Anathema

by Colleen Coble

  “Talking to the coroner. My cell doesn’t work in the basement.”

  “Your grandma called. She said she saw something the night Moe Honegger died.”

  “I’ll meet you in front of headquarters.” Trudy probably was one of his missed calls. He put Ajax into the backseat, then drove to the sheriff ’s office, where he slowed down long enough to allow Blake to jump into the passenger seat.

  “She say what she saw?” Matt asked Blake.

  Blake shrugged. “Someone cut through her corn patch, knocked down some stalks.”

  “Might be kids.”

  “Maybe. She seemed adamant she had to talk to you.”

  She was always adamant. Matt drove west out of Rockville. When he passed the road toward Nora’s house and the other Amish farmlands, he wondered if Hannah had stayed in the community or gone home. And why had she come? She’d never explained.

  Blake ran his window down. “How’s Gina?”

  “Fine. You two need to work it out.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Matt’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Is it true, Blake?”

  His partner didn’t look at him. “Is what true?”

  “You having an affair?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Matt closed his mouth. He wanted to ask where Blake had gotten the money for the ring, but he feared to hear the answer. If Gina’s suspicion wasn’t true, wouldn’t Blake deny the charge?

  He turned down his grandmother’s road. Trudy’s house was the only one on this narrow way. She came to the door before Blake ’s raised fist could fall on the door.

  “Don’t just stand there—come in,” she said, standing aside so they could enter. “Not the dog.” She pointed her finger at Ajax. “Stay.”

  Ajax’s tail drooped, but he settled down with his head on his paws and a mournful look in his eyes. “I’ll be right back, boy.” Matt pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything. This was an old disagreement, and one he wasn’t going to win. Trudy’s ways were set by seventy-two years of foot-steps encased in concrete.

  She wore her gray hair loose on her shoulders. Even at seventy-two, her skin held a pink bloom. Tiny wrinkles crouched at her eyes and around her mouth, but she didn’t look her age. The flowing red caftan gave her frame an elegance that matched the proud tilt to her head.

  Matt followed her past stacks of old newspapers and magazines. He’d tried to clear out the clutter for years before finally giving up. Trudy was who she was. There was no changing her. She settled in a worn chenille rocker. He and Blake took the matching sofa. The crocheted doilies on the arms and the back of the sofa were starched and spotless.

  “You’ve been neglecting me, Matthew,” she said, fixing her blue gaze on him. “It’s been three weeks and four days since you were here last.”

  Sheesh, did she keep a calendar? “I’ve been working a lot of overtime. You know how it is when there ’s been a murder. It will calm down soon.” The guilt was a familiar companion. His job demanded so much of him. There were only so many hours in the day.

  He took out his pen and notebook. “So you said someone trampled your garden?”

  “More than trampled. Destroyed it.” She began to rock. “And there’s white powder on the ground.”

  He and Blake exchanged alarmed glances. “Don’t smell it. Moe died from inhaling strychnine. Hang on.” He called headquarters, and his boss promised to send out a car. “We ’ll get it checked and cleaned up,” he told his grandmother. “In the meantime, stay away from it.”

  The coils of the chair seat screeched with Trudy’s every movement. He could still hear that sound in his dreams. He would never forget the nights she locked him in his room and sat outside his door, rocking and rocking.

  He took out his notepad and began to write. “Footprints?”

  “Plenty of them. All one man, I think. You can check them for yourself. They lead across the field toward Nora Honegger’s house.”

  “Did you see anyone?” Blake put in.

  “If I’d recognized someone, don’t you think I would have said that right off? But I saw his truck parked down the way under the old sycamore tree by the river. Just before the covered bridge.”

  “Make and model?” Matt asked.

  “Tan. That’s all I know.”

  Gina had said the man who followed her and Caitlin home drove a tan truck. “Anything else?”

  She stopped rocking a minute. “I heard him whistling.” She pursed her lips again and blew out a tune. “Like that.”

  Matt recognized the tune. “‘Bad Moon Rising.’”

