Amish Outsider

by Marta Perry

  “We’ll go now,” she said, grasping the big black umbrella from the stand in the corner. “Do you have a sweater or jacket?”

  “Yah.” Allie scurried to get the dark sweater from the peg. She pulled it around herself as she followed Cathy out the door. A gust of wind caught it, and she had to struggle to pull it closed.

  Cathy grasped Allie’s hand and headed for the path. “We’ll hurry, right?”

  Allie nodded, trotting along next to her, seeming glad to cling to her hand. Not talking, they hurried their steps, and Cathy’s thoughts hurried as well.

  How had that ugly thing gotten into her schoolroom? It wasn’t the work of a child—she was sure of that. The words and thoughts weren’t those of a child, not even one of the older ones. Besides, she knew her scholars better than that.

  Then who? And how did it get there? And more important at the moment, what should she do with it?

  She thought, as always, of her parents, but she couldn’t show it to them. It would upset them terribly, and although she’d often thought there was nothing Daadi couldn’t handle, she knew this was beyond even his gentle wisdom.

  The answer made her stomach twist. She should show it to Michael, even though it made her sick with shame at the thought of his seeing it.

  She argued with herself. Maybe it would be best just to burn it and forget it. Except that she couldn’t forget, not now that she’d seen it. Besides, it might be important in some way she couldn’t know. What if it wasn’t just a crank? What if it was somehow connected to everything else that had happened to Michael?

  That was ridiculous, wasn’t it? But much that had happened to Michael seemed impossible, and yet it happened.

  They’d reached the band of trees. The wind, sweeping suddenly down the valley, sent the branches tossing, turning the leaves to show their paler undersides. Rain was coming—she could smell it in the air.

  She glanced at Allie and paused for a moment. “Better put your arms into your sweater. The wind is chilly.”

  Allie hurried to obey, obviously not wanting to be outside a minute longer than necessary. “It’s going to storm, isn’t it? With lightning and thunder and rain.” Fear was obvious in her words and her face.

  “Ach, what’s a little rain?” Cathy said, keeping her voice cheerful. “We aren’t made of sugar. We won’t melt even if we do get wet, ain’t so?”

  The idea of being made of sugar earned a giggle from Allie. She buttoned her sweater more cheerfully and then caught Cathy’s hand again.

  “Daadi says it will be school vacation soon,” she volunteered.

  “That’s right. We have two and a half weeks of school left.” And the school board still had made no move.

  Maybe they’d made up their minds not to renew her contract and wanted to wait until school was out and tell her. That was a depressing thought.

  “I asked Daadi about the summer vacation.” Something in Allie’s voice snagged her attention. Allie was going somewhere with this conversation, so she needed to pay attention.

  “Are you going to do something special after school is out?”

  “Well, I asked... Daadi said... We thought maybe you’d help me with learning Pennsylvania Dutch this summer.” She rushed to get it all out. “Will you, Teacher Cathy? Daadi said we’d see what you said, and I really want you to. Will you?” She stopped, tugging on Cathy’s hand. “Please?”

  Cathy could see the pleading in Allie’s face and hear the need in her voice. It was the need that caught her heart in a bruising grip. Allie needed her. There was nothing for her and Michael, but his child needed her. If any child needed her, how could she refuse?

  “If you want, I guess I could teach you that. Yah, Allie, I’d like that fine.”

  “Really?” Delight filled the child’s face, and she threw her arms around Cathy. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Cathy managed a chuckle. “It won’t all be fun, you know. You’ll have to try hard to catch up.”

  “I will. I’ll work really hard. I promise.”

  “All right. It’s a deal.” She unwound herself from Allie’s arms to the sound of thunder—louder now. Much louder.

  “No more talking now. We have to hurry.”

  It was when they started walking again that Cathy felt the strangeness. The electricity in the air, she told herself. That’s all it is. But the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a chill shivered down her back. It wasn’t the storm. It was someone—someone watching her. Hating her.

  Impossible. Her imagination was working overtime. She resisted the urge to rub the back of her neck—the longing to turn around and see if someone were behind them.

  It didn’t help. The feeling didn’t leave. If anything, it intensified. She took a firm grasp on the handle of her umbrella. It was a good sturdy one, but could she really strike someone with it?

  She believed wholeheartedly in nonviolence—it was bred in her. But if it were a question of keeping a child safe, she would do what she had to do.

  A sound behind her—a dry branch breaking under an unwary foot. Her stomach twisted, but at least it told her the follower’s location. Behind her and to the right—probably hidden behind that low growth of bushes along the edge of the path.

  If he came out into the open—but it didn’t seem he intended to. The faint rustling indicated he was moving along behind and to one side, staying in the shrubby growth, maybe not wanting to be identified if she looked back.

  She wouldn’t. Every instinct told her that if she showed awareness, it could drive him into action.

  A spray of raindrops blew into her face. “Let’s run,” she said, her voice pitched above the noise of the wind and water. “See if you can get to the greenhouse first.”

