by Mary Alford
She opened the door to her room next to Mamm’s and went over to the trunk at the foot of her bed. The dark blue dress lay on the bottom. It had been a hand-me-down from Miriam two years her senior and Willa’s favorite dress as a kinna.
Gently lifting the dress from the trunk, Willa returned to the kitchen where little Samantha had managed to remove most of the blood from her face in between loving on Golden Boy. The clothing would be a different story. It would take a lot of scrubbing to remove those stains. It was probably best for Samantha if they weren’t around to serve as a reminder of what happened. Willa would burn them in the stove and hopefully, one day in the future, Samantha would be able to free herself of the memories.
The little girl straightened as she entered the room. Willa held up the dress for her to see. “What do you think?”
Samantha’s eyes brightened and she touched the fabric. “It’s pretty.”
“Denki. Let me help you change.” Kneeling beside the child, Willa finished cleaning the little girl before she helped Samantha out of the soiled clothing and into the dress. “It’s a gut fit.” She sat back on her heels and admired the dress on the child. If she didn’t know differently, Samantha could pass for an Amish kinna.
The child’s attention remained on Willa, her brow wrinkled in a frown. “You talk funny.”
Willa suppressed a smile and rose, straightening her dress and apron. “That’s because I’m Amish. We talk and dress differently than what you are accustomed to. Now, you are dressed as an Amish girl who needs some hot chocolate.”
She winked at the child and Samantha giggled. The innocent sound was a reminder this lovely little girl deserved to have more moments where she could laugh and be a child again. Not living in fear and running for her life.
Gott, please help this sweet kinna. Protect her from men who wish to harm her.
Willa retrieved her favorite saucepan from the cabinet near the stove. Gathering the ingredients required for the hot chocolate, she sat them on the counter. The recipe had been passed down from Grossmammi to Willa’s mother. And now to Willa. It had always been a favorite of both hers and Miriam’s.
Not a day went by when Willa didn’t miss her big schweschder. Growing up, she and Miriam had shared everything with each other. Willa had known about Miriam’s feelings for Eli long before she’d told their parents. When Miriam married and moved away to Libby, Willa missed her deeply. They did their best to keep in touch through letters and the occasional visit. And then Miriam died.
Willa tucked the gut and bad memories of her sister away. They were not for this day.
Samantha watched her pour the milk she’d gotten the morning before into the pan along with cocoa and sugar. After she lit the stove, she placed the pan on one of the burners.
The child plopped down on the floor beside Golden Boy, and the dog laid his head on Samantha’s lap. “Aw,” she exclaimed.
Willa shook her head. Golden Boy had that effect on everyone. He was a fierce protector of both Willa and her mamm, but a softy at heart who loved attention. When Willa still taught at the community skool—back before her mother’s condition worsened—Golden Boy would follow her to class from time to time, and all her students adored the animal.
She stirred the chocolate while her thoughts returned to the man in the living room. Even though she’d seen him face-to-face, Willa couldn’t believe Mason Shetler was standing in her living room. Even more so under these circumstances.
Thirteen years had passed since he’d left the community. With each one, Willa believed the chances of Mason returning to West Kootenai grew smaller. She’d thought about him a lot through the years. Remembered the gut times they’d shared growing up. She’d often wondered about his life in the Englischer world. Was he happy? Had he found someone to share his future?
She shook her head. Best not to dwell too long on things that were not her concern.
While the liquid grew warm, Samantha rose and sat at the table, smoothing her tiny hands over the blue material of the garment worn by three different children.
“I like this dress very much,” Samantha said when she noticed Willa watching her.
More than anything, Willa wanted to take Samantha in her arms and hug her close because she had a feeling the child needed lots of hugs. “I’m glad you like it. It’s my gift to you.” Willa told Samantha about it once belonging to her sister.
The child’s face lit up after the story. “Oh, thank you. Mr. Mason and Mr. Erik bought me what I wore...before.” She sniffed several times.
“Well, you look very pretty in your new dress.” Willa tried to take the child’s mind off what happened. She poured the heated liquid into a cup and sat it on the table in front of Samantha, then she pulled out the chair beside her.
Golden Boy rose and made several circles around the floor before settling at Samantha’s feet with a groan. The little girl blew on the hot chocolate before tentatively taking a sip. “It’s very good. My mom used to make me hot chocolate...” She stopped, took another sip, then asked, “What does denki mean?”
Willa smiled at the young girl curious about the world she’d been thrust into. “Your way of saying denki would be ‘thank you.’ We speak a language known as Pennsylvania Dutch.”
Samantha’s gaze slipped over Willa’s prayer kapp, and she pointed to it. “Do you always wear that?”
The child’s innocent questions were ones she had heard many times before. For a while, before Willa became a teacher, she’d worked as a nanny for an Englisch couple.
“Most times. It’s called a prayer kapp.” Samantha accepted her answer and went back to sipping her drink.
A groan sounded from the living room. Mason’s wounded partner must have woken.
Two men were shot, and a frightened little girl sat at her kitchen table. What dangerous events had taken place near her peaceful community to bring back a man who’d professed he would never return to the Plain life again? And what deadly effects would his return have on her simple world?
