“IS THAT BLOOD?” SARAH ASKED AS THEY STARED at the writing, which was already starting to smear in the rain. Despite getting wetter, they both bent close to study it. “That much blood couldn’t come from those dead little animals,” she added, her voice shaky.
Nate touched a letter and lifted his fingers to his nose to sniff at it. “It’s not clotting and there’s no copper smell. It’s paint. Fairly fresh.”
“It’s probably latex, like I use, but I avoid red, the color—” her voice faded as she thought again of Jacob’s red car “—of martyrs’ blood.”
They straightened, both glancing behind and around, but the rain had closed them in like a curtain. When they retraced their steps toward the front of the barn, Sarah couldn’t see the Miller house or the woodlot nearby, where someone could easily hide. They both jumped when a bolt of lightning flashed and thunder cracked too close.
They hurried toward where they’d left the buggy. Sally neighed and tugged at the traces. The whites of her eyes showed as she tossed her head. Sarah felt that frenzied, too. Despite the cover of the rain, she had the feeling they were being watched, but she didn’t want Nate to think she was a coward or didn’t have faith in the Lord’s protection. “Sally doesn’t like lightning,” was all she said.
“Neither do firefighters. First that Bible warning to you and your people. Now this one looks aimed at me. Mack must mean MacKenzie. The writer must know darn well I’m not going to keep away. But keep away from what? Let’s get the buggy inside the barn.”
“Right. The Millers won’t mind. If the arsonist left that message, he—”
“Or she…”
“—seems to know your schedule. He must have figured you would check the two other barns that have paintings. I wonder if there’s a similar message on the Hostetler barn in case you went there.” A rolling rumble of thunder shuddered through her as she led Sally inside.
“Or did he or she follow us, pass us on the road and paint it just as we drove up? We couldn’t see the back of the barn from the road. The bastard—pardon my French—”
“That’s English. Strong English.”
“I was going to say it looks like the arsonist has been watching me—or you.”
Nate’s voice was clipped, and he looked tense and angry. That made her feel even more afraid. He was supposed to be the strong one with the answers, to be in charge here.
Nate glanced around the dim barn and rubbed his palms on the front of his jeans. “Being stalked gives me the creeps,” he admitted, “about as much as knowing he or she is out there waiting to ignite another barn. We wouldn’t be inside this one if it wasn’t pouring hard enough that it would be difficult to start a fire right now. But if the arsonist is following us, we may be able to set a trap later.” He kept staring at her as if waiting for something.
Sarah was suddenly aware of how she looked. Though she’d shaken her skirts, they clung to her legs just the way his shirt did to him. The only thing that was dry was her hair and face under her kapp and bonnet. Sally stamped and snorted even as the rumbling thunder grew more muted, but the skies kept pouring rain. It drummed so hard on the barn roof that it sounded like hoofbeats on a wooden covered bridge. She had to say something to break the screaming silence between the two of them. Her pulse pounded harder than the rattle of the rain.
“Do you think my grandmother may have actually seen someone lurking outside our grossdaadi haus?” she asked as she brushed drops off her sleeves. “Not a monster with glowing eyes like she said, of course, but I’ve been thinking we’d better believe her about seeing someone since that Bible note appeared. Still, she does imagine things at times. Nate, the reason she acts afraid of you is that she’s haunted by the persecution our ancestors faced in Europe, especially burnings for our faith. It—it kind of haunts me, too, sometimes, all of us. She thinks you’re the government official coming to take us away, to burn us out, burn us. I thought I’d better tell you that.”
“You’ve been tremendous through all this, helpful and honest.”
“Good,” was all she could manage, when she wanted to say something better and wiser. “Good.”
He came close and put his hands on her wet shoulders. She put her hands around his wrists, not only to touch him but to prop herself up. She wanted him to hold her; she felt he knew that. Her lips tingled.
They had not closed the barn doors, so the wind whipped in, chilling their wet clothes. He let go of her and went over to slide the barn doors closed. At the grating sound—or at the idea of being sealed in here with Nate—she went all shivery with goose bumps.
Just before he slid the door shut, a whoosh and a swoop of air slapped them as a big-winged body swept past and out into the rain.
Sarah let out a shriek, and Nate ducked. “Oh,” she said, “it’s just a great horned owl flying out. She’s probably the one that killed the voles, though she hardly lined them up that way. I’ll bet she’s feeding nestlings inside here.”
“I’ll leave the doors cracked for her, then. Speaking of which, my crackberry is vibrating.”
“Your phone?” she asked, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. It was good to talk of something rational, something normal.
“Phone and more,” he said, digging it out of his front jeans pocket. “Email, weather, global positioning, everything. I’ll show you later. It’s really called a BlackBerry, but it’s so addictive that it gets the nickname crackberry—you know, from crack…cocaine.”
