Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Nadia’s chin lowered. “Today, she said something...” She rubbed her hands over the arms of the chair. “Katie-Ann’s crib quilt made her sad. I wondered if she’d lost a child, or—”

  Ben shook his head. “Not that.” He knew how much Lucy wanted children, but in the normal course of events you needed a man for that. He’d be sorry if she decided the only way she’d ever have a baby was to go to a sperm bank, but he and—he felt sure—his parents would accept that. “I’ll talk to her about it tonight. I stepped in it big-time, and she might take pity on me and let me tell you why I’m nervous about her being here if anything else like the cherry bomb happens.”

  Worry shadowed her eyes. “Don’t push her too hard. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable with me.”

  Not surprised that her first concern was Lucy, Ben nodded and decided to change the subject. Before he could, she said tentatively, “Do you have other siblings? Lucy hasn’t said.”

  So she wanted to know more about him. Did that mean forgiveness was possible?

  Ben shook his head. “Just the two of us. We’re only a year and a half apart in age. Two pregnancies so close together probably convinced Mom that enough was enough.”

  Nadia’s chuckle lifted his mood another notch.

  “Having two kids in diapers at the same time might have had something to do with that.”

  Ben laughed, too. “Yeah, that could be. I’m pretty sure I was an oops baby. At least an ‘oops, not yet’ baby.” Intensely curious, he asked, “What about you?”

  “Like you, I have only one sister, several years older than me. We were pretty good friends, even though Sonya always was bossy. After...you know, she wanted me to get over it. It was like she couldn’t stand not being able to fix me.” Her forehead crimped. “Her and Mom, both. They’re...”

  When she seemed to be searching for words, he suggested, “Overbearing?”

  She hesitated. “I know they love me and want the best for me.”

  In other words, yes.

  Unhappily aware that he should shove off and leave her to her dinner plans, he asked if she’d heard from Julie.

  “No.” She appeared unsurprised.

  From his interviews with the volunteers, Ben knew that Nadia had been the driving force behind the fund-raiser and had committed a daunting amount of time and energy. In contrast, Julie Baird mostly liked committees and having a reputation for charitable work without having to seriously apply herself. He had a few things he’d like to say to her but, given his position, never would.

  “Did you talk to Bill Jarvis about Mr. Hixson?” she asked.

  “I did. And you were right. Their coverage on the house excluded wind damage. He didn’t have insurance at all on the barn, farm equipment or animals. Raising three kids, and having a relatively small operation like his, they had to be tight with their money. Bill says right now the Hixsons are living with the wife’s sister and her family. He has the impression they’re getting desperate. Leonard hasn’t had any luck finding a job, but doesn’t want to sell the land.”

  “Would anyone buy it, given the obvious tornado damage?”

  “Maybe. Farmland usually does go, but without buildings? Anyway, what he’d get wouldn’t support a family for long.” He sighed. “The Hixsons are near the top of Bill’s list, but there just isn’t enough money to go around.” Seeing Nadia’s expression, he said, “Don’t go there. The rest of the money you raised would have been welcome, but spread it around between two or three families, and it wouldn’t get any of them back on their feet.”

  “No, but... It’s too bad the farmers that were impacted didn’t have Amish-style barn raisings.”

  “They’d have had to be able to afford the lumber. And what good is an empty barn?”

  “Not all the cows were killed, were they?”

  “Probably not, but he may have had to sell the herd. Anyway, dairy farming is mostly automated these days, even among the Amish. You need tanks to keep the milk cool and sterile, and I’m guessing that’s just the beginning.”

  “It’s not right!” she exclaimed in frustration. She’d obviously forgiven Hixson and ached to help him, giving her a lot in common with the Amish women who had rallied around her.

  Despite everything going so wrong with the auction into which she had poured so much energy, her generosity and compassion remained alive and well. Aware of a sharp twinge in the region of his heart, Ben smiled at her.

  “No, it isn’t right. But you did something extraordinary to try to help, and that’s more than most people do.” He needed to get out of here before he pushed for something she couldn’t possibly be ready to give.

  When he expressed his need to go and stood, Nadia rose, too. “You didn’t find out anything about the checks and credit card slips being returned.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t expect to. Whoever he is, he used his head.”

  And why did he keep thinking of the thief as “he”? If someone involved with the auction took the money, “he” was more likely a she.

  Convenience, he decided. And reality was that he arrested way more men than he did women.

  “Why do you suppose the person bothered?” Nadia asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Burning the pile would have been easy and less risky.”

  “Maybe he does feel guilty.”

  There she went again, holding on to faith that everyone had a heart. Given that she’d seen the darkest side of human nature, that was a miracle.

  How would she classify the rage that kept a coal burning white-hot inside him? Would she believe it was justified? Protective? Or would she see a man like her friend’s husband, ready to explode at the right provocation?

  And are you so sure that doesn’t describe you?

  Yes. He was sure. But whether Nadia would agree was another story. He still hadn’t forgotten the fear darkening her eyes when they met.

  That’s long past.