TWO
Mason finished dressing his partner’s wound, but the amount of damage left behind by the bullet alarmed him. Erik needed more help than he could give him.
“How bad is it?” The drawn expression on Erik’s face told Mason the pain had become unbearable.
He knelt beside Erik’s chair. Time for the truth. He wouldn’t sugarcoat the situation. “It’s bad. You need a doctor’s attention.”
Getting away from Bartelli’s people had been nearly impossible with Erik hurt and Samantha scared. Somehow, Mason managed to lead them through the wilderness and to the mines without being spotted thanks to his recollection of the adventures he and his brothers had there.
They’d hid out inside a shaft. Bartelli’s people came within a few feet of discovering their hiding spot at one point, and Mason overheard one of the men talking about calling for more backup to assist with the search. They wouldn’t give up until they silenced Samantha.
As soon as the men cleared the mine, Mason had somehow gotten Erik and Samantha to Willa’s—the closest home in the community—but with the rain falling, their muddy footprints would eventually lead Bartelli’s men here.
Protecting the occupants of the house fell to him and both he and Erik were almost out of ammo. He had no way of contacting anyone with his phone still in the car and Erik’s lost in the attack.
“What do you suggest we do?” The thready sound of Erik’s voice scared the daylights out of Mason. Erik was one of the strongest men he knew, but he was fading.
In Amish country there would be no phones in the homes of the residents. He’d have to make it to the phone shanty near the community shops to call for help. The only problem was he didn’t know who he could trust enough to call.
Contacting Owen again wasn’t an option. Mason couldn’t be sure his commander’s phone hadn’t been compromised by some
one working for Bartelli.
“There’s a phone near the shops in the community,” Mason told Erik. “I’ll call the sheriff. I don’t think we can take the chance of reaching out to our people.”
Erik held his gaze. “Agreed. Does anyone at the marshals service know about your Amish past?”
The implication settled around him uneasily. If someone learned about his past, they’d realize Mason might be hiding out here.
When they’d first become partners, he and Erik had shared their lives with each other. Only one other person knew the truth about Mason’s past. “Owen, but I trust him.” No matter what, he couldn’t believe his commander would betray them.
Erik cringed and grabbed for his injured side. “I do, too, but I think we both agree that someone isn’t trustworthy.” He slowly leaned his head back against the rocker and closed his eyes. “I’m just going to rest for a second.”
Mason rose and patted his partner’s arm. “Let me see if Willa has something for the pain. I’ll be right back.” He thought about the innocent child in the kitchen, probably sipping her drink and playing with Willa’s old dog while the world around her fell apart.
While Mason knew the basics of treating gunshot wounds, Erik’s went beyond his expertise. He didn’t want to think about losing his partner. He and Erik were more than work colleagues. They’d become good friends through the three and a half years they’d worked together. Erik had a wife and two kids under ten counting on Mason to keep their father alive.
He glanced down at the wounded man and realized Erik was unconscious. He felt for a pulse and found it steady. At this point, rest probably would do the most good. Hopefully, it would help him regain some of his strength.
Mason pinched the bridge of his nose and fought a losing battle with his anger. Don’t You dare take him. It wasn’t a prayer as much as an angry demand. Mason wasn’t sure if he still believed in a merciful God. Where was God when he’d lost his good friend Chandler to a tragic drowning accident. When he hadn’t been able to pull his friend from those icy waters. Where had the Almighty been when his argument with his brother Eli ripped so many lives apart?
Forcing the anger down proved harder than he thought. Mason studied his hands covered in blood and did his best to clean them up before slipping his jacket over the injured shoulder. Blood stained his shirt. Since the injury happened to his dominant hand, he’d be at a disadvantage in cleaning the wound himself. With everything they’d gone through—the loss of blood, the grueling hike up and down the mountain—his body had begun to slow down. A luxury he couldn’t afford. Erik needed help, and Samantha had to escape this danger and make her court date. Otherwise, Bartelli would walk. If that happened, Samantha would spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.
He exhaled and stepped into the kitchen where Samantha had changed out of her soiled clothes, thanks to Willa. She wore a dark blue Amish dress that accentuated the child’s innocence. The sight of her in the dress color of the West Kootenai community took him back in time.
Willa turned as he entered, and the past he’d left behind at seventeen hit him like a ton of bricks. She had been as much a part of the life he loved here as his bruders, mamm and daed and the land.
Back then, Willa had been a young girl of fifteen and a natural-born caregiver, always watching over him, her sister, his brothers...and every stray animal to venture her way. He still remembered the day her dad brought home Golden Boy. He’d found the puppy deserted near the road. Willa had taken to the dog, and Josiah loved his daughter so much he’d let her keep the animal inside the house.
That young girl he’d known in the past had grown into a beautiful woman. Her strawberry-blond hair peeked out from underneath her prayer covering. Though her petite figure made her appear fragile, he knew differently. His mother wrote letters telling him about her courage in caring for her ailing mother while running the farm by herself.
