MATT’S KNEE ACHED from his old football injury as he walked slowly to his vehicle. Ajax trotted beside him and hopped into the backseat when he opened the door. The new case was going to ruin his day off. They had nothing. The guy had been poisoned with strychnine just like the victims a decade ago, but there were no prints, no clues. Just a body in the woods.
He had no idea what to do with himself tomorrow. Maybe take Caitlin out to see his grandmother. It had been nearly a month since he’d gone by the old house. His mind would be too busy thinking about the new case to get anything productive done at home.
He called his sister at his house. “Hey, I’m just getting off work. You get Caitlin all right?”
“Of course. We’re baking chocolate chip cookies. I stopped by home and got my stuff.”
“Does Blake know you’re moving in with me for a while?”
“I told him this morning. He didn’t even try to talk me out of it.” She ended on a muffled sob.
“Did you ask him about the ring?”
“He said he’d bought it for me, then took it back after a fight.” What a lame excuse. “Do you believe him?”
“No. I’ll move in with you for a while. Hey, Matt, there’s something I noticed today. It might be nothing, but it left me uneasy.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There was a guy outside the school watching the kids. He was there on Monday, too, when I got Caitlin. You might ask Mrs. Downs if he was there when she got Caitlin on Tuesday.”
“Maybe it’s a parent.” But his gut tightened.
“I’ve never gotten a close look at him. He wore Amish clothes with his hat pulled down low, so I couldn’t see his face. Something about him seemed familiar. I think he followed us today.”
“In a car? An Amish man drove a car?” Matt quit searching for his keys in his pocket. “You’re sure? Maybe it was a Mennonite.”
“Well, he had a beard and hat like an Amish guy. I thought I saw him get into a tan truck. One followed us to my house and then on to here too.”
Matt didn’t want to believe someone could be stalking his sister, but it was a possibility. Could it be someone masquerading as Amish? “Could Blake have asked someone to watch you?”
“Why?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not the one cheating.”
“Sorry, Gina. I wish I could fix it.”
She said nothing for a long moment. “You helped, Matt. It helped to have someone to talk to. Listen, I need to get the cookies out of the oven. Don’t forget to ask Mrs. Downs about that guy.”
“I won’t.” He clicked off the phone and rang the neighbor who watched his daughter two days a week. She hadn’t noticed any man, she told him. Maybe the man’s behavior was innocent, but Matt planned to talk to Caitlin’s teacher about it. He remembered when he was growing up, how he played outside all day without Trudy knowing where he was. She didn’t care, for that matter. Thirty years ago there was no need to fear the possibility of some sicko snatching a kid.
TIME PEDALED BACK as Hannah clipped meadow tea leaves from the patch at the side of the yard. The cats prowled at her feet in the dark. She breathed in the cool spearmint fragrance. Nurturing came naturally to her, but there was so little she could do for her grieving aunt.
“Don’t go far,” she told her cats before opening the back door. They never wandered away from home. When she went inside, the kettle of water was boiling on the woodstove. She tossed the leaves into the water and turned off the flame, then covered the brewing tea. She could hear Aunt Nora weeping in the living room and the soft sounds of comfort Sarah made.
It should have been her job, but Sarah thought Aunt Nora didn’t need something else to upset her, and Hannah had agreed. Once the weeping stopped, she planned to bring in tea and reveal herself to her aunt.
Angie was getting cream from the propane refrigerator. “This milk looks funny.” She gave the pitcher a suspicious sniff.
“It’s raw, straight from the cow. The cream rises to the top. You just skim some off for the tea.”
Angie’s brows raised, but she used a coffee cup to skim some liquid, then poured it into a creamer. Hannah turned from the stove to find two sets of big eyes on her.
The oldest little girl, Naomi, was the first to speak, and the familiar German-Swiss dialect sounded strange. “Are you really our cousin?”
Hannah nodded and smiled. She answered in German, but the words rolled awkwardly across her lips. “Ja. You are not in school yet?” Amish children spoke German until they went to school, where they learned English for the first time.