  Ben wanted to think so, but he was careful to keep his kiss light and not demand more before he left.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LUCY ARRIVED NOT ten minutes after Nadia opened A Stitch in Time the next morning. Her tote bag bulged, and this time she’d brought the large wooden hoop.

  After greeting her, Nadia nodded at the tote. “Are you ready to start quilting?”

  “Not quite, but all I have to do is add the borders and cut out the backing and batting. Well, and pin it. And...I don’t need to mark it if I’m just planning to quilt straight lines, right?”

  Nadia laughed. “No, you don’t. Don’t sound so nervous! Remember, if your first stitches are huge or crooked, you can pull them out. Besides, this is your first quilt. You can’t improve if you don’t start.”

  “I know.” She scrunched up her nose. “I’m a perfectionist, which means I drive myself crazy.”

  “I understand that,” Nadia admitted. “It bodes well for you as a quilter, though. The best are, you know.”

  Lucy looked thoughtful. “That makes sense. I’ve been studying the quilt in the frame in back. Hannah told me it’s yours.”

  “It is.” She hadn’t touched it while she was so shaken after the auction, but in the past few days she’d had plenty of time to work on it. No annoying distractions like customers.

  “The stitches are incredibly tiny and so even. Which says you’re a perfectionist, too.”

  “I am, but part of it is just practice. I’ve done it so long, now I can quilt with my mind a million miles away, or while I’m carrying on a conversation, and my hand just knows what to do. I use a really small needle, and almost always pack twelve stitches on it.”

  “But you don’t count.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t need to anymore.”

  Lucy sighed. “I’m hoping you’ll give
me a quick lesson before I start that part.”

  Nadia smiled. “Of course I will. And no, we don’t have to wait until the class this afternoon. If things stay quiet, I’ll be glad to have something to do.”

  Lucy looked around. “Where’s Hannah?”

  “Not coming in until noon. Yesterday was so dead...” Quiet. That’s what she meant.

  In a different voice, low and almost timid, Lucy asked, “Do you have time to talk for a minute?”

  Ben must have kept his promise, but now Nadia felt guilty. Did she really need to know the details of what his sister had suffered, instead of being willing to accept that he had reason to be extra protective of her?

  “Of course I do,” she said, “but...if this is because of Ben, you don’t have to tell me anything, you know. I don’t want you feeling coerced.”

  “No, I don’t mind telling you. Really. I’d like to think we can be friends.”

  Nadia hugged her. “Me, too. Okay, let’s sit in back.”

  She brought them both bottles of water from the dorm-size fridge she had under the checkout counter, and sat at the worktable where she could see into the store.

  “I was raped,” Lucy said.

  “Oh, no.” From their first meeting, Nadia had seen the same darkness in Lucy’s eyes she saw in her own sometimes when she looked in the mirror. But by body language and her choice of clothing, Lucy carried it further. Whether consciously or not, she was trying to pass unnoticed, certainly by men.

  “It happened the summer after my sophomore year. I didn’t go home because I had a job showing prospective students around the campus and doing some filing and data entry for the admissions department. I was living in an off-campus apartment. Then...one night I woke up and he was ripping my clothes off. I tried to scream and he clamped a hand over my face.” She stopped, swallowed, distress coming off her in waves. “He—”

  Nadia took her hand and squeezed it. “You don’t need to tell me. If...it helps to get it all out, I’ll listen, but please don’t relive it for my sake or your brother’s.”

  Lucy held on to Nadia’s hand as if desperate for the connection. Despite dry eyes, her devastation was easy to see. “Thank you. I’m sure you can imagine what happened. What woman hasn’t known it could happen to her?”

  A lump in her throat, Nadia nodded.

  “The rape was...really brutal. When he was done, he hit me, over and over. He must have thought I was dead when he left. The irony was, he’d used a condom and worn those thin plastic gloves, but when he battered me, they must have ripped, because he left blood on me.”

  “So police had his DNA.”

  “Yes. I’m told that usually the state lab wouldn’t have run it until the police had a suspect, but I was lucky enough to have a detective who kept up the pressure until he got the results even though he and the other investigators never identified the man. So the DNA is out there in case he commits another crime, but it’s been sixteen years, and there’s never been a hit.” She smiled wryly. “Ben calls the detective at least once a year.”

  Of course he did. Nadia admired him for it.

  “The rapist. How is it possible he hasn’t done it again?” she said.

  Lucy shook her head. “Maybe there was something about me—”

  Nadia wouldn’t even let her finish the sentence. “You know better than that.”

  Lucy tried to smile again, the result pathetic. “I do. What I really believe is that he’s raped a lot of other women since. The gloves might not have ripped again. Or the condom. And the vast majority of rapes are never reported to police, you know.”

  Nadia had read that up to 90 percent of rape victims didn’t go to the police. “If he injured any other women the way he did you, how could it not have been reported?”

  “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he got home and freaked when he saw that the gloves had ripped and his knuckles bled. He’d been careful otherwise. He could have learned his lesson. And...I’ve read that a lot of identified rapists don’t come across as frightening. They can be nice guys, really successful, well liked, even married and with children.”

