Matthew brought the horse and buggy to a stop outside the Better Path. The sun had slid below the horizon long ago, and they’d talked for hours as the horse ambled along. She’d always thought Matthew had an inner compass that most people lacked, and she saw it now, even as grief tormented him and confusion summoned him to leave Owl’s Perch for a spell.

But his firm stance about Paul’s innocence in the situation, including the missing money, had been shocking…and very hard to believe. Still, it was Matthew doing the talking, and she loved him as much as she did Luke and had always trusted his judgment without question. Unfortunately that worked against her as he defended Paul’s overreaction the night he realized she was pregnant.

The electric lights inside the Better Path contrasted starkly with the Amish homes they’d passed along the way, with the dim glow of the kerosene lamps shining through the windows. The clinic sat nestled in the center of an Old Order Amish fortress, more populated than Owl’s Perch. Before returning from Winding Creek, she’d not seen or at least not noticed this clinic that stood outside of Owl’s Perch.

Matthew set the brake and leaned in. “I’m glad we got to talk.”

Hannah nodded, although he’d said many things she was less than glad to hear. “You should make those appointments like that hospital doctor told you to. Your back needs to be debrided several more times and…”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. I got the salve Mamm can put on my back, and if any signs of infection begin, I’ll see a doctor.”

“That’s a very stubborn way to deal with this. You’ll have more scars, and it won’t heal as quickly.”

“You’re awful pushy, aren’t ya?” He grasped the leads tighter. “I’m fine. Trust me.”

Resigned, she nodded. “You have my address and phone number, so you call or write anytime you have a mind to.”

“I’ll do that. And you go easy on Paul. In the tragedy that happened to you, he’s a victim too.”

Not at all sure she believed that, Hannah kissed his cheek. “Take care, and don’t be afraid to get away and see life from a different perspective. I think it’ll only be good for you.”

“Ya really think so?”

“I think it’d be a mistake not to go, Matthew. Challenge your faith. Challenge your thoughts about Elle. Don’t let fear stop you.”

He straightened his hat. “Then I’ll take your advice and get out for a spell.”

Hannah climbed down. “Good night.”

He pulled away and left her staring at the Better Path with his words of faith in Paul still ringing in her ears. Not wanting to face him and admit she might have been too harsh, she slowly climbed the steps. Through the screen door, she could see him in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove. The aroma of sautéed mushrooms, bell peppers, and bacon wafted through the night air. She eased the squeaky door open, and he glanced her way.

Neither spoke as she made her way into the kitchen and leaned against a counter.

“You hungry?” Paul cracked an egg against a bowl and dumped its contents in with half a dozen others and then wiped his hands on the kitchen towel that was draped across one shoulder.

Her stomach had stopped growling hours ago, but the dull hunger remained. “I’m okay.”

His blue eyes glanced at her, reflecting a look that said he was doubtful, but he said nothing.

Nervous at being the slightest bit vulnerable with him, she had to admit to herself that she’d rather die in her wrongness than have any part of her real self exposed to him ever again. That sentiment probably caused her to be unjust beyond reason to him…or at least beyond what Matthew said was reasonable.

With a bit of a hop, she took a seat on the counter. “Matthew said you really did come looking for me, and he explained a lot of things, and…maybe I’ve been a little unfair in my prejudices against your working with Sarah.”

Paul beat the eggs briskly with a fork. “The fact that I came back for you afterward hardly exonerates me. I should have heard you out that night. I should have believed in you.” He stopped and held her gaze. “I wish there were words beyond I’m sorry.”

She knew that feeling intimately, had felt it to her soul concerning Rachel and trying to keep secrets. For the second time she wondered if it was possible that part of the reason she’d left had nothing to do with the injustice heaped on her. Had she left because she couldn’t face how poorly she’d handled things?

Still pondering that question, she was beginning to think he hadn’t received her phone message before she boarded that train because he’d been out that night searching for her. And then she left him no way to contact her. Why she’d handled things as she had would take some figuring out, but her personal inner workings weren’t Paul’s fault. They’d both mishandled things, to say the very least.

“Nevertheless,” she whispered.

All of Paul’s movements stopped.

Hannah’s heart seemed to hiccup under the weight of his subdued shock. “You know, I think I’m hungry after all.”

