Return to Grace

by Karen Harper

  Harlan started away, then turned back. “You’re thinking it might have been Arrowroot took potshots at those kids?” he asked. “Yeah, I’d believe that. When he goes on a rant, he’s hardly the stoic Indian, and I’ve seen that up close and personal.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that much,” Seth told him. “Thanks again!” he called after him as Harlan headed back to his truck.

  Once Harlan drove off, Seth closed the door. He’d have to carry Marlena over to the farmhouse and get Ella’s attention with some gravel against her window. Luckily, Marlena slept hard because he’d just pass her off to Ella while he put the steaks in the farmhouse freezer.

  Hannah’s teeth were chattering, and she was shivering, though she knew it was from stark terror more than the November night. She hadn’t moved—had hardly breathed for what she figured must be at least ten minutes, maybe longer. No more footsteps, at least she thought so. The wind, the corn, even the clouds that occasionally obscured the moon, were playing tricks on her. Should she try to find her way back to the safety of Linc’s car, or try to locate him again? He must have the car keys on him. She could drive for help or just find his cell phone and call 9-1-1—again. What if he had a concussion or internal bleeding?

  She finally got up the courage to move from her position in the dead end. She actually wished the crusty Meyers brothers would come out to their maze, no matter what they’d promised Linc. She wanted help and human contact that badly. Footsteps again, slower now, more deliberate, kind of scuffling. Had someone waited until she moved and was now stalking her again?

  It could be the same person who shot at her and her friends. Maybe she was really the one being pursued tonight instead of Linc. Someone had sliced her window screen, so she could be the one someone wanted to harm or kill in the first place. Would Linc, if he was all right, believe that this was evidence she was the target? But who wanted to hurt her and why?

  She realized she had two choices. Push through the cornstalk walls of this dead end and give her position away as she ran outside, or stand her ground here. She raised the witch’s stick she carried and pushed herself back into the foliage. Her eyes widened as a man’s moonlit shadow fell on the ground, growing as he came closer. Her pulse pounded even harder. She’d have the element of surprise, but that was all, especially if her pursuer had Linc’s gun or his own. She felt the imagined pain of the bullet slicing through her wrist, saw Tiffany fall and Kevin’s forehead blooming blood. She bit her lower lip so hard that tears blurred her view as a big, dark body shoved around the one-way entrance of the dead end and trapped her here.

  Blindly, she swung the stick at him, then thrust herself through the corn wall, only to be grabbed by her skirt, then her leg and dragged back.

  9

  “HANNAH! IT’S ME! I thought you were my attacker—”

  “Oh! Linc!”

  They were sprawled on the ground, half in, half out of the maze, with him on top of her. His weight was tremendous, but she threw her arms around him and held tight. He hugged her back hard and rolled them over once so they lay side by side.

  “But someone else was after me—stalking me,” she told him. “Are you all right? I found you uncon—”

  “Someone bushwhacked me from behind, took my gun and flashlight.”

  “When I found you, I couldn’t find either of them. He was coming back, he—”

  “I just walked most of the maze. I think he’s gone. Did you get a glimpse of him? It must have been a man.”

  “No—heard footsteps, and I think he was out of breath.”

  “Come on,” he said, getting to his feet and hauling her up after him. He staggered against her a bit as they went back to the car. “Got my keys, at least,” he muttered. He put her in the front seat, then on unsteady feet, went around, got in and locked the doors.

  “We have to get your head looked at,” she insisted. “I don’t care if you’re not bleeding. There’s a medical clinic out on—”

  “I’m all right, just suckered and furious, with one bastard of a headache. I’ve had a concussion before. I’ll watch myself. That guy knew the maze, but that doesn’t mean he’s the graveyard shooter, or even that it was one of the Meyers boys. I’m dropping you off, then going to see them, but I swear, if one of those jerks got the best of me, I’ll shoot myself.”

  “Don’t talk like that. You— Both of us could have been killed.”

