Nodding, she dropped his hand and led him to the kitchen. She grabbed the cool handle of the solid flashlight sitting on the counter and handed it to him.
Its beam made everything not in its path seem even darker. The professor must have sensed her discomfort. “I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
A nervous giggle escaped her lips. “Yeah, the professor protecting an Amish woman.”
The professor moved toward the basement door. “Don’t underestimate me. Before I went back to college for my PhD, I was an army ranger.”
“I suppose that makes you tough?” She had heard of the army, of course, but she didn’t know what a ranger was. The Amish were conscientious objectors and didn’t believe in fighting in wars.
The professor opened the basement door and cast the beam of light down the stairs. “Tougher than most.” He gently squeezed her hand. “Stay right here. I’m going to check the basement.”
After a few long, tense-filled minutes, he emerged from the basement. “No one’s down there. Let’s check upstairs.”
She nodded, nerves getting the best of her.
As she skulked behind the professor, afraid to walk through her own home, she could already hear the church elders tsk-tsking over a man who wasn’t her husband going upstairs. Surely they’d understand. If they ever found out. Right now, the elders weren’t her biggest concern. Someone hiding under her bed or lurking in a dark corner was.
Fear knotted her stomach. She’d never be able to sleep tonight.
The professor pointed his chin toward the door at the top of the stairs. “Is this your bedroom?”
She nodded and emitted an indecipherable sound that she hoped he took as yes. She lingered in the doorway as the professor made a sweep of the room. Empty. He did the same in the room Grace and Katie, her young daughters, shared. She was grateful she had left them with her brother, Mark, and his family for the night. They were only six and eight and Rebecca wanted to provide as much consistency for them after everything they had been through in their young lives.
The last upstairs bedroom was Samuel’s. He kept the door shut. He had been doing that for the past few months, ever since Elmer had died. Rebecca immediately felt traitorous for letting this stranger into her son’s room. A room her son didn’t even allow her access to.
The professor gave her a quick nod, his face heavily shadowed in the hallway. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Rebecca skirted around the professor and turned on the kerosene lamp on the bedside table. She sucked in a gasp. The room was a mess. The quilt she had personally made for Samuel was askew on the bed. Papers littered the floor.
“Samuel hasn’t allowed me in here for months.”
A battery-powered radio sat in the corner, and an assortment of silver disks littered the floor around it. She walked over to the closet and picked up a thin laptop and turned it over in her hands. She willed away her nausea as she met the professor’s gaze. “I had no idea he had this.” She held up the computer in her hand. Before her job at the diner, where people came in to work for hours on these things at some of the best tables near the windows, she wouldn’t have known what it was. “I have no idea how he’d afford a laptop. Why would he need this?”
The professor slowly strolled the perimeter of the room. Was he mentally cataloging her son’s belongings as if his room were an exhibit in a museum? Her mouth grew dry. Feelings of betrayal welled up again. Why had she allowed this man who made a living studying the Amish into her son’s bedroom?
“Please don’t use this in your research. This is my family’s private business.” She didn’t want to give the church elders reason to not allow her son into the preparation classes for baptism next summer.
Her heart filled with self-recrimination. She should have never brought an outsider into her life. Their lives.
The professor finally spoke. “You didn’t know he had all these things?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I didn’t want to know.” She lowered herself onto the corner of the bed. “It’s not uncommon for the youngie to explore worldly things. I hoped after his father, he would have been less likely to stray.”
“You suspected something was going on. That’s why you came to me.” She tried to read the question he wasn’t asking. Did he now suspect Samuel of dealing drugs? How else would he have earned the money for these things? Slowly blinking, Rebecca wished she hadn’t listened to her gut. Wasn’t she happier before she knew what her husband was really up to? The same could be said for her son.
What did she really know?
Rebecca smoothed her fingers along the edge of her cap and nodded. “I can’t lose him. I can’t. My daughters would be devastated.”
I would be devastated.
“Do you notice anything missing?”
Rebecca lifted her head and looked around. “In here? I wouldn’t know.”
“What about in the rest of the house?”
“I don’t think so. I have nothing of value.”
“Maybe they wanted something your son had.”
Rebecca’s gaze swept across the room, a room completely foreign to her.
The professor pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I have to call the sheriff. Report a breakin.”
“You can’t.” Desperation made her chest tight.
“I don’t understand. Someone was in your house.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Do you know who it was?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Of course not.”
“I’m calling the sheriff.”
Rebecca watched as the professor dialed the number, then lifted the phone to his ear. She was helpless to stop him.
Rebecca had made a huge mistake.
*
Rebecca sat ramrod straight in the rocker across from the professor as they waited in the sitting room for the sheriff to arrive. She was kicking herself for approaching the professor. She should have kept everything in her family private.
Now look what they uncovered in Samuel’s bedroom.
And if she hadn’t wasted time going to the university, she wouldn’t have given the intruder an opportunity to break in.
Willard’s cruel, mocking voice scraped across her brain. Stupid, stupid woman.
Neh, neh, neh! She was not that woman anymore. She was strong. She had to be.
