Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Those weren’t easy conversations,” Ben said. “Both the mayor and the prosecuting attorney have known Jim for years.”

  She only nodded.

  “Neither had heard about Jim’s daughter, though,” Ben continued. “He tripped over his pride. If he’d been more open about what was happening, I’m guessing the community would have come together for the family. They were both more sympathetic than I am to Jim for not coming forward sooner. And planning the theft well in advance. Impulse, that’s easier to forgive.”

  “He did bring the money back.”

  Ben’s mouth twisted. “That’s damned unusual—I’ll give you that.”

  “Do you think the prosecutor will go easy on him?”

  “No question. I called Jim, told him he needs to find an attorney, and he said he already has. His wife pushed him. So I’ll be out of this soon. Bob and I sat down together and roughed out a statement.”

  Bob? Oh. The mayor. Bob Finzel. She’d seen his name in the paper often enough.

  “I’ll announce that an arrest has been made because the man who took it deeply regrets his actions and returned every penny. I have to name him.” Ben’s regret colored his voice. “I’ll say that we can’t condone his criminal behavior, but do feel he redeemed himself in bringing back the money and is unlikely to offend again. That Ms. Markovic, whose reputation has suffered from unwarranted suspicion and accusation, is relieved to have her name cleared but wouldn’t have pressed charges if given a choice. She’s deeply concerned for Mr. Wilcox’s daughter, undergoing treatment for childhood leukemia.” He paused. “I’ll delete that part if you’d prefer.”

  “No, I like it.”

  “And in conclusion—” he deepened his voice and gave her a wry grin “—we’re very pleased to be able to hand over the money to the aid organization for which it was intended, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “So...it’s over, for everyone but Jim and his family.” She felt oddly numb.

  “Yeah.”

  “If only he were Amish.”

  Ben grunted. “Hospital bills would be paid, church members would be sitting with his daughter, babysitting his son, providing meals so his wife didn’t have to cook, and he’d never have fallen behind on his mortgage.”

  Nadia frowned, thinking. “He must have a church.”

  “Yeah, and I’m sure a collection will be taken up for his family, but the total will be a drop in the bucket. In a community this size, people would have to dig deep in their pockets to cover the kind of medical bills showing up in his mailbox. A lot of those people will be thinking about how tight their budgets are and how they’re still paying for insurance, so why didn’t he?”

  Maybe no jail time wasn’t that big a favor, Nadia realized, depressed. It was like throwing a drowning man a life ring with no attached rope. He might not go under right away, but nobody would pull him in, either.

  “Can I tell people now?”

  Ben glanced at his watch. “The press conference is scheduled for one o’clock. So yes, I don’t see any reason you can’t contact anyone you please.” He raised his eyebrows. “Say, Allison Edgerton, or Julie Baird.”

  “Neither of them deserves a minute of my time. I was mostly thinking of Colleen, and then I can drive out to see Hannah and—Oh, shoot, it’s Sunday. Is it church Sunday?”

  He frowned. “I’ve lost track.”

  Nadia touched his hand. “Thank you. For caring about me and still doing your best for him.”

  “Even cops can be decent human beings, you know.”

  He didn’t sound offended, but she jumped to her feet and kissed him anyway. “I know,” she said softly. “I even know the negotiator and SWAT officers in Colorado Springs thought they were doing the right thing. I shouldn’t blame them.”

  When she straightened, he grabbed her hands. “We have to make hard decisions too often,” he said, eyes intent. “It’s not always about whether to shoot or not. In law enforcement, the most minor actions or inactions can have deadly consequences.”

  Was that a warning? Maybe it was one she needed to hear, if they were to be involved. She couldn’t let her own experiences color her reaction when he told her about something that happened. Or when some small-minded or embittered person did.

  “I need to go.” He grimaced as he got to his feet. “Gotta do my favorite part of the job.”

  “Come on,” she teased. “Most people love to see themselves on television.”

  Ben grunted his opinion of that. “You going to stay here?”

  “I think so. I don’t want to intrude even if the Amish don’t have church today. But I will call Colleen and some of the other women who have been so nice.”

  He tugged her into his arms. “You need to do some prep, too. The minute I step away from the podium, your phone will start ringing, so prepare a short statement of your own, then stick to it.”

  “Oh, no.”

  He grinned. “Oh, yes. News outlets will all want a comment from you.”

  She made a face. “Do I have to talk to Dave Rutledge?”