  “If you say so.”

  Blake wouldn’t know it, but Reece was a big Creedence Clearwater Revival fan. “Thanks for your help, Trudy. I’ll go take a look at the foot-prints and the powder.” He stood and started after Blake, who was already heading to the door.

  Trudy caught his hand. “You found her yet?”

  “No.”

  “And you won’t,” his grandmother said. “A woman like that can just disappear. She was never worthy of David. It was good riddance when she disappeared.”

  “Not for me.” Wrong thing to say, and he knew it.

  “She could wrap men around her finger like yarn. You’re just as stupid as your father.” She waved her hand. “Go ahead, get out of here. You’re dying to escape.”

  Matt’s guilt wouldn’t let him just walk away. He brushed a kiss across her hair and inhaled her Suave hair spray. The scent reminded him of a time when he was lost and afraid. He wasn’t that little boy anymore.

  ten

  “You see windmills at many Amish homes. They’re used

  to bring water up. The Windmill Quilt is a quaint

  reminder that God provides all we need.”

  —HANNAH SCHWARTZ,

  IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts

  The bird wall clock in the kitchen chirped the time. Nearly midnight Friday. No wonder the quilting stitches appeared blurred to Hannah’s tired eyes. The cats curled up at her feet added to her sleepiness. She had wandered through Nora’s house, looking at the quilts. Some were so worn and threadbare they made her wince. Quilts should be treated with care. One had been tossed carelessly over a chest, and she folded it up and laid it in a chair. The ones she recognized as her mother’s handiwork, she’d caressed. The memories were almost more than she could bear.

  She’d wanted to talk to her aunt about her strange comments, but her aunt was tight-lipped and tearful with the funeral looming tomorrow. Hannah, too, found it hard to concentrate since Moe’s body reposed in the traditional white clothing in the closed dining room. The coroner had released his body yesterday for burial, and they’d been busy with preparations and visitors.

  She heard a creak on the steps and glanced up. With a long gray braid over one shoulder and dressed in a pink nightgown, her aunt swayed at the foot of the steps. She came toward Hannah with a book in her hand.

  “I’m sorry I was so bad tempered tonight,” she said. “I was so shocked when the detective took away the flowers. They’d been delivered to me while I was visiting my friends down the road. Moe must have smelled them when he put them in water. It should have been me who died.” She shook her head. “But God’s will be done.”

  “Can I get you anything? Warm milk, tea?” She offered even though she knew she shouldn’t.

  Nora settled onto the sofa beside her. “I’m fine, or at least, as fine as I can be.” She fingered the quilt block. “Really lovely stitching, Hannah.”

  “Not as good as my mother’s.”

  Nora smiled. “Ah, your mother. I couldn’t have loved her more if she’d been my own sister. I still miss her.” She examined the stitches more closely. “You’re every bit as good, my dear. You must love it like Patricia did.”

  “I do. It’s my way of holding on to my mother,” Hannah whispered. She’d never admitted to anyone what fueled her obsession.

  “Your mother always said
it was her way of making sense of the chaos in the world.” Nora pointed to the basket on the floor. “Looking at the jumble of fabric and thread, there seems to be no pattern, no order there. But little by little, quilting brings order.”

  “You’re right. Maybe that’s why it calms me.” Hannah wanted to bring up all her questions but worried over her aunt’s fragility.

  “What pattern are you working on?”

  “It’s a Triangle.” She showed her aunt the brightly pieced square. “I use black fabric for the background and border, just like Mamm always did.

  “This one is supposed to be photographed for the cover of a pattern quilt book I’m writing. It will illustrate the three things important to our way of life.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Her aunt’s hand stroked the fabric. “I’m very proud of you.”

  Pain encased Hannah’s heart. No one had said those words to her since her parents died. Reece had been quick to point out her failings, and praise from the museum was scanty until her book came out and she ’d been catapulted into fame. She didn’t feel worthy of any praise. She ’d turned her back on her heritage and fallen into a relationship straight from a suspense movie. Now here she was with a failed marriage. Hardly a person to be proud of. But that was her aunt Nora. She saw the best in everyone.