If you are so strong, why is Officer Maxwell on his way over here to nose into your business? The Amish are supposed to stay separate. In this world but not of this world. You’re going to screw things up and lose Samuel now. It wonders me how you’ll ever be respected by the Amish.
Rebecca squared her shoulders, trying to shake her husband’s mocking words free from her brain. She realized her argument was flawed. The intruder could have made his way into her home while she was there. Then what would have happened? She could have been hurt or worse.
The memory of the man advancing on her on campus flashed in her mind. Were these events related? Had graffiti and egg-throwing veered toward more dangerous personal attacks? Would the community never forgive her for Willard’s horrid acts?
If this even had to do with Willard.
Rebecca rubbed her temples, hoping her headache would ease. She dropped her hands and frowned. Better to cloak her growing fear in annoyance. Easier to cast the blame of her predicament onto the professor. However unfair.
Rebecca wasn’t in the mood to admit it, but calling the sheriff was the practical thing to do, even if unorthodox for the Amish.
Footsteps sounded on the porch, followed by a brisk rap at the door. She started to get up. The professor was faster.
Sheriff Maxwell looked past the professor toward her. “Everything okay out here, Rebecca?”
She sighed softly and shook her head. She and the sheriff weren’t strangers. He had been instrumental in making sure her husband was behind bars. Rightfully so, but his presence was a painful reminder of a part of her life she’d rather forget.
The sheriff’s gaze slid over to the pr
ofessor and Rebecca felt foolish for ever believing a stranger in her life was a good idea. “You know Professor Burke.”
The sheriff opened his mouth but closed it again. Perhaps he was going to say something that had crossed Rebecca’s mind.
Why was he here?
Instead the sheriff held out his hand. “Hello, Jake. What’s going on here? You said Rebecca had a breakin?”
The professor nodded. “Rebecca returned home and saw someone running out the back door.”
“Anything taken?” the sheriff asked.
“Not that I can see.” Rebecca ran her hands down the skirt of her long dress. The professor’s watchful gaze unnerved her.
“Where’s Samuel?” the sheriff asked, glancing around.
Rebecca’s eyes grew wide. “He’s not home.” She couldn’t help but bristle.
“Do you know where your son is?”
“It wasn’t Samuel, if that’s what you’re thinking. He wouldn’t have run away from me.” Did she know that for sure? Hadn’t he been moving away from her for months? She swallowed hard. “Samuel’s a young man. I don’t need to keep track of his every move.” Yet that’s exactly what she had hoped to do by contacting the professor.
The sheriff nodded, as if he were considering this. “If nothing has been taken, I’ll write up a report and keep an eye out for any suspicious people wandering around tonight. Make sure you keep your doors locked.”
Rebecca nodded again, feeling queasy. Many residents of Apple Creek had added locks to their doors after the tragic murder of her friend and neighbor. The locks had been useless in keeping the murderer out of her home. Rebecca had been married to him.
“There’s another thing, Sheriff,” the professor said.
Rebecca spun around and glared at him.
“Rebecca was almost attacked on campus. I’m afraid if I hadn’t come along when I had, she would have been hurt.”
She wanted to deny this, but…she couldn’t. Nervous tingles danced up her arms. In one fell swoop, she had brought two outsiders into her life: the professor and the sheriff. She closed her eyes briefly. If Samuel got wind of this, he’d distance himself further.
She’d lose him forever.
“What happened?” Sheriff Maxwell asked.
Rebecca explained the glass on the lamppost exploding above her head and the man advancing on her. Icy dread pumped through her veins as she finished the story.
“Do you think this is tied to the previous harassment?”
Rebecca lowered her gaze and heat infused her cheeks. The sheriff had been out to her farm after the graffiti and egg-throwing incidents, even though Samuel had begged her not to call the police. He claimed it would only aggravate the situation. But Rebecca had feared for her family’s safety. Someone had to stop them. But no one had. The perpetrators were never found. So Rebecca had stopped bothering the sheriff. Eventually things died down, until recently.
“Have you had any interactions at the diner that made you feel uncomfortable?” the sheriff asked, his tone compassionate.
“It’s quiet at the diner this time of year, mostly college students and locals.” She cut a sideways glance to the professor, wishing she could read his mind.
“You’ve had some help on the farm?”
Rebecca glanced up to find the sheriff studying her closely.
“Yes, Uri and Jonas Yoder. They’ve been a tremendous help. We wouldn’t be able to farm the land without them.”
“Any chance it was either of them in your house tonight?”
“Neh…” Her tone was less than confident, but she hoped the sheriff didn’t pick up on it. She needed the Yoder brothers to harvest the crops. They were the sons of a well-respected Amish couple with ten children. They had been happy to offer their sons to help her in her time of need in exchange for minimal pay.
“Rebecca, if you think of anything else, you know where to reach me,” the sheriff said.
She nodded.
The sheriff headed toward the door, then turned back again. “Hannah and I would love to have you over to the house for dinner. The girls would love to play with Katie and Grace.”
