His Guilt

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  She supposed he had a point. But as wonderful as it sounded now, she doubted she would have been in the right frame of mind back then to have been his sweetheart. She’d been too sheltered and tentative about anything that was different than the narrow world she knew.

  And Mark? Well, she didn’t remember him acting this way. He’d been restless and angry. Now, of course, she knew why. Back then? . . .

  She hadn’t really wanted to know.

  “I think we were meant to wait for each other,” she said softly. “Though it would have saved us some hardships, I don’t know if it would have saved us from a bunch of other problems.”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched before he nodded. “You know, I think you are probably right. This is our time. And because of everything we’ve been through—not in spite of it—I know we are meant to be together.”

  Now her insides felt like jelly. Mark really did say the sweetest things. “Just for that, I’m going to let you share my lunch.”

  He bent his elbow, pretending to groan, as if her cooler weighed a hundred pounds. “I hope so, because if you intended to eat all this food, I’d be mighty worried about you.”

  “Are you sure you can carry that cooler without a problem? Your hand is awfully bruised.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I just knocked it wrong when I was attempting to repair some old woodwork.”

  “It’s more than nothing. It’s mighty swollen.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll survive. Or maybe Henry will feel sorry for me and make you do all the heavy lifting today.”

  “I’m stronger than I look. You forget that I did your job for years before you arrived.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. You do like to boss me around.”

  She was giggling as he moved her to the shoulder of the road again.

  “Careful, now,” he murmured. “Some of these cars go by far too fast.”

  As the vehicle approached, Mark tensed. “This one don’t seem— Ah, it’s the sheriff.”

  Waneta stopped as they watched Sheriff Brewer’s vehicle slow down beside them. The passenger-side window rolled down, revealing Deputy Beck.

  “Morning,” he said. “We were on our way to Blooms and Berries to speak to you.”

  “To me?” Waneta asked curiously . . . just seconds before panic set in. “Oh, no! Did something happen to my daed?”

  After the vehicle stopped, the deputy got out. “Your parents are fine, Neeta,” he soothed.

  “Then what do you need?”

  Sheriff Brewer’s door opened and shut. “We were looking for Mark, not you.”

  Mark stepped closer to her. She wondered if he was trying to ease her concerns or allay his own. “What happened?” he asked.

  “The side of the road isn’t the best place to have this discussion,” the deputy said. “We’d like to take you in.”

  “To the station?” Mark’s expression turned stormy. “I think you need to explain yourselves right here first.”

  “Lora Weaver was attacked last night,” Sheriff Brewer said.

  “She almost died,” the deputy added. “She wasn’t found until this morning when she didn’t show up for work and her boss got concerned.”

  “Who found her?” Mark asked.

  The deputy glared at him. “I did. She was lying on the floor, barely breathing. Blood all around her. It’s amazing she is still alive.”

  Imagining poor Lora, Waneta started shaking.

  Mark curved his arm protectively around her. “Careful, now,” he warned the officers. “There’s a better way to tell a woman news like this. Bluntly on the side of the road ain’t it.”

  “This was the way you wanted to handle it, though,” Deputy Beck said. “As if you really cared.”

  Mark’s expression turned to stone. “What are you saying?”

  Before either of the officers could reply, Waneta raised her voice. “Who could have done this? Is Lora going to be all right?”

  “The ambulance took her in. I sent a man out to fetch her sister,” Sheriff Brewer said. “But she’s unconscious. They’re running some tests now to check for bleeding.”

  “So you don’t know who did it?”

  “We have some ideas,” the deputy said quietly as he reached for his arm. “Now, it’s time you came with us.”

  Mark jerked his arm away. “I had nothing to do with Lora getting hurt. I was friends with her.”

  “That wasn’t what she said.”

  “When?” Mark said, his voice incredulous. “You just told us that she wasn’t awake.”