  Maybe that was why the success of her book frightened her.

  Hannah put down her quilt block and reached for her bag. She pulled out the picture of the child. “This picture you sent me. Look at the quilt she’s sitting on.”

  Nora carried it closer to the sputtering gaslight. “It’s hard to see. What is it I’m looking for?”

  “I recognize the quilt. It’s the one Mamm was working on the week she died.”

  “Oh, Hannah, my dear, are you sure? The Sunshine and Shadow Quilt isn’t uncommon.” Her aunt’s eyes held strain when she passed the picture back.

  “I’m positive. I helped her choose the colors.” It was the last quilt her mother had finished, and Hannah’s favorite. “Mamm called this her ‘almost Amish’ quilt.”

  Her aunt took another look at the picture. “Because of the yellow in it.”

  “She loved to push past a bit of tradition.” The design radiated green, turquoise, yellow, and red against a navy background. “She let me decide which colors to set against one another. And she let me buy some yellow fabric for it even though that’s not a normal color for us.” Even Hannah could recognize the stubborn tone of her voice. And honestly, was she sure that the quilt was Mamm’s? She thought she was. But was it wishful thinking? Only finding the child and the quilt would answer those questions.

  Nora handed back the picture. “Did you tell Matt?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a cop. He won’t be interested in helping me find my—the little girl.”

  Nora patted her hand and settled onto the sofa beside Hannah. “You’re not sure this is the same one, are you, dear?”

  Hannah picked up her quilt block again. “I want to see it to make sure,” she said. “Aunt Nora, Reece called me this morning, right after I got here. He said he has our daughter and that he ’s raising her Amish. He said he ’s converted. I think he ’s lying. Oh, I’m so confused. Are you up to talking?”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing.” Her aunt laid her book beside her on the sofa. “I know you’ve been dying to ask me about what I know about the little girl and Moe ’s death. There are things you need to know, Hannah. A powerful enemy isn’t through with this family yet. When the letter came, I went to see—” Before her aunt could finish, the window glass beside the sofa shattered. Shards of glass spilled out onto the wooden floor. The cats yowled and ran for the kitchen. Hannah and her aunt jumped up and turned to look as a glass bottle shattered and burst into flame. The fire spread quickly from the accelerant.

  “The extinguisher!” Her aunt ran to grab a fire extinguisher in the kitchen, then returned to smother the fire.

  Hannah called 9-1-1 from her cell phone as she roused Asia from sleep.

  HOURS LATER, THE fire department and the sheriff ’s department left, and the women wearily cleaned up the soggy mess. The burn marks on the floor couldn’t be hidden, but they mopped up the water and scrubbed away the soot in preparation for the funeral only hours away. None of them had heard or seen anything to indicate who had tried to torch the house. But Hannah feared she knew—Reece. He was sending her a warning that he ’d found her. And that anyone who stood between the two of them would suffer the consequences.

  SMOKE STILL LINGERED in the air from the ordeal the night before. Hannah slept restlessly in the old bed, the single window in the room looking out over the Indiana hills. She was back in her hometown, yet she wasn’t part of her family, her people. Did she even want to be? Her life here was a lifetime ago. She coiled her thick braid at the nape of her neck. She ’d forgotten how hard it was to see in the small mirror that only showed part of her head. Her gaze stared back, and she wondered who that woman was. She didn’t know anymore.

  Asia spoke from behind her. “Do I look okay? I have no idea since this place only has that teeny mirror. What’s up with that?”

  Hannah turned. Her friend’s black skirt touched the top of stylish boots. The lacy black top plunged farther than Hannah ever wanted to wear again, but it looked good on Asia. “You look lovely. We don’t hold with vanity. A full-length mirror would encourage us to put too much emphasis on our appearance.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t even tell if my slip is showing.” Asia twirled on heels high enough to give her a nosebleed.

  “Not a sliver of it.” Hannah gave her hair a last pat.