She shook her head and shrugged as he answered the phone. It was a reminder to her that they came from two separate worlds. He had to talk loudly over the storm, so she knew it was his boss and something about Jacob’s license plate. Could her former fiancé be doing all this? Yes, she was almost starting to think—to fear—he could. Surely, Jacob had seen Nate’s name in the Home Valley News, and he might figure he was called Mack instead of Nate. Could that Keep Away on the sign mean for Nate to keep away from this area or to keep away from her?
“That phone kind of runs your life,” she told him when he punched a button and put it away. “It makes a crack in daily living, is that it?”
“Not exactly—kind of. Sarah, the Bureau of Motor Vehicles for the state says that there’s no Jacob Yoder who has a license plate registered in this county or any other in Ohio. He must be driving with stolen plates, maybe ones he got when he was running with that auto theft ring. I’ll take your advice and talk to Gabe when we get back to see if he knows the plate number.”
To their amazement, the huge owl flew back in with a small snake in its beak, tilting to get through the door. They watched her glide into the side bay, then heard bloodcurdling screams.
“That can’t be the snake! What in the—” Nate muttered, seizing her arm and spinning them around as if he would protect her from something.
“That’s the nestlings, the baby owls,” she told him.
He nodded. “Sarah, don’t ever feel you don’t understand my world—my tools of the trade,” he said, patting his pocket where he’d put his phone. “I’m a babe in the woods when it comes to things you know, so—”
And then they heard the knocking.
But from where? Nate thought. What was that? Sure as heck not the owls. Outside or inside the barn? It seemed to be coming from the other side of the back wall where there was no window except high in the loft. His imagination ran wild. Was someone leaning a ladder against the barn, then moving it along? The arsonist had started one fire high, using window access. On the other hand, it could be a trap to lure them outside. He’d mentioned setting a trap, but could their enemy be one step ahead of them on that, too? Then again, it could be that the wind had shifted and a branch was knocking there or, in this ramshackle old barn, something had come loose to bang in the wind. The place had a hundred chilly drafts and strange fits of air movement.
He put his mouth close to Sarah’s bonnet and whispered, “Close the door the rest of the way, but don’t bar it in case we need to get out fast. I’m going up into the loft to look out that window, down toward where we saw the message.”
“But what’s that sound?”
“I hope it’s a tree limb in the wind, but I’m not betting on it. Go.”
She did as he said while he quickly climbed the rickety ladder to the loft. It was dark up here; the rain pounded overhead, closer, louder. As he felt his way along under the big roof beams, his eyes adjusted to the dark. Wan light seeped through the patched roof that had sprouted numerous leaks. The old floorboards creaked under his weight and once he felt the entire floor of the loft shudder. Cobwebs laced themselves across his wet face and snagged in his eyelashes. Half expecting he’d be peering out through the paned window into the face of an arsonist on a ladder, he pressed his nose to the glass, dusty on this side but running with rivulets of water outside. He turned his cheek to it, trying to look down, around.
Suddenly, the knocking stopped. The horrible shrieks had just been owlets, natural sounds, so maybe his tree limb idea was right. He’d scramble down, take a shovel or rake with him for a weapon and go outside to be sure. He wished he had the pistol he kept in VERA, but he’d locked it up there and had shown it to no one in peaceful Amish country.
Man, you’re getting spooked by this place, he scolded himself. Creepy house, old barn, bad storm and then that bloodred message smeared on the barn that carried the implied threat Or Else! Did it mean to keep away from this arson case, the Amish or Sarah? And, if the latter, didn’t that point to Jacob Yoder again?
He turned to go back downstairs and bumped into someone. It was Sarah, thank God. With the pounding rain, he hadn’t heard her come up here.
“Did you see anyth—” she got out before there was a creak, a crack—and the floorboards under them gave way.
Nate grunted and Sarah screamed. He grabbed a beam, grabbed her. Slammed together chins to shins, they dropped partway through the floor, then stuck, suspended at armpit level. Her right arm was splayed along the floor where the rotting boards had given way. Nothing was in reach for him but her.
“Hold on!” he told her. “Hold on to me! Pull your arm in, ’cause we’re going down.”
As they fell, her black bonnet and cap were ripped away. They dropped amid dust, dripping rain and loose, splintered boards to land in a pile of hay, a tangle of arms, legs, her wet skirts and hair gone wild.
“You okay?” Nate gasped, lifting his head from their landing.
“In one piece, at least,” she said, pulling her thigh-high, mussed skirts and slip down over her bared, white thighs and black stockings. She knew her voice sounded shaky, and it wasn’t from the fall or their worsening situation with an enemy. Oh, no, she knew the enemy she struggled with right now was her own verboten desire for this man.
“Thank God for this pile of straw,” he said.
“Hay. It’s really hay.”
“Sarah—you’re beautiful. We could have been maimed or killed, but you’re still teaching me….”
His voice faded and he looked at her intently. “And you are beautiful, you know,” he whispered. “In lots of ways.”