Pretty color stained Willa’s cheeks under his scrutiny. Mason shifted his attention to the little girl. Samantha would always own a piece of his heart, no matter where life took her. Like Willa, she seemed small and delicate. But she had been through some things that would break most adults.
“Mason, what’s going on?” Willa asked as she came to stand in front of him. “Who shot you and your partner?”
As much as he’d hated bringing this avalanche of trouble to her door, he had, and he owed her an explanation.
“Finish your drink, Samantha,” he told the child, who watched their exchange with solemn eyes.
Mason motioned Willa into the living room before answering. “I will tell you everything, but can you give me a hand with this first?” He indicated his wounded shoulder.
Her attention shifted to the bloodied shirt and her caregiving spirit went into action. She stepped closer to examine the wound while her gentle breathing fanned against his face.
Willa eased his shirt away from the wound. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Back when he’d begun his rumspringa, he’d only had eyes for her older sister, Miriam. He’d imagined himself in love and was convinced his brother Eli had deliberately taken Miriam from him.
He sighed. He’d been so foolish back then. If he could turn back time, how different things would be.
“Did the bullet go straight through?” Willa’s green eyes latched on to his. She didn’t shy away from the mess the bullet had made. It told him she’d gotten used to dealing with bad things, and that filled him with regret. He didn’t want that for her, yet he knew the hardships she and her mother, Beth, faced.
He cleared his throat. “Yes. I just need you to clean it and stop the bleeding.” When he swayed on his feet, Willa grabbed his uninjured arm and led him to the second rocker beside his sleeping partner. The materials he’d used to clean Erik’s wound were still there.
“I will need some fresh water and another towel.”
She left him. Mason closed his eyes and willed his racing thoughts to slow enough to think clearly. Like it or not, he was the only one capable of getting them out of this situation. He and Erik—and anyone else standing in Bartelli’s way—would be collateral damage. Bartelli wanted Samantha dead. He’d take down Beth and Willa in the process and wouldn’t think anything of it.
Doubts swam through his head. He hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility of a leak in the marshals service before, but the truth stared him square in the face. How else could Bartelli’s people keep finding them so quickly? The idea of someone from the same organization sworn to protect Samantha working for Bartelli chilled him to the bone.
Willa returned and placed the bowl in his lap. He winced as she cleaned the wound.
“I’m sorry. I know it hurts.” She held his gaze. “I’m trying to be as gentle as possible.”
“You’re doing fine.” Mason broke eye contact and studied the warm fire while he did his best to rebury the past. Being back here in Willa’s living room once more was a shock that was hard to recover from.
“I’m sorry for coming to your house like this. I wish there’d been another option.” Mason dragged in air and told her everything, including the nightmare Samantha had lived through. Watching her parents die would leave the child permanently scarred, he feared. Samantha had no family left, no one to take care of her. She’d become a ward of the state and the youngest witness Mason and Erik had ever protected. He’d do anything for her, including laying down his life to save hers.
“They want her dead, Willa. Dead. She’s just a child.” Disgust rose in his throat. It was present every time he thought about their tiniest witness. “Lucian Bartelli is a very dangerous man who has equally dangerous people working for him,” he whispered for her ears only. “There are dozens of deaths associated with his name, and yet not a single one could be proven because Bartelli makes witnesses disappear.”
He told her about their car being hit and forced from the road and a
bout how he and Erik were shot. “Both of our phones are gone and I’m afraid we won’t have much time before this place is crawling with Bartelli’s men.” A fear he hated to see entered her eyes. “If I can borrow your buggy long enough to go to the phone shanty near the community shops, I believe the sheriff over in Eagle’s Nest can help get us out of here. I can save my partner and keep Samantha safe.”
Her face softened in a familiar look of sympathy. “Of course you can. But you should use the enclosed buggy. It will allow you to stay out of sight mostly.”
“Thank you.” He clasped her hands. “I promise we won’t stay long.”
Before she had the chance to answer, a noise at the front of the house grabbed their attention. Willa whirled toward it. The porch groaned under the weight of someone’s footsteps.
Too late, tore through his head.
Mason held his finger to his lips and hurried to the kitchen with Willa. He grabbed Samantha. The dog had risen and sniffed the air around him. Someone pounded on the door. Without a doubt, Bartelli’s men had tracked their footprints to Willa’s home. If forced into a shootout with Erik severely injured and Mason’s hurt shoulder, he wasn’t sure he could protect the lives at stake in this simple Amish home.
* * *
“Open up!” a voice Willa didn’t recognize yelled through the locked door. The anger in the man’s tone made her jump. If she opened the door now, there would be no hiding the truth.
Golden Boy barked aggressively and charged for the door. Willa grabbed the animal’s collar and tried her best to quiet him as the man continued to demand entrance to the house. If she didn’t open the door soon, they’d break it down. After the things Mason had told her about the man they worked for, she knew they’d kill Samantha and everyone else in the house who posed a threat.
“The root cellar,” Willa whispered low enough for only Mason to hear. “The door is hidden beneath the kitchen rug. If you didn’t know it was there, you wouldn’t expect there to be another room below the kitchen.”