  Ignoring Mark’s retort, Deputy Beck shot off another question. “What were you doing last night?”

  “I was working in my house.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “How did you get that bruise and scrape on your hand?”

  Staring at his hand, Mark flexed his fingers. “I was repairing some corner woodwork,” he said slowly. “Wait. You really do suspect me, don’t you?”

  Sheriff Brewer stepped closer. “As much as it pains me to do this, I need you to come to the station with me, son.”

  Mark shook his head. “I told you I’d never allow you to put me through that again. I had nothing to do with Lora getting hurt.”

  Deputy Beck gripped his arm. “You can either get in the vehicle without arguing or we can slip some handcuffs on you.”

  Waneta shook her head. “Nee! Sheriff Brewer, don’t do this.”

  “Deputy Beck is going to walk you back home, Waneta.”

  “Nee.” Feeling frantic now, she rushed toward Mark. “I don’t know what to do. How can I help?”

  Pain filled his expression as he gazed at her. “Calm down, Waneta. I’ll be all right.”

  “Nee, you aren’t—”

  “I promise, I’ll be fine. See? I’m getting in the car now,” he continued easily. “Go on home now.”

  “Mark, I canna just stand here and do nothing.”

  Looking even more grim, he said, “You won’t. You’ll be staying safe, which is more important. Go home, Neeta. I’ll come over when I’m done.”

  Waneta stood helplessly as she watched Sheriff Brewer open the back passenger door and guide Mark in, then get in the driver’s seat.

  She was frozen as she stood by the deputy’s side while the car pulled out and drove toward town.

  “Is this yours?” Deputy Beck picked up the heavy cooler.

  Seeing that cooler was the tipping point. Because it wasn’t really hers. That food was for Mark and her to share. There was no way she was going to be able to enjoy it without him beside her.

  Tears filled her eyes. “Jah.”

  “Waneta, we have a couple of choices,” he said quietly. “I can walk you back home or I can call and have someone pick us up.”

  All she could seem to do was stare at him. Lora was unconscious. Mark had been taken in for questioning. None of it felt real.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you are having a difficult time, but I need your help. I need to get to the hospital as soon as I can.”

  She didn’t want to walk anywhere with him. How could he have thought Mark would hurt Lora? But standing on the side of the road wasn’t an option.

  “I don’t want to go home. I’d rather go to work.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Nee. But, as you said, you need an answer. I gave you one.”

  A muscle in his cheek jumped. “Understood. Let’s start walking, then.”

  She picked up her tote and began leading the way. She was hardly able to look at him, she felt so betrayed. Luckily, she and Mark had been almost halfway there when Sheriff Brewer and Deputy Beck stopped beside them.

  If the deputy was upset about her silence, he didn’t let on. He simply kept looking straight ahead and matched his pace with hers.

  When Blooms and Berries came into sight, her anger bubbled over. “Mark would never hurt Lora.”

  “He’s only being taken in for questioni
ng.”

  “When Sheriff Brewer questions him, he’ll realize that Mark is innocent.”

  “Someone beat Lora Weaver badly. They need to pay for that.”

  Hating his tone, she whirled around to glare at him. “Is that what you are going to do at the hospital, then? Stand vigil by her bedside until she can give you a name?”

  His light-green eyes looked like shards of ice. “I am going to sit by Lora’s bedside because I can’t bear the thought of her waking alone.”

  “You care about her—”

  “Of course I care,” he snapped. “Lora was beaten. She could slip into a coma. She could wake up and be blind.” After a pause, he added, “The question is, don’t you care, too?”

  The force of his tone, together with his devastated expression, gave her pause. “Of course I care. I’ve known Lora for years.”

  “Did you really know her? Or did you just know of her?”

  She heard something new in his tone. Almost like he was chastising her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that she was pretty alone here in this town. Every time I saw her, she was either working or home alone. She only mentioned having work friends. Or, maybe you just judged her on how she looked and on her past.”

