“Mem!” Ruthie called as she led Heather into her home through a tidy sitting room and toward the back of the house. Every time Heather visited the Hershbergers’ home, she was struck by how there wasn’t a single framed photo in the room. Maybe she noted it because she regretted that she didn’t have any photos of her mother, who grew up in the Amish way. The Amish were forbidden from having their photos taken.
“We’re here. I have Heather Miller with me,” Ruthie called cheerily, as if she had simply brought home a friend for dinner.
When they reached the kitchen, Mrs. Hershberger put the glass she had been washing into the drying rack and turned to face them. Her mouth opened as if she were about to offer them a greeting, when a look Heather couldn’t quite define skated across the older woman’s eyes. Her hands flew to her mouth in slow motion. Water rimmed her wide eyes.
“Oh, you look just like your mem, Sarah.” Mrs. Hershberger walked over slowly to Heather and stopped in front of her. Heather half expected her to touch her face, but Ruthie’s mother simply dropped her hands to her sides and studied her intently. “I saw the resemblance before, but now...” She clasped her hands and held them to her chest.
For a moment, any words were trapped in Heather’s throat as the walls of the cozy kitchen grew close. She tipped her head and felt the tightness of her hair gathered at the nape of her neck. Finally she found some words. “My father used to tell me that I looked a lot like my mother, but I had never seen a photo of her.” Her voice cracked. The fact that the Amish forbade their members from having their photo taken seemed like a harmless enough rule, but when you were a kid whose mom died when you were six, you couldn’t help but be a bit resentful. Yet, unbeknownst to her, with each passing year she had apparently grown to resemble her mother.
“I saw the resemblance when you visited before.” Mrs. Hershberger had started to repeat what she was saying earlier. “But now, without makeup and with the Amish clothes...” There was a quiet reverence to the older woman’s tone.
“I hardly remember my mom, but I’m honored that you think I look like her. My father said she was a beauty.”
Mrs. Hershberger dropped her hands to her sides and pink splotches colored her fair skin. “Oh, forgive me. That was rude. Please come in. Sit down.” She pulled a chair out from the long pine table. “Can I get you something? Ruthie tells me you’ve run into a bit of trouble and need someplace to stay.”
Heather’s gaze drifted to Ruthie and she wondered how much she had confided in her mom. Mrs. Hershberger deserved the entire truth if she was opening her home up to her.
“Did Ruthie tell you what was going on, Mrs. Hershberger?”
The older woman froze, her well-worked fingers wrapped around the top slat of the back of the chair. “Please, call me Maryann. And yes, Ruthie told me you had an old boyfriend who might try to hurt you.”
Heather made eye contact with Ruthie and smiled. Ruthie was both determined and confident, two qualities Heather imagined were not in overabundance in young Amish women—or in young women in general.
“It’s more than that. He’s actually my ex-husband, who escaped from prison after being sent there for killing his second wife.”
Maryann gasped and walked around to the front of the chair and slowly sat down, as if the news had ripped the steel rod from her spine. She sat perched on the edge of the chair, seeming ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “Perhaps my daughter left out a few details.”
“I didn’t want to be a gossip,” Ruthie said, joining them at the table and leaning eagerly forward as if afraid her mother was going to rescind the invitation.
Heather wondered if the woman was more horrified that she had been divorced or that her ex was an escaped convict. She hoped, despite the woman’s strong religious convictions, that she wouldn’t condemn her for putting her very life above the sanctity of marriage. Heather had long ago made peace with her decision and expected that God would forgive her.
However, during all her previous visits with the Hershbergers, Heather had omitted the darker side of her past. Had she not forgiven herself?
Heather ran the palms of her hands over the edge of the pine table. She imagined that not too long ago, it was surrounded by a big loving family who had now grown and moved on to create happy dinner tables of their own. The passage of time and her spouse’s premature death had left Maryann alone with her youngest two daughters, Ruthie and Emma.
“I’d understand if you’d rather I stay someplace else. My ex-husband is both smart and ruthless.”