  “I thought it was safe, but I’m a gung-ho idiot to endanger you. I swear I’ll get to the bottom of all this, but I lost control of the situation. And I—” he turned to study her, frowning as if she was to blame for something “—I can’t let that happen.”

  He muttered something under his breath again—curse words, she figured—as he started the car, seesawed back and forth on the two-lane road to turn around, then drove fast toward her house. She was afraid he’d black out, but he did seem to be in control of his car at least.

  “Come in, and I’ll wash your head with cool water,” she said.

  “Sounds tempting, but I’m not bleeding and I’ve got to visit our maze friends pronto—fast.”

  “You don’t have to translate worldly slang for me.”

  “Listen, Hannah,” he said, slowing the car and reaching out to grasp her good wrist as he turned into her family’s driveway, “I’d appreciate it if you tell no one—including your father, including Seth—what happened back there. What we know may come in handy to trap someone.”

  “I won’t lie to Daad if he asks what happened. Besides, I’m a mess.”

  “Yeah, okay. We can’t have him think we’ve been rolling on the ground for other reasons.”

  She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m still worried for your head. You’re saying things you don’t mean. What if you’re bleeding inside, and it makes you black out again while you’re driving?”

  “Okay, I’ll hit the medical clinic after I drop in on the Meyerses’ birthday party. And thanks for being concerned. You ever hear the saying, ‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going’?”

  “No. Is that the FBI motto?”

  “You’re beautiful, you know that? And I’m not goofy from that blow to my head.”

  “Maybe not goofy but gunless,” she said as he turned the car around to pulled up close to her back door, “so you be careful!” Daad had evidently seen them, because he was waiting at the door.

  “You, too,” he said as she got out. He waved to her father and pulled away, a man on a mission, she thought, trying to hide how furious he felt. This time, the victim had been him.

  When Ray-Lynn opened her front door to Jack that night—he’d called to ask if he could drop by—he produced a bouquet of what must be at least two dozen roses, a rare peach color, too. Her first thought was no way he’d bought those in Homestead.

  “How about a peace treaty?” he asked, looking none too sure of himself.

  “A temporary truce,” she said, accepting the flowers and inhaling deeply of their scent.

  He came in and they sat on separate ends of the sofa. She could tell he wanted to touch her but knew better. In a way, she’d put up a barrier by cradling the flowers on her lap.

  “Look, Ray-Lynn, I had no idea Lily was coming back or had changed her mind about things.”

  “Things, meaning living here and with you. Have you changed your mind about us?”

  “No, honest to God.”

  “But you’re still carrying a torch for her.”

  “Don’t put it like that.”

  “How should I put it?”

  “It was a shock right in the middle of this graveyard shooting mess, that’s all.”

  “So the graveyard shooting keeps you from making a decision about who you really want to be with?”

  “You know, sweetheart, you have a real way with words, with slicing right to the heart of things.”

  “The heart of things is where we need to be, Jack.”

  “Things are crazy right now. I’m not spending time with her, eith
er.”

  “So I can assume she and I are running neck and neck in the Who Gets Jack Freeman sweepstakes?”

  “Now, there you go twisting things again. I love you, Ray-Lynn. Said I did, still mean it. I want us to have a future together, but you gotta give me some time and some trust.”

  “I just hope you more than want our future. Wanting’s not enough. I’ve waited for you for months, years, to figure out what you really wanted, and then here comes a real big monkey wrench into the works.”

  “She is kinda the take-charge type, like you.”

  “That kind of compliment I don’t need. Take it back or you can have these beautiful, sweet flowers back and give them to the monkey wrench.”

  “I do love you, Ray-Lynn. There’s nobody like you. You just put those in water ’fore they hang their heads, and have a good thought for a guy who’s sorry this happened, really.”

  “Me, too. As pretty as these flowers are, they’ve got big thorns. You just be careful, Jack Freeman, dealing with a killer and an ex-wife, you hear?”

  “I know better than to push my luck, but how about a goodbye kiss?”

  “As long as it’s not really goodbye.”

  As he leaned closer, she kept the flowers between them, so he wouldn’t pull her close, however badly she wanted that, wanted him. And so she wouldn’t just grab him, burst into tears and not let go.