“Next year,” Naomi said. “I’m six. Sharon is five.”
Angie had that frozen smile on her face that people wear when they don’t understand anything. Hannah held up a finger to signal she’d switch back to English in a minute.
Naomi crept closer and put her hand in Hannah’s. “Your hair is pretty. Mamm says beauty doesn’t matter, but I wish mine looked like yours.”
Hannah squeezed her cousin’s hand but didn’t answer. She wished for a prayer bonnet to cover her bright hair. Her rich auburn locks had singled her out for attention from the Englisch when she was growing up, and she didn’t want to experience that again.
The sobs were tapering off in the gathering room. Hannah transferred the tea to a teapot, then arranged it on a tray with cups, sugar, cream, and spoons. Just as she lifted the tray, she realized none of them would receive it from her. She’d forgotten in the grief of the moment.
“Can you take this in?” she asked Angie. “I’ll stay here with the children.”
“Why can I go but not you?”
“They aren’t allowed to accept a favor from someone under the ban. I’d forgotten.” Her eyes stung. She so badly wanted to help. Angie lifted the tray from her hands and disappeared through the door with it.
There was still some tea in the pot. “Want some tea?” she asked the girls. They both nodded, so she spooned sugar into cups and added the pale yellow liquid of meadow tea. She sipped her own, and the spearmint flavor brought all the familiarity of home to her: the horses neighing outside, the homey welcome of the farmhouse kitchen, the fresh herbs growing on the windowsill. She’d missed it all, and only now did she realize just how much.
The sound of a buggy crunching along the gravel outside caught her attention. She rose from the table and peered out the window. The sun caught the strong face under the wide brim of the black hat.
Bishop Samuel Kirchhofer.
THE OLD QUILT was getting threadbare. Matt tucked it around his daughter and kissed her sleeping cheek. He left the door partway open and went down the hall to join his sister in the living room. Ajax stayed behind to keep watch. He passed the computer room. The steady blue glow lit the dark office and beckoned to him.
He sat in front of the monitor and clicked the Firefox icon, then typed in the URL of a forum where people searching for missing persons gathered. The ad he’d put on the bulletin board hadn’t brought a response in the year it had been up, but every time he sat down here, he hoped and prayed for a lead, anything.
A figure blocked the light from the hall fixture behind him. Gina pulled up a chair. “Aren’t you ever going to give up?”
“No.” He studied the screen displaying the old photo he’d uploaded. She was probably twenty-six in the picture. His eight-year-old self gazed up at her with naked love. Two weeks later she’d left him and Gina and never looked back. So why then did he think she’d come running just because he was looking?
His sister sighed. “You can’t find someone who doesn’t want to be found.” She clicked through a few of the links and read the posts. “Look at all these, Matt. Hundreds. And one in a thousand finds a clue. Why bother?”
“I’d just like some closure. That’s my job.” He attempted a laugh, but it came out flat. “I’d like to ask her why she left us. Why she never called or wrote. I’ve got a daughter myself now, and I’d never do that to Caitlin.”
Gina leaned ba
ck in the chair and shoved away from the computer. “Everyone isn’t like you. Some mothers get tired of kids nagging them all day long. It happens every day. I pray to God every day that I never turn out like her.”
Matt turned his head and looked at her but didn’t say anything. It puzzled him that she didn’t seem to care. Weren’t girls supposed to be close to their mothers?
She pushed her hair out of her face. “Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of heartless witch. She left us, Matt, remember? Pretending not to care is the only way I can get through knowing we meant so little to her.”
“Do you remember her?” He could still smell her perfume sometimes in the night. Hear her voice. It wasn’t natural that he couldn’t get over the abandonment. He wanted to forget, but the memories dogged him.
“Not much. Aunt Irene was a good mom to me, in spite of her mental state at times. She loved me and made sure I didn’t lack anything. You’d be happier if she’d kept you too.” Her gaze gentled. “I know it must have been hard staying with Trudy.”