  “You sure you want to wear that old shapeless thing?” Asia pulled on the loose waist of Hannah’s dress. “It’s like a gunnysack.”

  Her aunt had hung one of Hannah’s old dresses in the bedroom closet, and she ’d put it on. She looked down at the plain blue dress. “You’re right. I think I’ll change. The bishop might think I intend to confess at the next meeting.” Besides, it seemed she was a girl again, and the clothing brought back the horror of the night she ’d found the bodies of her family.

  She stepped past two twin beds with no headboards. They were neatly made up with white sheets and blankets. She opened the closet, her hand hovering over a plain black dress with three-quarter-length sleeves. So severe and unflattering. Was it a sin to want to look nice? She ’d tried to cover up after the way Reece made her dress, but maybe she ’d gone too far.

  After changing her shoes to low pumps, she defiantly added a simple locket to the outfit. Her family and friends would think she was a heathen for wearing the jewelry, but she needed some space from them, and this would create it.

  Asia shook her head. “It’s better, but sheesh, Hannah. I wish you’d let me take you shopping sometime. You’ve got a terrific figure, great hair and skin, and you do nothing to enhance your assets. I know you think you need to look the part of a matronly quilt expert, but you’re only thirty-two. Live a little!”

  “Reece used to make me wear slinky dresses that plunged to my navel, and high heels,” she said. Her skin still burned at the memory of the way men looked at her.

  “You’re kidding! You?”

  “I hated them.” Hannah smoothed her skirt with her hand. “Has Aunt Nora come out yet?”

  “Nope. Not a peep from her room.”

  “I’ll check on her.” Hannah went to her aunt’s closed doorway down the hall off the living room. There was no sound from the other side. She tiptoed to the door and listened. Nothing. Rapping her knuckles softly against the wood, she called to her aunt. At first she thought the older woman would ignore the summons, but the door finally opened.

  Her aunt was fully dressed in her usual dark blue dress and sensible shoes. The prayer bonnet looked a bit askew, but her features were composed as she tucked a hanky up her sleeve. “We should probably go down. Everyone will be arriving.”

  Hannah nodded and fol
lowed her aunt downstairs. Buggies were beginning to pull into the drive, dozens of them. Men hauled in backless benches and lined them up around the living and dining rooms and the kitchen. Women carried covered dishes for after the burial.

  Her back erect, Aunt Nora accepted their handshakes and thoughtful words.

  An hour later, they were all assembled. Hannah followed her aunt to the dining room and sat on the bench beside her. Moe’s coffin was a plain pine box. The split top was hinged, and the upper portion of it had been folded back to reveal Moe’s face. Hannah clasped her hands together as the usher seated people on the benches. She barely noticed Sarah and the girls come in. Luca would grieve that he ’d missed the funeral. He likely didn’t even know yet. He had no phone with him.

  Asia sat on the bench behind Hannah and her aunt. Hannah turned around and whispered to Asia that they would sit through a regular church service, not a real funeral as the Englisch knew it. The bishop removed his hat, and in unison, the other men in the line of ministers removed theirs, as did all the men in the house. The bishop began to speak, an exhortation from the Old Testament. Preparation for death was the main theme of the sermon, and that theme was continued thirty minutes later by the second minister. When he was done, the minister read Moe ’s obituary in German, then dismissed the men to prepare for the viewing.

  In spite of the number of people attending, the rearrangement went forward in near silence. The house emptied of mourners, and the men carried the coffin to the entry. Friends and neighbors filed past Moe to say their goodbyes. Several people nodded to Nora and murmured condolences as they left to get in their buggies and go to the graveyard.

  Hannah whispered to Asia that she wanted to go to the grave site in a buggy. Slipping away from the crowd, she hurried to the barn and hitched up a spry black horse to Moe ’s single-seater. She waited until the last of the buggies pulled out, then fell into the line behind them.

  She needed to be alone to think. Life had come at her too fast in the past week, and with it, memories of her earlier life in this place. Was it as idyllic as she remembered? She believed it was, and she mourned the loss of her innocence.