  Ben chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Console yourself that he’s having to eat his words. Be extra sweet.”

  “Oh, fun.”

  “And be careful.” All trace of his amusement was gone. “Don’t open the door to anyone but a good friend. I’d rather you don’t drive out to the Yoders or anywhere else, not yet. We still don’t know what was behind the shooting.”

  “If it had to do with the money—”

  “You’d be safe after word gets out.”

  She searched his face. “But you don’t think I will be.”

  “No. Spitting on you, that’s one thing. Being willing to kill, that’s different.”

  Her stomach took a big swoop, or maybe it was her heart. This morning’s giddy relief? Premature.

  Somebody wants to kill me.

  And she couldn’t afford to forget that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  PROVING THE EFFECTIVENESS of the Amish grapevine, Hannah dashed into the shop Tuesday morning and exclaimed, “I am so glad for you! You must be relieved, ja?”

  Nadia looked up from the fabric bolt she was returning to a row. “You already know?” Then she laughed. “Of course you do. And yes, I’m relieved. But also...sad.”

  Hannah nodded. “Mr. Wilcox has done work for many of us, too. So kind, he is. People are always saying he doesn’t ask enough money, not when he has to drive so far out into the country.”

  “He put my new locks in, too.” Nadia hesitated. “And the locks for Mrs. Jefferson, of course. You know he kept a key? That’s how he got in to take the money.”

  “It’s true, he brought it all back?”

  “And a few extra dollars. Either a cashier miscounted, or somebody made a small, last minute donation at the auction. Ben—Chief Slater—and I met Bill Jarvis yesterday at the bank. The money is safely deposited, and he can start distributing it.”

  “Gut. Good. But sad, too. To think of his little girl so sick.”

  “Yes. Ben thinks no one will trust him again, after he stole, so I don’t know what he and his family will do.”

  “That should not be,” Hannah insisted.

  “No.” Nadia told her what Ben said, about Jim’s pride keeping him from letting people know he needed help. “He and his wife were having trouble keeping up with bills, so he quit paying for medical insurance.”

  “I hear all the time that people pay for insurance, but it doesn’t always take care of them.”

  “That’s true, but mostly for people who didn’t read carefully what the insurance would pay out for and what it wouldn’t. Like all those farmers, who thought their homeowners’ insurance would rebuild their houses, but their policies didn’t cover tornado damage.” Nadia went to the front
door and flipped the sign to Open. “It will be interesting to see who stops by today.” She wouldn’t be surprised if nobody who had shunned her ever offered an apology. Doing so would be awkward, uncomfortable on both sides. Avoiding her would be easier.

  And truthfully, Nadia hadn’t decided how she’d respond to anyone who did apologize. If she were Amish, of course, that wouldn’t even be a question. Forgiveness would come naturally, intrinsic to her faith.

  So if she admired their willingness to offer genuine forgiveness without hesitation, shouldn’t she do the same? Or was holding on to anger more satisfying?

  She was a teeny bit disturbed to discover she wasn’t sure, which meant she wasn’t as good a person as she’d like to think she was.

  The bell on the door tinkled, and she braced herself. Don’t make me have to decide now.

  Jennifer Bronske walked in.

  Nadia glanced at Hannah, who smiled gently at her, as if it hadn’t occurred to her that Nadia’s response to people like Jennifer would be anything but generous.

  Of course, Jennifer might have no intention of apologizing.

  Nadia managed a pleasant smile. “Jennifer.” Oh, how she wanted to say, What a surprise to see you. But snide was not the way to regain friends and customers.

  Jennifer came directly to her, stopping on the other side of the counter. “I know how inadequate this is, but I’m here to tell you how sorry I am that I jumped to conclusions. I owe you that much.”

  Nadia’s anger quivered and dissolved. She shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything. You felt betrayed. I understood that. I won’t deny that it hurt to have so many women I’d started to believe might be friends decide I had to be guilty. But there are plenty of con artists out there, and I could have been one of them. You really hadn’t known me long.” She smiled weakly. “At least you didn’t join the demonstration out front.”

  Usually composed, Jennifer flushed with hot color. She held herself stiffly. “After that man spit on you and you handed me the money from the quilt, I saw your expression. I...think I knew then. I almost said I was sorry, but...” Her one-shouldered shrug spoke of hesitation and doubts.