  “If I did those things, I didn’t do it intentionally.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You sure about that?”

  “Jah.” At least, she thought she was. “If I have harmed her feelings in some way, I’ll do my best to apologize. I’ll make amends.”

  “I see.”

  His voice had an edge of sarcasm to it. She didn’t know where his antagonism toward her came from, but she didn’t appreciate it. Not under the latest circumstances.

  Feeling hurt and worried and more than a little irritated with him and Sheriff Brewer, Waneta grabbed her cooler.

  “Do you hear what I’m saying, Deputy Beck? I hope so, since I’m currently of the mind that you and Sheriff Brewer might be doing the very same thing with Mark Fisher.” While he gaped at her, she said, “My place of work is right here. I’ll see myself there now.”

  After turning, she rushed to the entrance.

  When she got there, Henry Lehmann looked up from a garden supply magazine he was studying. “Waneta? What’s wrong? Where’s Mark?”

  Finally, there in the safety of the store, she rushed to her boss’s side and burst into tears.

  CHAPTER 26

  Wednesday, August 17

  The room Mark was in was all too familiar. Beige walls. Faded yellow, scratched linoleum tile on the floor. Three chairs made out of particle wood surrounding a metal table with an avocado-green vinyl top that was nicked and torn. The room smelled like he remembered, too. Vaguely of disinfectant and dirty shoes, with a good dose of sweat and starch mixed in.

  As Mark shifted in his chair across from Sheriff Brewer, he figured that it was probably just as well that the environment was so familiar, since the participants were the same. After all, it had been just a little over two years ago when he’d sat in this very same place for almost the very same reason.

  But instead of feeling scared to death and sure that Sheriff Brewer and the rest of Hart County, Kentucky, was out to get him, this time Mark only felt irritated with the situation.

  And impatient.

  He was impatient that their “meeting” was taking so long. He needed to get out of the room and check on Waneta. He hated that she was at home fretting about him.

  He also felt a deep sadness for Lora. He hoped and prayed that she would recover.

  Across from him, Sheriff Brewer also seemed different. The last time he’d questioned Mark, he’d been intent, focused, and transparently sure of Mark’s guilt. However, so far, he’d been rather apologetic. Almost as if he hadn’t wanted to pick Mark up in the first place but hadn’t had much of a choice.

  Now he was sipping coffee and staring at a blank pad of paper. His left hand was playing with a pencil, twirling it between two fingers.

  Mark wasn’t sure why the silence had gone on so long, but he was getting bored with it. “You’re left-handed?” he asked, just because the silence was getting to him.

  Sheriff Brewer looked down at his hand, then stared at Mark in surprise. “Yeah. I am. Why?”

  “No reason. I am, too.”

  Brewer dropped the pencil. “Used to be, lefties were a rarity. Now there are quite a few of us.”

  “I’ve noticed that, too. Even among the Amish.”

  “Still hard to find a pair of left-handed scissors, though.” The sheriff flashed a smile before shifting in his chair. While the cheap material creaked and groaned beneath him, he seemed to get back on track. “We need to go back to what you were doing last night. You say you were working on your house’s woodwork?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, why were you doing that again?”

  “It shouldn’t be that big of a surprise. You’ve seen my house. What my father didn’t neglect or ruin, four months sitting vacant did.”

  “Tell me how, exactly, you bruised your hand.” As if he could tell that Mark was about to point out that they’d already discussed this in length, Sheriff Brewer raised his eyebrows. “Again, if you please.”

  “I hurt my knuckles refitting warped woodwork. I had a crowbar in one hand and was trying to pop the wood into the space. My hand slipped, and the crowbar bumped it.”

  “Bet that hurt.”