Ruthie squared her shoulders, the light in her eyes suggesting she rarely had such excitement in her life. “Marshal Walker made sure no one followed Heather here. Precautions were taken. There’s no reason to believe we’re in danger. Besides, Heather needs someplace safe to stay.”
Maryann’s gaze drifted toward the front room. “And this law enforcement person—”
“He had to take a phone call. He’ll be in in a minute,” Ruthie interrupted her mother, obviously determined to convince her that they had to host their Englisch friends.
Maryann’s lips grew pinched, then relaxed before she spoke again. “He plans to stay here, too?”
Heather caught Ruthie’s eye, encouraging her to stay quiet so she could speak. “Yes, if that’s okay with you. It’ll be safer if he’s here. For everyone.”
Maryann smoothed the folds in her dress near her thighs. “I do suppose we have the room. But I’ll need for both of you to respect our home. No phone calls. No guns.”
“Mem,” Ruthie groaned, sounding like a typical teenager. “He needs his gun.”
Maryann hiked her chin, not about to back down. “He can keep it in the barn.”
“Are you sure we’re not an imposition? We can make other plans,” Heather suggested, even though she wasn’t sure what those other plans would be. Her preference was to stay in Quail Hollow, close to the final renovations of her bed-and-breakfast. But those were selfish plans.
“We have invited you into our home. You don’t need to make other plans.” The finality in Maryann’s tone stopped Heather from questioning her host further.
“I’ll check on Zach.” Heather pushed away from the table. Just then Emma came running down the stairs. She greeted them shyly.
“Excuse me a minute,” Heather said, not missing the look of surprise on Ruthie’s fifteen-year-old sister’s face. On the way to the front door, Heather caught sight of her sneakers poking out from the bottom of her dress.
Pausing at the front door, she listened to see if Zach was still talking on the phone. She didn’t want to interrupt. She thought she heard him wrapping up the call. Reaching for the door handle, she said a silent prayer that he’d have good news for her.
Was it wrong to pray that Brian was dead?
Maybe. Perhaps she should pray that he was back in custody instead?
Drawing in a deep breath, she opened the door. Zach turned toward her. The deep lines of concern etched on his handsome face under the moonlight told her that her prayers would have to wait to be answered.
* * *
Zach slid his cell phone back into his jacket pocket, then took off his broad-brimmed hat and set it on a small table that sat between two rocking chairs on the front porch.
“That’s not the face of a man with good news,” Heather said, pulling the front door closed behind her with a quiet click.
He searched her face for a moment. “No, it’s not. They still haven’t located Fox.”
The strings of Heather’s white bonnet pooled around the hollow of her neck. Her hand fluttered around the tips of the strings. A part of him wondered if this ruse was being disrespectful to the Amish people of this community. Playing dress up to avoid detection.
“Is it wrong that I hoped he was dead?” Heather whispered.
“You have a right to be frightened.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch him earlier, then neither one of us would be standing on this porch pretending we’re Amish.”
“Hmm...” There was a distant quality to her voice. “I thought being here in the country would be more peaceful. I guess I didn’t bargain on Brian escaping from prison.”
“None of us could have predicted that.”
“I know.” She drew in a deep breath. “Hey, listen,” she said with a forced cheery tone. “Ruthie’s mother is fine with us staying, but she asked that we don’t use our phones in her house and she wants you to keep your gun in the barn.”
Zach gave his head a quick shake. “Wait. What? I need to be able to protect you.” He took a step back, then forward. “No, okay...” He ran the options over in his head. “It’s probably better if I patrol the grounds tonight anyway. Yeah, that will work. I’ll stay outside.”
“You’ve got to be exhausted. You didn’t sleep last night, either.”
Zach blinked slowly but refused to admit how tired he was. Regardless of his exhaustion, he wouldn’t be able to rest until Fox was no longer a threat.
When he didn’t answer, Heather said, “I can keep you company.”
He slowly shook his head. “I’d feel better if I knew you were safely inside. I’m going to see if Mrs. Hershberger will allow me to do a quick sweep of the house.” He scratched his head. “Please tell me the Amish have locks.”
“We have locks.”
