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I curled up in Elias' arms, surrendering all the thoughts that whizzed through my brain. I was tired of asking so many questions and finding no answers. He rested his chin on my head and sighed.
"What time is it?" My eyes slid shut, heavy as stones.
"Two? Three?"
I groaned. After he'd been released, we'd worked for hours cleaning up the mess and closing off the broken window. Every joint and muscle ached. I yawned, and he looked down at my face.
"Why don't you stay with Marta?" he asked. “She’ll make space. Goodness knows this house is big enough."
I looked up at the heavy-framed structure and its window boxes of red geraniums, but thoughts of Papa worrying contended with me. "I really should go home." I said it reluctantly though, thinking I didn't have the energy to walk that far.
"It's too late and too dark," he said firmly. But when I persisted, he sighed. "If it worries you that much, I’ll go there at first light and let him know where you are." Taking my hand, he led me into the house and up the stairs.
I paused outside Marta's door, my hand in his. "She'll hate me for waking her up."
He chuckled. "She'll hate you worse for not telling her what happened."
I moved to go in when he turned me around and planted a kiss on my lips. "That's good night," he said.
"I think even that won't keep me awake," I mumbled, and I entered the room.
Crisp winter air seeped through Elias’ clothing as he headed across the park and down the silent brick streets. If only he was still in bed, but he’d promised Angel to inform her father and so here he was. Frosty breath purled from his lips, and shivering, he picked up his pace. The sooner he arrived there, the sooner he could return.
He’d gotten little sleep for all the questions crowding his head. Who broke the window of the Taylors’ store? Why would anyone blame him? And why hadn’t whoever it was bothered to plan the crime better?
Standing there yesterday evening, staring at the locked door, he’d heard a strange thump and scraping noise, and then glimpsed movement reflected in the window glass. The resulting crash left him speechless and locked in place.
Nothing about it added up. Angel hadn’t written the note, so whoever did knew what time he was meeting her and where, enough to cause their paths to miss each other. That in itself was puzzling. But since it took only a few minutes for the sheriff to let him go, the incident seemed even more confusing.
He shook his head and heading east, allowing his gaze to drift along the rapidly coloring horizon. Angel. In only a week’s time, she’d captured his heart. He’d always thought someday he’d marry and start a family. That seemed normal, but at the same time, it also seemed far in the future. He had time. Yet now ... Was he really considering marriage?
The thought of kissing her sent his footsteps surging as he rounded a curve. Yes, he was seriously considering it.
A piercing shriek slit the air, shattering the quiet, and Elias slid to a stop. What was that? Turning left, he followed the sound down a narrow alley to an open doorway. Here, his gaze met that of an elderly woman jabbering wildly on the stoop.
German? He recognized the guttural sound from hearing Marta’s father talk.
The elderly woman’s feet slipped beneath her, and hastily, she grabbed hold of the wall. Elias stepped forward to take her hand, and heard a tiny voice.
“Mommy?”
Looking behind the woman, his gaze fell on a child. Her curly hair disheveled around her face, her nightdress stained red, she knelt before a silent body crumpled into a great pool of darkened blood congealed upon the floor.
"Will somebody get that women to be quiet!" the sheriff yelled.
A deputy, his face apologetic, attempted to comfort Old Lady Gunther, but with the baby pressed to her chest, she raved and gibbered in German.
The sheriff stood in the doorway, shaking his head. First the store window, and now murder? What was going on? Who hated a harmless widow with two small children? He turned back to the boy standing in the alley.
“You say you found her like this?” He focused his stare on Elias’ face. Strange him being at the store yesterday and now here as well.
“Yes sir. Well, she was here first.” He pointed to the old woman and then cleared his throat. “I mean she didn’t ... Rather, I never thought ...”
The sheriff waved his hand, cutting him off. “Of course not.” Ridiculous idea.
The boy sighed.
"What do we do with the children, sir?" asked the deputy. "Are there any relatives?"
The sheriff looked down at the mess in the floor. "No." It was such a shame. Two children now without a parent.
"Think they wanted to rob her?" the deputy asked. The baby began to scream then, and the little girl, her face streaked with tears, clung to his pants legs.
The sheriff stepped around the mess and over to the table. A piece of paper caught his eye. Flipping it over, he inhaled. "Well," he said. "Here's what we do with the children. Seems like she thought it out. Signed her name and everything."
But wasn’t that strange? Why would she write this out on the night of her death?
He exited the building, the paper in his hand, and his gaze fell on Elias. Trouble followed this boy around. Yet he took in Elias’ clean clothing and spotless shoes. No, the old woman had definitely been here first; her feet were coated in blood.
The deputy broke into his thoughts. "Sir, what if ... what if the person shows up at the dance? What if he has a worse motive? What'll we do then?"
The sheriff folded the paper into his pocket and sighed. Good question. "I guess I need to speak to the mayor ‘bout that."
He glanced up at the sudden noise coming from the curb. "Mornin', Mort," he said. "Sorry to bother you today. I know you had plans."
Mort signaled to a fellow in the back of his wagon with the flick of his wrist. "Not a good way to spend my Christmas," he grumbled. The fellow lifted a sheet and a board from the bed.
"Need this one looked at," the sheriff responded. "Seems someone wanted her dead."
A repetitive noise disrupted my dream. Elias was about to kiss me. Groggy, I blinked the haze from my eyes. Where was I? Marta's things entered my vision, and I glanced at her bed. It was empty. Where was she?
I grunted as I rose, and borrowing her robe, lumbered down the stairs. That's right. It's Saturday, the help's not here.
"Stupid German castle," I grumbled at the winding stairs.
Bang. Bang. Bang. "I'm coming!" I shouted to the door. The sunlight raced in the opening, pricking my brain, and I squinted in the strong light. With my hand, I shaded my eyes. Paula stretched her two tiny arms up at me from the feet of the deputy.
“Angel,” she said.
"Mornin' Miss Taylor," the deputy said. The baby squalled loudly on his shoulder. "Mr. Harper said I’d find you here."
“Elias?” My mind spun.
The deputy plunged ahead. "There's been a tragedy. Old Lady Gunther found the children's mama dead this morning, her and Mr. Harper."
My hands shook. Elias found Mrs. Pinser ... dead?
“How?” I asked.
"It's terrible strange. She was clubbed in the head; she never had a chance. Sheriff says it was sometime last night." He shifted the baby to his other shoulder.
"But the children?” Paula clutched my legs, and I lay my hand on her innocent head.
"Well, it seems she left a note."
I stared at him then, my head still a bit foggy with sleep.
"She said real plain to give the children to you."
I slumped in the floor.