His aunt hadn’t wanted a rowdy boy. Neither had Trudy, for that matter. And neither had his mother.
NINE
“The Irish Chain Quilt is a popular pattern in which the colorful blocks are all connected. In the same way, the Amish community is a long chain of fellowship and love.”
HANNAH SCHWARTZ,
IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts
The murmur of voices in the other room settled, and Hannah heard the soft clink of spoon against cup. Maybe the bishop would go to the front door and not enter through the kitchen. He didn’t have to know she was here. While she’d always liked the man, she knew he would gently urge her to reconcile with God and come back to her Amish faith.
She saw the wide brim of his hat pass the kitchen window and head to the front door. Her hands shook as she took a sip of her sweet tea. The confrontation would come sooner or later, but she’d put it off as long as possible. She set her tea on the table as Angie came back from listening at the doorway.
“They’re calmer now,” she said. “Some guy showed up.”
“The bishop,” Hannah murmured. Her hands itched to work on her quilt. The activity always soothed her.
“He’s the head of the church?”
“This division, yes. Does my aunt know I’m here?”
Angie shook her head. “Sarah didn’t say a peep about it. I think she’s waiting for a better time to mention it.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
Angie glanced at the children. “Is the tea good?” They looked up at her with blank faces and went back to sipping their tea.
“They only know German until they go to school,” Hannah said. The cell phone inside Hannah’s purse rang. She grabbed it before it could disturb anyone in the other room. The number flashed across the front, but she didn’t recognize it. “Hello,” she said.
Reece’s gravelly voice sounded in her ear. “Hang on,” he said. “You can hear our little girl’s voice.”
Seconds later, a child’s voice called out, “You can’t catch me!” Hannah’s heart leaped at the childish voice. She gasped and pressed the phone tighter to her ear. The child laughed and chattered to someone, and the voice imprinted itself on her soul. Was this her child? Or a horrible joke?
Reece’s voice came back on the line. “Doesn’t she sound sweet, Hannah? She misses you. I miss you. We can be a real family, hon. It’s all up to you.”
She struggled to speak past the invisible band around her throat. “Leave me alone, Reece. You killed our baby.”
“She’s not dead, Hannah. You just heard her voice. Come home and you’ll see. I’ll give her back to you. We can put the past behind us, start fresh. Your running off nearly killed me. I need you. Your daughter needs you. I even converted to the Amish faith too. We can be everything you always wanted.”
“You’re lying.” She shuddered with the desire to get in the car and drive to where he was. To see if he really had the child. But it wasn’t possible. Her daughter was dead. She still didn’t know who the child was, but she knew Reece. He would never willingly care for a child. “Were you baptized?”
“Not yet, but soon. I’ll send you a picture. I joined a community in Shipshewana.”
“You don’t even know German!”
“It’s all in who you know. Some teenagers were harassing the bishop’s son, and I stopped to help. He’s been tutoring me in German and helping me learn all the rules. This can work, Hannah. I’ll even switch to your old district. Just come home.”
Reece the protector. He was always rushing in to help and then expected eternal gratitude. She hardened her heart to resist the plea in his voice. He had to be lying. He’d sworn he’d never become Amish. “How’d you get this number?” she asked.
“I still have friends,” he said.
And he did. His background in law enforcement was one reason she’d resisted getting a phone for so long. Then when the book hit big, she’d had no choice, but she had an unlisted number. That hadn’t slowed him down long. Saying nothing at all, she quietly closed her cell phone, then pressed the button to shut it off.
Aware that Angie and the children were staring at her, she managed a smile. “Anyone want a cookie?” Her aunt always kept cookies in the jar on top of the refrigerator. She didn’t wait for an answer, since the girls wouldn’t have understood, but reached up and pulled down the jar. The girls each accepted a cookie, and Hannah turned to pour them some milk. Once she set the glasses on the table, she moved to the sink to stare out the window.
Angie’s vanilla scent told her that her friend had moved closer. “Was that Reece?” she asked.