  Pushing Allie gently ahead of her, Cathy gave her a head start—every muscle quivering with the effort to stand still even as the sound of footsteps, muffled by the wet grass, grew nearer. She had to stay between the follower and Allie—that was the thought that filled her mind. She had to.

  “Here I come,” she called to Allie, and put on a spurt of speed.

  Her own footsteps made enough noise to cover the sound of pursuit, but he was there—she could sense it. The need to look back pressed on her nerves, but she didn’t dare take her eyes from the wet path ahead of her. If she fell... If she fell, she couldn’t protect Allie.

  She had to. The refrain repeated itself to the sound of her feet. The path curved, and then she could see the greenhouse through the trees...could even see movement inside it.

  Almost there...please, please... Allie ran into the open, laughing a little, not realizing anything was wrong. She’d reached the greenhouse. She was safe.

  But the footsteps were close behind Cathy. She made a desperate effort. Once she was in the clear, she’d be all right. Something brushed her skirt—a hand? Fear gave wings to her feet, and she darted into the open, heading straight for the greenhouse and Michael’s reassuring presence.

  * * *

  WHEN ALLIE CAME running to the greenhouse, Michael was waiting to swing her inside, wishing he’d sent her with a rain jacket. “About time you’re getting here. You’re wet.”

  “Not very.” She grinned, seeming exhilarated by the dash to escape the rain. “We ran fast. I beat Teacher Cathy.”

  “I see that. Hang your wet sweater over the chair, okay? We’ll wait here until the rain stops.”

  Allie nodded, stripping the soggy sweater off as she headed to do as he’d said. He turned, frowning, toward the door. Surely Cathy would have had an umbrella?

  She bolted through the door, grasping the umbrella as if it were a weapon. The look on her face chased everything else out of his mind.

  “What’s happened? You...”

  “Hush,” she murmured with a meaningful glance at Allie. Even with her face white and her hands shaking, she thought first o
f his child. He clasped her cold fingers in his.

  “Quietly, then. Something’s wrong.” He kept his voice low, moving close enough to hear the slightest breath.

  “Someone was chasing us.” The whites of her eyes showed as she darted a look back at the path.

  He gripped her hands firmly. “Are you sure it wasn’t the noise of the storm?”

  Cathy shivered. “I heard someone behind me. I didn’t imagine it. He was there.”

  “Stay here,” he ordered. Yanking the door open, he brushed away her attempts to stop him and raced toward the path.

  Anger thudded through his body with every swift beat of his heart. Someone watching the school, following his child—it was too much. When he caught up with the man, he’d wish he’d taken up some other line of work.

  It must be that private investigator—who else would it be? He’d settle with him. And then he’d settle with Bernard. They weren’t getting away with this.

  His clothes were soaked and clinging to his body by the time he reached the shelter of the trees. Not as noisy here, now that he couldn’t hear the rain drumming on the glass panels. He stopped his headlong rush to listen intently.

  Nothing. But the tall grass at the edge of the path had been flattened, as if someone or something had brushed through a moment ago. He surged after it, feet squelching on the wet ground.

  The trail he was following ended where the trees were dense enough to discourage growth beneath their canopy. He paused again, scanning the area. Nothing that he could see. The man must have fled as soon as Cathy was in reach of the greenhouse.

  He’d probably have gone toward the road. He must have parked a vehicle somewhere. Michael headed in that direction, unwilling to give up despite the creeping conviction that he was too late.

  When he reached the road, Michael was forced to admit it was no good. He hadn’t a chance of overtaking the man. The only hope was that Cathy had caught a glimpse of him.

  His rage settling down to a simmer beneath the surface, Michael trudged back to the greenhouse. By the time he neared it, the rain had stopped. For an instant he veered toward the house, but he spotted Cathy standing at the greenhouse door and headed there instead.

  “You didn’t catch him.” She made it a statement, not a question.

  He shook his head. “Too late. I didn’t even get a glimpse. Did you?”

  “No.” She spoke quickly, probably recognizing the hope in his voice. “I’m sorry. By the time he was close enough that I could have known him, I was afraid to look. If I’d tripped and fallen—” A shiver went through her at the thought.

  “You did the right thing.” He clasped her hand, realizing he was dripping cold water on her but needing to touch, to comfort. “I take it Allie’s in the house with Verna?”

  “Yah. I thought I’d best stay so we could talk without their hearing.”

  “Good. We need to hash this out. When did you realize someone was following you?”

  She hesitated, obviously thinking back. “It was about the time the storm started to hit. At first I thought it was the storm making me nervous. Making me imagine things. But it wasn’t.”

  “You’re sure? Yes, of course you are.” Cathy wasn’t the type of person who’d panic at nothing. “What happened next?”

  “We were getting closer—about where we saw the butterflies that day, remember? Then I could hear him. Eventually he didn’t bother being careful about the noise. Allie didn’t realize... I suppose she thought it was the rain. I put her in front of me, and as soon as we were in that last stretch, I said we’d race to the greenhouse.” A shiver stopped her words.

  She didn’t really need to say any more. Obviously she’d been protecting Allie, keeping herself between Allie and the follower, putting herself at risk for his daughter.