  “And now you look at every man you meet and wonder,” Nadia said slowly.

  That same, twisty smile. “I do.”

  “Who found you? Did a neighbor hear, or...?”

  “No, the next morning was Saturday and my parents and Ben decided to take me to breakfast. When I didn’t answer my phone or the door, they let themselves in. Ben had a key because he slept on my couch sometimes.”

  “Oh, no,” Nadia whispered again. Ben would have just finished his freshman year in college, which meant he was only nineteen. To see his sister like that... Of course he’d become a cop. Of course he was still intensely protective of her.

  “I was lucky. If not for their surprise visit, I’d have lain there all weekend. Even if I hadn’t showed up for work Monday morning, who knows if anyone would have come to my apartment to find out why?”

  “You were still unconscious.”

  “Yes. Doctors called it a coma. It was Sunday before I regained consciousness. I had lots of broken bones, including my cheekbones.” She touched her face lightly, seemingly without being aware she had. “I was in the hospital for two weeks. I didn’t go back to school there, because I was afraid the rapist was someone I knew. How else would he have targeted me? I did eventually finish my degree, but I’ve lived with a lot of anxiety. I don’t go out at night if I can help it, I check the locks about twenty times before I go to bed and I still wake up with a start, thinking I’ve heard something, at least every half an hour all night long.” Her fingers bit into Nadia’s. “Don’t tell Ben that, please. He worries enough. Anyway, here with him, I’ve slept better than I have in forever.”

  “I won’t. I promise. He’s good at making a woman feel safe.” Except, of course, when he suspected her of a crime, when he had the opposite effect. Nadia hesitated. “Did he tell you about what happened to me?”

  “You mean, someone getting into your bedroom to take the money?”

  “No. Before I moved here.” When Lucy shook her head, Nadia described her own ordeal in more detail than when she’d told Ben. “I can’t completely understand what you went through, but maybe better than most people. I still have nightmares. And I don’t trust as readily.”

  “Yes.” Tears welled in Lucy’s brown eyes. “But I’m letting life pass me by, and I want to change that. Coming here was a first step.” She tugged a corner of her pieced quilt top from the bag. “Maybe this is one, too.”

  “I hope so.”

  The bell over the door was followed by women’s voices.

  “Friend or foe?” Lucy murmured, even as she wiped away the tears.

  Nadia was able to laugh. “Keep your fingers crossed for me.”

  * * *

  SOMEHOW, SHE WASN’T SURPRISED when her doorbell rang soon after she closed the store. A second later, her phone rang, too.

  Ben.

  “Hi,” she said, answering. “Is that you downstairs?”

  “Yeah. I should have called sooner. I just realized you might be nervous having to come down without knowing who’s at the door.”

  She would have been, if she hadn’t guessed Ben would stop by. All she said was, “I’ll be right down.” But, setting aside her phone, she almost wished she’d made an excuse. Or ignored call and doorbell alike. The intensity of her attraction to a man who reminded her of the worst moments of her life made her wary.

  Although, she reflected on her way down, apparently not wary enough.

  He still wore his uniform, which reminded her every time of all the good reasons she had to keep her distance from him.

  Nadia opened the door anyway, but he didn’t move.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” he said roughly.

  Not
liking the way he was looking at her, she took a cautious step back. “What way?”

  “As though...” He shook his head and walked in. “I remind you of someone, don’t I?”

  She blinked. “No.”

  “I scare you.”

  It was disconcerting to discover how easily those dark eyes read her.

  “I just get...flashes.”

  His knotted jaw told her he wasn’t happy about her admission.

  “Do you have time to come upstairs?” she asked.

  “Maybe that’s not a good idea.”

  “I don’t expect you to attack me.”

  After a moment, he nodded, following when she started up. Feeling strangely awkward once they reached her apartment, Nadia took refuge in politeness. “Can I get you something to drink? I haven’t started on dinner yet, but...”

  He accepted again, allowing her to flee to the kitchen. There, she took a few deep breaths and tried to figure out why she felt so vulnerable. The answer wasn’t hard to find. Lucy’s story, and then retelling her own, had opened doors she tried to keep shut.

  Returning with two glasses and a pitcher of iced tea, she found Ben studying the framed photos atop a mahogany bookcase.

  “Your family?”

  “Yes.” She set down the pitcher and glasses and joined him. “You must have seen these when you did the search.”

  “No. I was keeping an eye on the men, and on you. I didn’t let myself get distracted.”

  “God forbid you let yourself be moved by anything like family photos.”

  Ben slanted a glance at her. “I don’t blame you for being ticked, but would you really have wanted me getting that personal? Maybe asking about your family?”

  Nadia looked away. “No.” After a moment, she focused on the photo he held in his hand. “That’s my sister with her husband and kids. She’s a paralegal, he’s an attorney. She stayed home for a few years, until the kids had both started school. He went out on his own recently, and now Sonya works with him.”

  “You don’t look much alike.”

  “I took after Dad—really my grandmother on his side—while she took after Mom.”