Rebecca folded her hands in front of her. “That would be nice.” For her daughters. For her, seeing Hannah brought back painful memories. Rebecca’s husband had killed Hannah’s sister and brother-in-law, leaving Hannah to care for her two nieces in Apple Creek, separate from the Amish community. Rebecca and Hannah had been dear friends as children, a lifetime ago.
A stomping sound on the porch drew all eyes to the door. Rebecca’s heart sank. Samuel burst into the house. Under his broad-brimmed straw hat shadowing his eyes, she had a hard time discerning if he was angry or afraid.
Samuel took off his hat and ran his hand over his blunt-cut hair. “What’s going on?”
The more her son hung around with the youngie, the more he sounded like an Englisher. It was as if the young Amish were all trying to shed their Amish roots.
“When I came home someone was in the house.”
Samuel’s gaze wandered to the stairs, perhaps thinking of his bedroom.
Oh, Samuel, please talk to me.
“Who was it?” Samuel’s words were clipped.
“I don’t know. He ran out the back. Did one of your friends stop by?”
Samuel scratched his head, leaving a tuft of hair sticking up. “Neh.” Glancing at the sheriff, then the professor, he lowered his gaze. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll stop by the Yoder farm. See if the young men are home,” the sheriff said.
Samuel’s eyes grew wide. “Neh. Mem, why would you bring these outsiders here? Don’t we have enough trouble being accepted among our neighbors after what Willard did?” He used his father’s given name to distance himself. What son wanted to admit his father was a murderer?
Rebecca’s knees grew weak. “My son is right. That will only stir up more trouble. The Yoders are gut boys.”
The sheriff hesitated a fraction, as if he were thinking it over. He then clapped Samuel’s shoulder. “Good to see you, son. Keep an eye out for your mem here and be sure to call me if you guys see anything suspicious.” The sheriff was savvy enough to know most of the youngie carried cell phones during Rumspringa. It was frowned upon, but the elders turned a blind eye to it, hoping the young people would bend a knee when the time came.
“Good night, Sheriff,” Rebecca said, eager to see him leave.
She closed the door behind him, then rested her backside against it. “Is everything okay, Samuel?”
Her son narrowed his gaze at the professor. “Are you friends with my mem?”
The professor seemed to be searching for the right thing to say. “I hope we can be.”
Samuel’s nose twitched as if he were trying to process the scene. Rebecca’s heart pulsed in her ears. She didn’t want to push Samuel away by revealing she had gone to the professor to try to exact information out of him.
Apparently sensing this, the professor spoke up. “I gave your mom a ride home.” An apologetic smile slanted his lips. He had told a lie of omission, obviously leading her son to believe he had given her a ride home from the diner. “Then all this craziness broke out.”
“Oh.” Samuel stared straight ahead, skepticism written on his face. “I’m going to bed.” He stomped up a few stairs before Rebecca called to him.
“Do you know anything about what happened here tonight?”
Samuel stopped without turning around. “How would I know? I wasn’t home.”
Rebecca caught the professor’s eye. Unease twisted her insides, worrying how far she’d push Samuel.
“You must be tired.”
Samuel nodded curtly. “Yah, I’m going upstairs.” Samuel continued his stomp up the stairs like a petulant child. When he reached his room, he hollered down the stairs. “Who was in my room?” He thudded down the stairs, his chest heaving.
“I was in your room.” Rebecca approached the bottom of the stairs. “Where did you get all that stu
ff?” The walls of the house seemed to sway as she waited for the answer.
Samuel pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything.
Rebecca worried about the consequences of talking in front of the professor, but she was overwhelmed. She couldn’t let this defiance from her son slide a minute longer. “Where did you get the money for a computer?”
A muscle ticked in Samuel’s jaw and suddenly he looked like a man. An angry man. “Stay out of my room,” he spat out.
“Samuel, your mother’s worried about you.” The professor moved next to her, making her feel like for once she wasn’t alone.
“You don’t have to worry.” Samuel ran upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.
Rebecca and the professor exchanged worried looks.
Samuel was definitely hiding something.
THREE
The next afternoon at the diner, Rebecca grabbed the whipped cream can she could see through the glass door of the refrigerator and yanked off the cap. Lost in thought she squeezed the trigger on the dispenser and watched the white cream ooze out into a hearty dollop on two pieces of apple pie.
Drawing in a deep breath, she picked up the plates and turned her back to push through the swinging door leading to the dining room. The door swung back with a swoosh on its hinge, and she delivered the two pieces of pie to the elderly couple in the booth by the window.
“Can I get you anything else?” Rebecca asked.
“No, dear,” the older woman said, “thank you.” The couple came in at least once a week and Rebecca couldn’t help but envy the easy way they chatted and held hands over dessert.
As Rebecca retreated to the counter, the elderly gentleman muttered something about how delicious the pie was.
Flo, the waitress on duty with her, pulled the filter basket out of the coffeemaker and turned it upside down over the garbage. With a gentle tap on the edge of the can, the wet coffee filter and used grounds slid into the garbage.
Flo was in her sixties and she was a fixture at the diner as much as shoofly pie and apple butter. People might have thought she was Amish because she wore her long gray hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and her plain gray waitress uniform might have passed for Amish to the average tourist.
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