  The next morning, Hannah had her first buggy ride since she’d been back. She even took the reins from Naomi and talked to Nettie just like she used to when this horse and buggy were hers. It thrilled her that when she blew the mare a loud kiss, she put her shoulder to the traces and sped up. With her foot braced against the backboard, Hannah enjoyed the rock and tilt of the buggy as they clipped along at about twelve miles an hour.

  Since she was garbed Amish—one of her old dresses Mamm had kept since she’d washed her new one—she wore a bonnet today. Strangely, she missed the familiar feel of the stiff organdy prayer kapp beneath it. Or maybe it was just the memory of her father’s assessing gaze on her red, short hair—which had pieces of corn tassel in it—when she’d gone into the house last night.

  “Ach,” he’d said, taking in her mussed dress Naomi had so painstakingly made, “you been rolling down a hill? Now, I don’t want to question you or Agent Armstrong, but you all right?”

  “We ended up running through the maze to try to figure out what Kevin and Mike must have done or seen.”

  “And?”

  “I fell—as you can tell. And both of us pushed through the rows of dry, rotting cornstalks.” There, she’d thought. She hadn’t lied. Linc had told her to say as little as possible about what happened.

  She’d steeled herself for more questions, for a scolding. But her father had said only, “You and I—many times since you’ve been gone, I told to myself, I will not argue with my Hanni again.”

  She’d nodded. Tears had filled her eyes at the sound of that sweet childhood name he alone had for her, a mingling of her name and honey. But Linc had called her honey. Or could he have said, “Hannah,” and she misheard—or even heard what she wanted to hear from him? No, she was not going sweet on that man. She’d just been worried about his hard head, that’s all.

  But last night, though she hadn’t hugged her daad in years, not even when she came back to the house, she’d hugged him hard, and he’d held her and kissed her cheek.

  “Danki, Daad,” she’d said as they stepped apart. She’d always thought he was too stern and judgmental, but now she recognized that, as father and as bishop, he had to hold the line to protect them all from danger. And that’s just what she’d brought to this sheltered valley: someone maybe stalking her, wanting to hurt her and others—someone evil.

  “I see the Dutch Farm Table’s doing big business,” Naomi interrupted her agonizing. “I just hope the outside interest in all of us calms down before my wedding day. All we need is cameras in our faces. You said—I heard you tell Mamm you wanted to go to Sarah and Nate’s wedding.”

  “She needs at least one Amish attendant, don’t you think?”

  “Well, it’s nice, at least, to hear you think of yourself as back in the fold.”

  “The truth is, I don’t. Not yet. Not until Linc solves this crime that has brought shame and the bad opinions of our people on me.”

  “See—‘our people.’ There you go again. Like Agent Armstrong would say—I guess it’s Linc now to you—‘I rest my case.’”

  Hannah smiled and gave Naomi a hug around the shoulder with her good arm as her eyes took in the familiar, two-block-long sight of Homestead stores. It was the first time she’d been back in town. They buggied down Main Street past the volunteer fire department that, thank the Lord, had not been a bit busy since the nightmare of the barn arsons. Linc’s car was parked in front of the sheriff’s office. Would he tell Jack Freeman that he’d been what he’d called “bushwhacked” and that someone had taken his precious gun?

  The newspaper was now closed, but Amish Antiques had a few customers looking at the things the storekeeper had put on the sidewalk. As ever, both cars and buggies were parked in front of the Homestead Pharmacy and Kwik Stop grocery. Since Amish women didn’t cut their hair, the Hair Port Barber Shop was patronized only by the English, but its lights were on. The hardware store and the Citizens Bank looked as stoic and solid as ever.

  It was a bit early in the day for the Hole in the Wall pizza and subs shop to be open. How she and Seth had loved to order out there when they had extra money. Memories assailed her as they clip-clopped past the McDonald’s and Wendy’s restaurants facing each other across the street. Crazy Amish kids—families, too—she thought. With all the delicious home cooking and Ray-Lynn’s restaurant right down the street, it used to be such a treat to eat out at those fast-food places. But now she knew what a really formal, nice restaurant could be like. In Cleveland, she’d been to several on dates, and the place their recording studio owner had taken his staff twice a year was really posh. But she didn’t miss all that the way she had missed this quiet, little place.