  It had, but it surely wasn’t anything to complain about. Pressing his hands flat on the vinyl tabletop, Mark leaned slightly forward. “Sheriff, I ain’t some naïve Amish man with a chip on my shoulder anymore. I know about evidence and fingerprints and DNA testing. I know you’ve already combed poor Lora’s house for samples and maybe even checked her fingernails while she lay unconscious. You ain’t going to find anything from me. I haven’t been in her house and I haven’t touched her.”

  “But what about Calvin?”

  He inhaled sharply.

  Sheriff Brewer had hit his target, Mark would give him that. He felt as if someone had kicked him in the chest, then decided to rest his boot there awhile. As he tried to regain his composure, the sheriff looked unperturbed.

  He actually kicked his legs out in front of him, crossed his ankles, and took a sip of coffee.

  “I canna answer for my brother,” Mark said at last.

  “Why not?”

  “I haven’t seen him in days.”

  “What day, exactly, did you see him last?”

  Mark tried to recall the day. Was it last Tuesday? Friday? “Maybe Thursday or Friday of last week? I can’t really remember.”

  “Why not? I would remember the last time I saw my brother.”

  “Perhaps your brother is the type of man you look forward to seeing. Mine is not.” Before the officer could ask some inane question about why, Mark stared hard at him. “And we know why, too,” he said. “Calvin is running with a bad crowd and is making poor decisions. I gave up parenting him when he ran away years ago.”

  “I’ve done some checking on him. A couple of informants from Louisville say he owes folks some money.”

  “Then he probably does.” This was news to him, but not surprising.

  “He hit Lora the other night. She told us that.”

  “I know.”

  “So . . .”

  “I don’t know what happened, Sheriff Brewer. I don’t know what happened between Calvin and Lora at her house. I don’t know what happened to Amy in her front yard. I don’t know who attacked Lora in her house.” Taking a deep breath, he let his frustration show. “All I do know is that I worked on my house last night and had the privilege of walking Waneta Cain to work this morning, when you and your deputy plucked me off the street. Waneta is no doubt scared, Henry is no doubt lifting too much at work, and Lora is in the hospital. I need to get out of here and be of use.”

  “You seem different now, Mark,” the sheriff said slowly.

  “That’s because I am different. I’m better
.”

  Sheriff Brewer stood up. “Can I give you a ride home?”

  Mark knew it was as close to an apology as he was going to get for being questioned that morning.

  With a burst of awareness, Mark realized he didn’t actually need one. He was becoming confident enough not to need reassurance from everyone he knew to feel good about himself.

  Maybe he really had come a long way.

  “You can give me a ride to Blooms and Berries,” he said with a smile. “I need to make sure Henry ain’t overexerting himself.”

  Sheriff Brewer smiled. “Let’s go, then.”

  WHEN MARK GOT out of the sheriff’s vehicle, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He doubted Henry Lehmann was going to treat him any differently, but he was the only person he felt sure about.

  As for everyone else? Well, he knew some would look at him as the most obvious suspect in Lora’s attack. He was prepared to deal with that. But if his getting picked up for questioning had ruined everything between him and Waneta, it was going to crush him. He knew now that he didn’t just care for her. He didn’t just like her, either.

  He’d fallen in love with her. He held her in the highest regard, and he would be devastated if she didn’t trust him anymore.

  To his surprise, the shop was crowded. Mark didn’t know why he was so surprised. It just felt strange that the rest of the world continued on while his own felt like it was lying on its side.

  Mostly English customers were roaming the aisles. Some he recognized, a few he knew well enough to shake hands with and say hello. Waneta and Henry were behind the counter, working side by side. Ben was nearby, stocking and assisting.

  Mark breathed a sigh of relief. He was really glad someone was helping them with the heavy lifting in the heat.

  When he approached, Henry raised his head. “Mark. Good day.”

  Waneta was running a credit card and wrapping up a woman’s purchases. Mark supposed that was the reason she hadn’t turned to smile at him.

  But his boss’s expression looked carefully blank as well.

  Mark’s stomach sank. Could he not even trust Henry to believe in him?