“Yes. He says he has our daughter. That he’s raising her Amish in a district in Shipshewana.”
“But she wasn’t dressed Amish.”
“I know.” Hannah glanced into Angie’s worried face. “He’d taped a little girl laughing and talking. He said it was our daughter. I think he’s toying with me, but I can’t get it out of my head, Angie. What if he’s not lying? What if this little girl really is my baby? Maybe he converted after the picture.” Hannah couldn’t let it go. Everything in her longed to hold that little girl, to smell her hair, to hug her close and kiss that soft, round cheek. Maybe she was losing her mind. Life with Reece might have driven her over the edge.
Angie sighed. “Find her, then. I bet she’s here somewhere. Reece doesn’t have her. He probably saw this girl and realized she looked a lot like you. He’s playing games, trying to get you back. He couldn’t have had her all this time. You said he wanted nothing to do with fatherhood.”
“I know. He told me to come home if I wanted to see her.” Hannah inhaled as a thought struck her. “You don’t think he’s already taken her from her home, do you? What if he kidnapped her? I can’t let her fall into his hands!”
Angie grabbed her forearm. “Think, Hannah. He’s not going to risk jail. He’s just trying to lure you home.”
Hannah’s panic calmed as she recalled that the girl’s voice had mingled with other children’s. “You’re right—I know you’re right.” Shuddering, she leaned against the counter. “I thought this was all behind me.”
“It will be if you let it.”
Hannah glanced at her then. “Could you just walk away, Angie? Look that little girl in the face and walk away without knowing?”
Her friend hesitated, then sighed. “Probably not. But there’s no way I’d go back to the guy who beat me.”
“I’m not going to.” But would she? If Reece had her daughter, she would have no choice but to go back long enough to grab the little girl and flee. “Maybe I’ll go talk to the sheriff. He might know something about the child.”
A woman’s voice Hannah recognized as her aunt’s raised in a sharp protest, though she couldn’t make out any words. Angie exchanged a long glance with her. “I wonder if Sarah told her I’m here,” Hannah said.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor,
then her aunt burst through the doorway, followed by Sarah. Tears marked Aunt Nora’s eyes with puffiness, and she swiped a hand at her wet cheeks but only succeeded in smearing dirt on them. Her bonnet was askew, but her dark blue dress and white apron were neat and pressed. She had to be fifty now, but she looked older.
Hannah took a step toward her, arms open. Aunt Nora rushed into them. She hugged Hannah with a desperate grip, and a keening cry burst from her lips.
“I know,” Hannah whispered, rocking the older woman a little. “I know.” Tears rolled down her cheeks too.
How well she remembered the grief, anguish, and disbelief. The emotions had never left her. The horror of that night colored everything she’d done since. Every time she thought of the monster who’d destroyed her baby, her anger and hatred grew. If she was right and it was Reece who had killed her parents too, she’d spit in his face, rake at his eyes with her nails. No punishment would be great enough for all he’d done.
Every time she thought of her hate, the insistent voice of conviction came. Forgive. A voice she’d gotten good at ignoring. She knew her hate hollowed out her insides and drove nails into her compassion. She should pull it out by its roots, but the thought of justice was the only thing that kept the tears at bay. If she suffered for it in the end, then so be it.
If that man was Reece, he’d killed her parents to get to her. And his plan had worked. Was it her bitterness that made her want to believe he was guilty? Or could she be on the heels of truth? What if he’d struck again, killing Moe this time? A tremor ran through her, and she tightened her hold on Aunt Nora until the older woman managed to choke back her sobs.
Her aunt pulled away and dabbed at her face. “Thank you for coming, Hannah. I know it wasn’t easy for you.” She straightened her shoulders. “I know my Moe is in God’s hands. I must accept God’s will. I shouldn’t have meddled.” Fresh moisture flooded her eyes.
“Meddled?”
“I was warned to stay quiet, stay out of it. But I saw the child.” She bit her lip. “I knew then the sins of the past would come out.”