  Across a vacant lot and a small stand of trees, she saw the charming three-story Victorian house with its wraparound, spindled front porch—Amanda Stutzman’s Plain and Fancy Bed-and-Breakfast. Naomi let her out, promised she’d be back for her later and clucked Nettie away.

  Hannah had to smile as she walked up the brick-paved path. The block of houses on this side of town and the two blocks on the other side were pitiful compared to the sprawl of suburbs encircling Cleveland. She didn’t feel safer here anymore since the shooting and the nightmare in the maze, but still, she felt more at home. With poor Lena gone, she could even partway forgive Seth for his betrayal and desertion. Forgive but not forget.

  Rocking chairs sat on the front porch, one of them shifting back and forth in the November breeze as if a ghost sat there. The horror tableaus in the maze leaped at her again. Would the cemetery and the maze always haunt her now? Linc had said her goth friend Mike’s family claimed he was suffering from a sort of post-traumatic stress syndrome. Was she, too?

  She rang the bell and heard it ding-dong musically inside. Wondering if she’d get a glimpse of the sheriff’s ex-wife whom Ray-Lynn had told her to check out, she held her breath as the front door—real pretty etched glass—swept open. It was Amanda Stutzman, pink-cheeked and smiling. Years ago, Seth had said the woman reminded him of a picture of Mrs. Santa Claus he’d seen with her curly, white hair and plump face. She must be in her seventies now, her husband Hank, too. Naomi had said he still worked in the Troyer sawmill outside of town near the old Troyer historical grist mill, both places owned by Naomi’s betrothed’s family.

  “Oh, Hannah, dear, I was hoping you’d stop by. How are you coming along now?”

  Inside, Mrs. Stutzman gave her a tour of the living room and parlor—lots of cubbyholes and figurines of beautiful birds to dust there—and the spacious kitchen where the kindly woman sat her down for tea and sugar cookies, little ones with scal
loped edges, not the huge kind the Amish made. But then the Stutzmans were Mennonites, a more liberal group who used electricity and drove cars. Mrs. Stutzman kept popping up from the table because she had another kind of cookie in the ovens, and the aroma was fantastic.

  “If my guests wish and are here for over a week, you’ll dust their rooms, too,” Mrs. Stutzman went on. “Some prefer privacy, others are in and out so fast—several TV reporters lately, but they’ve left now—that you’d only dust between guests.”

  “Do you have a long-time visitor here now?”

  “You may have heard,” she said, lowering her voice, “that the former Mrs. Jack Freeman—Lily—is here now, and for how long, I don’t know. She’s been out and about a lot, jogging or revisiting places she used to know around here.” She spoke even more quietly. “I think she might be writing a book about her adventures in Las Vegas. Spends a lot of time on her laptop and was upset we didn’t have Wi-Fi, so just paid us to plug into our cable line—Hank loves his football games, but we don’t go online.”

  Hannah had a hundred questions about Lily Freeman, but she didn’t want to be overly obvious or a gossip, however much it was accepted that her people loved schmatze und klatsche, eating and talking. Besides, if she took this job, she could check out Lily for Ray-Lynn on her own.

  “Will I dust your and Mr. Stutzman’s private quarters?” Hannah asked, realizing that the Amish had nothing on Mrs. Stutzman when it came to conversation.

  “You know, if you have time, that would be lovely. The older I get, the usual tasks seem to get harder and harder. Listen, my dear, I know you are a talented singer and are used to some sort of office work and that this job is far below your abilities. But with your one hand—and just coming home in transition—I thought this might be a good temp job for you. As a matter of fact, to give credit where it’s due, my brother Harlan suggested it.”

  “I can’t thank you and him enough for your thoughtfulness, Mrs. Stutzman.”