“Good.” A slight grin tugged at the corner of his lips. He gestured toward the bowls of various ingredients. “What do you like in your omelet?”

“A little of everything you have there, but go light on the bell peppers.”

“You got it.”

“Matthew said you didn’t take the money. Any idea what happened to it?”

Paul dumped the eggs into the hot skillet. “Not fully.”

She heard it in his voice; she’d hit a wall. “And not anything you want to talk about.”

Adding ingredients to the eggs, he shook his head. “The money wasn’t important, okay? I’d planned on replacing your portion when the opportunity—”

“No,” Hannah interrupted, sounding flat-out mean. She drew a breath and measured her words. “I was just…curious. Am I so weak in your eyes that I can’t cope with knowing what you know?”

His movements stopped. “No, of course not. I…I just…”

Whatever the rest of his sentence was, Hannah was sure he wasn’t going to say it. “Who took our money?”

Paul folded one side of the omelet onto the other. “Not long after you were attacked, a young Amish woman, or someone wearing Amish clothing, went into the bank. She had the bankbook and pretended to be you. I didn’t know the money was missing until after you left.”

“I thought I’d lost the bankbook, but you think the guy who attacked me got hold of it and put someone up to emptying that account?”

“That scenario matches up with the evidence.” He slid an omelet onto a plate and passed it and a fork to her. Without asking, he poured her a glass of orange juice and set it next to her. She remained on the countertop, and when his omelet was done, he leaned against the counter near the stove.

“The doctor gave Sarah a mild sedative when she arrived, and the nurse says she’s been dozing off and on the last few hours. I took her the clothes your mom packed, and she asked if you’d come see her when you arrived. She seemed upset that you were out with Matthew, thought you’d be angry with her again. Care to share why?”

Hannah drew a long, ragged breath. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

“You mean my being Sarah’s counselor?”

Hannah stabbed another bite of eggs. “Yeah.”

“It could be worse.” Paul shrugged. “You could be my therapist.”

His jesting tugged at her, making her want to smile. She pushed a piece of the omelet around on her plate, stalling. “The rumor about the midnight ride in my nightgown, remember the one?”

He nodded.

“Sarah exaggerated it without realizing the person I’d gone for a ride with was Matthew. When he found out those few minutes had turned into a vicious rumor, he only held his tongue because I asked him to. No one doubts anything Matthew says, so if he’d told the community the truth, she would be in really big trouble.” She took another bite of food.

“It’s not human nature to ask someone to keep a secret rather than set the record straight. Why didn’t you let Matthew say his piece?”

“The damage for me was done, and it was only one of several rumors, so clearing that one thing up only held the power to ruin Matthew and Elle, a relationship that began budding shortly after we went for that ride.” Hannah took a sip of her juice. “I can’t explain it, but Matthew is like a brother. Neither one of us realized how that ride might look.” She slid off the counter, wondering how Paul could so easily have believed all those lies about her and left her. She wouldn’t ask, whether from fear or some other reason, she didn’t know—didn’t care to try to figure it out.

Hannah took another drink and set the cup on the counter. “So you think Sarah’s afraid of the truth being revealed?”

“Absolutely. I think she should get this off her conscience by telling the truth, not this week and maybe not next, but soon.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Facing our fears, skeletons, and mistakes is paramount in finding ourselves—in living with ourselves. Once it’s done, that fear will be laid to rest, and she’ll be stronger for having dealt with it and have more peace because she’s not carrying the weight of that fear every day and night.”

Hannah put her plate in the sink, thinking how well this new vocation suited him. His career as a counselor should make her uncomfortable, as if he were analyzing her, but he truly seemed to use his schooling only to assess things, like she did with her nursing skills. He wasn’t supershrink analyzing, and he certainly wasn’t judging.

Assessing. That’s what he was carefully doing. It was a skill Dr. Lehman had taught her, even in the emotional realm as she counseled Amish women about their health concerns. She’d expected Paul to peer down at those he counseled, as if he held some secret powers over them, but that’s not what he was about, and she found that disturbing for reasons she refused to think on.

“I’d like to see Sarah now.”

He set his plate in the sink. “I have to tell you something first.”