  His grip tightened on her hand. “Did he touch you? Say anything?”

  “He didn’t speak. Just as I started to run, his hand brushed my skirt.” She gave a short, impatient shake of her head. “It panicked me.”

  “Maybe that was best. I just wish I could prove it was that investigator. He ought to be in jail for that. At least you’re both all right. But what was the point of it all? That’s what I don’t get.”

  What did the man think he had to gain? Frightening his daughter and her teacher wouldn’t help him learn the truth about Diana.

  “There’s something else.” Regret saturated the words. “I’m sorry, but...” She took something out of her book bag—a folded piece of paper—holding it gingerly, as if it were dirty. “I found this when I was getting ready to leave. It was under a book on my desk.”

  He took it with a sense of foreboding. He flipped it open and read what it said.

  It took an effort not to crush the offensive thing in his hand. So they’d sunk as far as leaving anonymous letters for the teacher.

  After a moment the facts penetrated. “It was on your desk, you said. When did it show up?”

  “There’s no way to be sure. It could have been there all day. It was only when I picked up the history book that I found it.”

  He frowned at it. “One of the older kids—”

  “No, I can’t believe that.” Her tone was decided. “They wouldn’t. I’m sure of it.”

  “How did it get there, then?” He thought she was being awfully quick to eliminate her scholars from suspicion. They were the most likely not to be caught planting it. Or one of her helpers.

  “I don’t know.” She folded her arms, hugging herself in a gesture of defense against his words. “Maybe even during the night. Anybody could get in if they really tried.”

  “Did you see any sign of someone breaking in?” He was frankly skeptical. It could well be that the anonymous letter was totally unrelated to the man who’d followed Cathy and Allie. He glanced at it again. It felt more as if it had been written by an Amish person, not an Englischer.

  “No, but I didn’t look. You can’t assume that someone from the church would be playing tricks like this. It’s unheard-of. They’d be risking discipline if it came out.”

  Was she right about that? He wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d become cynical during his years outside. He’d like to think he’d come home to a way of life he could believe in, but he just wasn’t sure.

  He had to decide what to do next. Maybe this was actually a case where telling the police was warranted. Chief Jamison hadn’t liked the idea of a private eye on his territory. He’d like it even less if he thought the man were frightening the Amish teacher.

  “How would you feel if I talked to Chief Jamison about this?”

  Alarm filled her face. “You can’t. Please, Michael, you mustn’t do that. Everyone would hear.” Her cheeks grew scarlet. “My parents, the children and their parents—I couldn’t handle it.”

  “If he promised to keep it quiet...”

  But she was already shaking her head. More than that, her whole body was shaking. He’d kept her there talking in her wet clothes, not even noticing how uncomfortable she must be.

  “Never mind it now. I won’t do anything until we’ve hashed it out completely. Let’s get you home before you catch pneumonia.”

  He’d have to drop it for now. But he’d also have to do something about it, and soon.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TO HER RELIEF, Cathy found that her mother assumed she was upset because she’d become drenched by the storm. Cathy didn’t correct her. Anything was better than letting Mammi know the full story. She’d just worry, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

  Michael thought there was. Now he wanted to go to the police, after being so determined to stay away from them. She couldn’t blame him. If he thought someone threatened Allie, he had every right to do whatever he thought best. She was selfish to pull back just because it would be embarrassing for her.

  But how could she possibly co
pe with the results? People would learn about it, even if Chief Jamison promised to respect her privacy. Nothing stayed secret forever in a small community.

  Her family would be in an uproar, wanting to protect her, yet no doubt feeling a sense of shame at the notoriety she’d brought on the family. And as for her teaching career—she couldn’t conceive that anyone would hire her if the contents of that anonymous letter became known. Too many people thought that if something was in writing, it was true. No smoke without fire, they’d say.

  She could only be thankful that the evening promised to be busy enough to keep her thoughts and hands occupied. Her friend Joanna had an open house in progress at her quilt shop, and both Cathy and Rachel had been recruited to help.

  As soon as she arrived at the quilt shop, she and Rachel were settled at a table with fabric squares, helping customers create a small nine-patch square. It was Joanna’s idea, of course. She ran events at her shop several times a year, and she claimed the brief introduction to quilting brought her more customers every time.

  “Here they come,” Rachel murmured, looking a little apprehensive as a couple of visitors bore down on them.

  “Relax.” Cathy produced a welcoming smile. “You’ll do fine.”

  And naturally, Rachel did, as soon as she started working with one of the women. She’d always been shy, with a wary look that reminded Cathy of Allie. Rachel had to brace herself each time she was pulled out of the familiar surroundings of her father’s farm, where her time was completely filled with raising her younger siblings and catering to her widowed father.

  Joanna privately insisted that Rachel’s father selfishly took her for granted, but Cathy always pointed out that Rachel was contented...she seemed born to take care of people. It was too bad she wasn’t expending all that love on a family of her own, but life hadn’t worked out that way. She, along with Joanna and Cathy, continued to be the maidals, the old maids, of their age group.