “Right. Lige, how about if you start while Michael answers some questions?”
Lige turned wordlessly toward the greenhouse. When Verna attempted to follow him, Jamison spoke up. “Mrs. Forster, do you think you could make a fresh pot of coffee? That’d be a help.”
Verna hesitated, but then she nodded. Michael breathed a little easier. She was in shock, and it would do her more good to be working in the bright kitchen than out here with the dark and the damage.
He and Lige would have to cope with the destruction. He felt a burst of gratitude to Lige, who’d become as good as a brother to him so quickly. Still, this was on him, and somehow he had to find a way to repay his family for all of this grief.