Both Heather and Zach spun around to find Mrs. Hershberger standing in the doorway. After telling Zach to call her Maryann, she went on to explain that not every Amish home had a lock, but Maryann had insisted her husband put locks on the doors and windows after her dear friend—Heather’s mother—had been murdered.
Maryann turned to look Heather in the eye. “We all lost a little something the day your mother was killed. Some far more than others, of course. But many of us who called her friend forever lost a sense of safety.”
Heather bowed her head but didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Maryann continued. “I’m not happy about the situation, but I’m grateful I can help my dear friend’s daughter.”
Until this very moment, Zach hadn’t truly considered the amount of loss Heather had suffered over her short life. He had been too focused on his own.
Heather nodded, as if she couldn’t spare any words.
“Locks are a good thing,” Zach said, needing to focus on the task at hand. “I have my gun in its holster, but can I do a quick tour of your home, then I’ll stay outside?”
“You’re going to stay up all night watching the house?”
“That’s my job.” His gaze drifted to Heather. However, that wasn’t entirely true. In just a short time, it was beginning to feel like far more than just a job. He would have thought he’d be able to keep it strictly professional, but something about this woman, even dressed in plain clothing, made him wonder... No, this was just a job. Even if he did enjoy Heather’s company, he would never be able to see her without thinking of his sister. Who wanted to live life with those constant reminders?
Maryann clasped her hands. “Okay, you can come in the house with your gun.” She pressed her hands together. “But, please, I don’t want to see it. You can take one of the guest rooms. You need to protect Heather. Her mother and I were best friends.”
“I appreciate that.” Zach grabbed his hat from where he’d set it down. They all went inside the house and he personally saw to it that all the doors and windows were secured.
Long after the women retired upstairs, he stood in the dark sitting room staring out the window wondering if Fox was still stalking his way through Quail Hollow or if he lay dying deep in the woods. Or if his body had sunk to the bottom of the creek.
None of the ideas brought him peace. Nothing would bring him peace until he knew for sure that Fox could no longer hurt anyone.
* * *
One of the advantages of staying at a true Amish home was that Heather had been unable to watch TV and see what she assumed was the relentless, round-the-clock coverage of a convict on the run playing out over all the local news networks. However, her sisters had been inundated with the news and were wildly relieved when Heather reached out to them. She assured them she was safe, but couldn’t share the details. They also had strict instructions to call the police if they noticed anything suspicious.
Over the course of the few days that she and Zach were at the Hershbergers’ home, Zach had given Heather occasional news updates—editing out any parts that may have included her, per her request—but the only update she really wanted was the one that reported her ex-husband was back in custody.
Or dead.
Feeling a little stir-crazy as a light drizzle made the autumn day bleak, Heather got up from the breakfast table with plans to retreat to the solitude of the greenhouse to water the mums. Zach had excused himself a while ago to make phone calls on the front porch.
Heather cleared her dishes, then went out the back door. As she crossed the muddy driveway, she was again grateful Ruthie had found an old pair of boots for her.
She opened the glass door to the greenhouse and stepped inside. The temperature was cranked high, but it felt good on this damp, dreary day. She found she enjoyed working in the greenhouse. The Hershbergers sold plants and flowers to the public. On Sunday, a lot of non-Amish customers stopped by to purchase hay bales, mums and dried cornstalks for autumn decorations. Zach had insisted he and Heather stay inside. Out of sight. But once Monday, Tuesday and now Wednesday rolled around, the visitors dried up. Apparently the greenhouse was a weekend business patronized by tourists out for a country drive.
Zach had decided it was safe for Heather to stroll the property—not that Brian would be looking for his ex-wife dressed in traditional Amish clothing. She spent time in the greenhouse: watering the mums, deadheading the plants and general organizing. It afforded her the simple luxury of expending some of her nervous energy. Sometimes Ruthie or Emma came with her, keeping her thoughts occupied with things other than Brian Fox. She enjoyed listening to their chatter.
“There you are. I’m not going to want you to leave,” Maryann said, stepping inside the greenhouse and picking up the garden gloves from the nearby shelf. Then her eyes widened. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. I meant—”
Heather smiled. “No need to explain. Once I get the bed-and-breakfast up and running, I should make time for gardening. It’s relaxing.”