“About Sarah?”

“No, not at all. Martin called.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “You and the clinic have matching cells.”

“What?” Hannah jerked the phone from her dress pocket. “You didn’t answer my phone, did you?”

“I thought it was the one I signed out from the clinic.”

She’d intended to tell Martin all about today, but there hadn’t been time. Hannah sighed. “It’s not your fault.” She exchanged phones with Paul. “Sarah?”

“Right this way.” He motioned to a back door and then stopped, allowing her to go first. They walked in silence across the yard and up the narrow concrete sidewalk.

She took a deep breath of the cool air. It carried the aroma of her childhood—freshly mowed hayfields, livestock, and a hint of honeysuckle.

Paul reached for the doorknob and then paused. “She’s been very calm since arriving, but I suspect she’ll get upset and try to convince you she can’t survive if you return to Ohio. Stay calm and firm in your resolve that you have to go home. It won’t help her at all if you give in to her self-image of being weak. She needs help, not babying.”

“And for that stance on your part, I’m very grateful. Martin will be too.”

“Glad I can help.” Paul opened the door.

From a door to the right, Sarah ran out into the hallway and flung herself against Hannah and clung to her. “You’re here! You’ll stay, right? You’ll stay in Owl’s Perch and come visit me every day. We can see each other all the time without Daed around.”

Hannah hugged her sister. “No, Sarah, I can’t stay, but we can write to each other. You can call me when the staff here says you can.” She pulled away, looking her sister in the eye. “I have a very busy life in Ohio, and I have to go back.”

“But you’ll come visit regularly, right?”

Hannah glanced at Paul. She hadn’t thought ahead enough to consider what she’d do about visits. “My schedule won’t allow much room until after the first of the year.”

“But…” Sarah’s eyes held panic. “You’re leaving me?”

“We can talk by phone regularly.” Hannah looked to Paul, silently pleading for some support.

“Sarah, she’s separate from you. Remember?” He put one hand on Sarah’s wrist and motioned for Hannah to step back. “You have the strength to stand on your own without her and without your thoughts tormenting you. We’re going to spend time proving that, and you’ll find peace and continue to get stronger while she’s gone.”

Sarah sobbed. “Don’t go.”

“Rita,” Paul called, “would you help Sarah back to her room, please?” A woman in scrubs came into the hallway almost immediately. “Sarah, I need to talk to Hannah for just a minute, and then she’ll come tell you good night before leaving.”

Reaching for Hannah, Sarah was guided out of the hallway by Rita.

Paul turned his back to the door Sarah had just gone through. “I have an idea that might help her, but I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it.”

“And one Lapp daughter’s hysteria is all you can handle at a time.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her sarcastic side was showing again. When had it become a natural part of her?

“I’ve never seen you hysterical. Justifiable anger is not the same.”

She preferred sarcasm over being patronized. “Your idea?”

“When you left, Mary gave me the ‘Past and Future’ quilt. Sarah didn’t like that it came to me, but I kept it anyway.” He shrugged. “Since you designed it and sewed a lot of it with cloth from Sarah’s and your childhoods, she might find that comforting for a while. I have it in my car.”

“How many years did it take you to learn to make a conversation so generic? And why did Mary pass the quilt to you?”

“Generic?”

“You use odd wording, which causes a lack of clarity in what you mean—which is your point, I’m sure. ‘Comforting for a while…’ Does that mean you’re returning it to me? If you’re going to say something, make it clear.”

“Noted.”

She stared at him. Giving him that one-word response earlier hadn’t bothered her at all; receiving it annoyed her. “And you didn’t answer about the quilt.”

“Mary gave it to me when I was dealing with the shock of your being gone.”

“Gave it?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s in your car?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it? That’s all the explanation I get?”

“I’m hopeful you’ll take what I’ve said and not keep probing for answers.” Paul’s shoulders were square and his stance unmovable, in spite of the mildness in his words. It was a part of him that she remembered well—respectful noncooperation—and no one ever seemed as good at it as Paul Waddell.

She laughed softly. “I guess you’ve earned a break. The quilt can be a visual reminder that I’ll always be a part of her future just as I was a part of her past.”

“Perfectly worded. You tell Sarah while I go after it.”