Still watching every move she made, Nate lifted himself on one elbow; his other arm was trapped under her, but he didn’t move it. He looked at her, down, up, then deep into her eyes, that stare that always made her feel she was falling off a high ladder. She blinked to get some of the dust out of her watering eyes, which made a double image of Nate, his gaze devouring her.
The hay felt both prickly and soft beneath her bottom, back and limbs. He was so close—it was almost like being in bed with him. Suddenly she was aware of her body in a new, thrilling way. She was beautiful, he had said…. She should jump up, find her bonnet, repin her hair, which was splayed out under her head and shoulders with strands in her mouth that Nate gently drew out in a soft caress across her cheek.
Something was going to happen between them that should not, but she wanted to know and cherish each moment. She wet her lips, held her breath.
“My boss, your father and Bishop Esh would never approve of any sort of roll in the hay between us,” Nate whispered, his face coming so close to hers that his breath almost burned her. “But I can’t help this.”
And then he tilted his face slightly to the side, lowered his head slowly, as if to give her time to turn away, and kissed her.
Smooching, her people called it. But this was entirely new, like nothing she’d had with Jacob. Spinning, swirling. Had the fall knocked her silly? She lifted her free hand to touch the side of Nate’s face, the crisp, damp hair at his temples, his earlobe, the strong back of his neck as the kiss went on. She opened her lips for him and only moaned when his hand, trapped beneath her hip, moved, caressed the curve of her there, then slid slowly up her waist and rib cage, over her breasts to pause before coming up to cup her chin. His head had jerked a bit. He’d sniffed in a sharp breath. She’d bet he’d never known Amish women didn’t wear bras—that is, not until now.
Every part of her seemed to come alive at his touch. And still the kiss went on, moving, deepening. He might be hovering on top, but she met him halfway until their entire bodies were pressed together as hard as their mouths. He rolled them over, her up and around until he was on top again. A roll in the hay, he had said. They breathed in unison, then she could hardly breathe at all, before he slowly—reluctantly, she could tell—came up for air.
“I should say I’m sorry, but I’m not,” he whispered, his voice deep and raspy. “Ya, me neither.”
“I want to look around outside. We’ve got to go back.”
“Right. This barn could have burned down around us and we would not have noticed.”
He grinned, then chuckled. “I love an honest woman.”
“Don’t say that—love.”
“You know what I mean. I just—what’s that sound now?”
“A buggy.”
“Going or coming? I’ve got to go look.”
He brushed himself off as he got up, but she saw pieces of hay clung to his back. He hurried past Sally and the buggy to the door. She heard him slide it open a little.
“It must be the Millers are home and going right to their house,” he reported as she struggled to pin up her hair. He came back and watched her do it. She wished she was taking it down for him, not just stuffing it up under her kapp and the bonnet he retrieved for her and dusted off. Oh, why did this have to happen, because she felt doubly endangered now, by the arsonist and by her own feelings for this ausländer who would all too soon, unless there were more fires, take his VERA and go home.
After brushing all the hay off each other, they went to explain to the Millers some of what had happened in the barn. While Sarah waited in the house, in the lessening rain, Nate and Levi, and the Millers’ oldest boy, Noah, went out to examine the broken loft floor and the back of the barn. They found the threatening words washed off and a maple tree limb that looked like it could have hit the back wall. When they returned to the house, Nate said they had seen the diluted, crimson paint along the edge of the barn’s foundation. But Sarah had something to tell him, too.
“Nate, Mrs. Miller says when they pulled up just before we joined them, they found a note from Sheriff Freeman pinned to their front door.”
His eyebrows rose. “From the sheriff? Pinned how?”
“Not with a basting pin—a thumb tack.”
“Could I see the note?”
Sarah watched him stare long and hard at it, just as she had. It was in bold print, but not necessarily a match for the note she’d found. It was on lined, yellow legal-pad paper, not white letter paper. Besides, Sheriff Freeman as a suspect? Too crazy. The note simply urged the Millers to be sure they stayed home after dark and kept a good eye on their barn.
“Which we would do, anyway,” Levi assured them with a nod as he pointed at the written warning. “Got a good notion to sleep out there with my hunting rifle, broken ribs or not I got from fighting the Esh fire. But Noah’s nineteen now, so he could take a turn guarding the place, too. The barn’s broken down, but it’s all we got now with no money to rebuild.”
Sarah had once known Noah well, for he’d been a close buddy of Jacob’s, but she hadn’t seen him for months. She supposed Noah missed the shunned Jacob, because he’d really looked up to him.
“So,” Nate said to Sarah as they took their leave and headed away in the buggy in what was now only light mist, “I keep getting surprised about the Amish. Levi might shoot at a person rather than turning the other cheek. Jacob’s father said he’d struggled not to want to kill his son for what he’d done to his mother and…” he said, looking sideways at her with a little crimp on the side of his mouth.
“And I kissed you as good as you did me. See, Nathan MacKenzie, you’re finding out the Home Valley Amish are not some kind of saints but human. That sign on the barn said you should stay away, but I’d be real sad if you did.”