“Your mother used to say the same thing.”
Heather met Maryann’s gaze. “My mother liked to garden?” If Maryann wasn’t such a kind, genuine soul, Heather might have been embarrassed by the raw desire to learn about her mother. Like a child eager to hear every last bit about the day-to-day life of Santa Claus.
“Oh, she loved to garden. She used to bring you and your sisters here on occasion, not that she had much free time while caring for her growing family and running a household. But she was the one who suggested we start a greenhouse.”
Heather should have suspected considering her name and those of her sisters, Lily and Rose.
Maryann continued talking. “My husband had fallen ill and farming was getting tough. This was something I could do with my daughters.” Maryann adjusted the band of her glove. “My husband was sick for many years. Now it’s just me and the two youngest girls.”
The water from the hose was pooling at Heather’s feet as she listened to the story, realizing her mother had probably stood exactly where she stood. Used the same hose. Felt the heat from the glass enclosure. She tried to still the moment, capture it, but curiosity got the best of her. “What do you know about my mother’s death?”
The color drained from Maryann’s face and Heather quickly added, “My father never talked about it and there’s not a lot of information online.”
“Online?” Maryann narrowed her eyes in confusion. Some of the younger Amish may have been familiar with their worldly neighbors’ ways, but obviously Maryann had no exposure to computers or the lingo.
“I did a search on my computer. People can pull up old news articles. I learned that she was murdered and that she was found in the barn on my mammy’s farm.” A flush of dread washed over her. She hadn’t spoken out loud about her mother’s murder since the day she was fifteen and had asked her dad about it. He’d shut her down in no uncertain terms. His grief had been so palpable that she hadn’t dared ask him again. Now it was too late because he had passed away years ago.
Then a few years later, she met Brian and things spiraled out of control from there. Heather had been so fixated on protecting herself that she hadn’t had time to reflect on the past. Only after Brian’s incarceration did Heather feel that maybe she could reclaim some of her past. Figure out who she was. What she had lost all those years ago.
“The news articles were pretty vague.” Heather studied Maryann’s face, not wanting to rehash the tragic incident. “I imagine not many of the Amish wanted to talk to the newspapers or the police.”
Maryann lifted her hand and shook her head. “I have tried to put it out of my memory.” She pressed her lips together. “It was a long time ago. Maybe it’s best if you forget.”
“How can I forget something that shaped who I am? If my mem hadn’t been murdered, I would have grown up in this Amish community. My entire life would have been different. Please, tell me what you remember.”
Maryann peeled back the lid from a container of fertilizer and focused intently on scooping out the contents, then dumping the small beads into the pot of a mum, bursting with pretty purple buds.
Finally Maryann dropped the scoop back into the container and tore off her gardening gloves. She slumped back, resting a hip against the metal table. “The person who hurt your mother was an outsider. He was never caught.” She looked up. “Don’t ruin your future by searching the past. There are no answers. You must forgive him in your heart. He will be judged by God.”
Maryann had grown somber and Heather regretted bringing up her mom’s murder. If she couldn’t have answers about her death, at least she wanted to know who her mem was in life. She decided to bring up the subject of her mother’s life at another time.
A quiet knock sounded on the door. The two women turned to see Zach opening the glass door to the greenhouse. He wore black pants and a black shirt—most likely purchased from the men’s department at some major retailer, certainly not Amish, but perhaps close enough from a distance if Brian was spying on them. He took off his broad-brimmed hat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s fine.” Maryann tossed her gardening gloves aside and slipped out of the greenhouse past Zach. “I need to check on the girls. See that they’re getting their chores done.”
Heather watched Maryann leave, the fabric of her long dress swishing around her legs. She was sorry she had ruined the peaceful mood by her tactless questions about her mother’s murder. Maryann had been her mother’s dear friend.
Heather turned to Zach and noticed he was spinning the hat in his hands, a nervous gesture. Her heart plummeted. She sucked in a breath with eager anticipation. “Do you have news?”