  “I appreciate you saying this.” Nadia tried to project sincerity. “I know it’s hard to do. As far as I’m concerned, the whole episode is forgotten.” From somewhere inside, she found the ability to offer a warm smile. “I’ll hope to see you in here again. In fact, I’d love it if you’d consider teaching a class on appliqué techniques sometime. I don’t know anyone who does it better. You may have noticed that the idea of doing teeny, tiny leaves or cherries on a tree, or, heaven forbid, a bird’s beak gives me hives.”

  Jennifer actually laughed. “I had noticed. Not many people seem to enjoy that kind of finicky handwork. If you think there are enough to fill a class, I’d be glad to teach one.”

  “Excellent! I’m putting together a schedule for August. Or if you have a vacation planned, we could do it in September.”

  “Either would be fine. Just give me a call when you have dates that might work. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She gave Hannah a vague smile, Nadia a still embarrassed one, and left.

  The moment the door closed behind her, Nadia sighed. “I really had to bite my tongue.”

  “Forgiveness is never easy.” Seeing Nadia’s expression, Hannah chuckled. “No, not even for us! We get mad, too, you know. I have had to pretend once or twice.” The humor in her eyes suggested that was an understatement. “But I know I should forgive,” she went on, “so I say the right words, and one day I know I mean them.”

  “That makes me feel a little better.” Nadia wrinkled her nose. “Jennifer was a good one to start with, because she didn’t do or say anything that bad.”

  “Not like that Allison.”

  “Julie Baird, too,” Nadia admitted. “She didn’t say anything terrible, either, but we’d spent a lot of time together planning the auction. And yet, the very second I told her about the money disappearing, I could tell she blamed me. She didn’t even hesitate. That really stung. I don’t think I’d have lasted if it hadn’t been for people like you and Katie-Ann and Ruth and Colleen.”

  In the course of the day, three other women came into the store to apologize. Having already accepted one graciously gave Nadia a template for responding to more apologies. Ellen Shaw’s was her favorite. She marched in looking militant to say, “You were so dignified that day, and I was such a bitch.” Nadia wouldn’t have guessed the word was in Ellen’s vocabulary. Ellen even had the guts to ask if she could bring quilts again for Nadia to sell. Of course, Nadia agreed. Aside from appreciating the apology, there was the old saying about not cutting off your nose to spite your face.

  The smile was cracking by the time Ben arrived to take her to his house for dinner again.

  He kissed her softly. “The worst is over.”

  “Maybe.”

  Neither of them talked about the other threat she still faced, the one that had her scared to carry a bag of trash out to the Dumpster or drive alone anywhere. How long could she go on this way? What if two weeks from now, a month from now, nothing else had happened? The shot might have been fired by someone mad about the auction money...or the person who hated her might be really patient.

  Nadia always came back to the why. Had she done something offensive? Seen something she shouldn’t have? But what? Thinking about it made her head ache.

  Midafternoon Wednesday, Colleen burst in, excited because within twenty-four hours of the crowdfunding appeal going up, donations had begun pouring in. “It’s amazing!” she crowed. “Two separate people gave five thousand dollars each! I don’t know how fast the response tails off, but if it lasts even for a week or two, we might be able to give the Hixsons a good start on rebuilding.”

  “Would it be possible to organize a community barn raising?” Nadia asked. “Well, and house raising, too? Not having to pay contractors would save a bunch.”

  Hannah’s face lit. “I’ll talk to Daad and Jacob. If they agree, we can go to the bishop and ask for the members of our church district to join in. I think that not so many Englischers know how to build a barn. They might need our help.”

  Colleen hugged her. “They will, because you’re right. But I’ll bet a lot of the other farmers within a several-county radius would come, too. They may need the same help someday.”

  “And then we could post photos of what the donations have accomplished, along with an appeal for another family who lost their home, too,” Nadia suggested.

  Ben stopped by in the middle of their excited plotting, shook his head and said, “I guess I don’t need to worry about you being alone here,” and left.

  Just seeing him, even for a few minutes at a time, lifted her spirits.

  * * *

  BEN DIDN’T LIKE his constant awareness of the danger to Nadia. Back at the station, he propped his feet on his desk. His phone momentarily silent, he brooded. When would the next strike come?

  Living here, he’d seen tornadoes from a distance. This felt too much like that. He imagined one approaching, the sky a sickening yellowish green, the dark, spinning monster’s path unpredictable. Worse, he put himself in Leonard Hixson’s head, when he bellowed his son’s name over and over, finally realizing the boy wouldn’t make it to shelter. Closing and latching that door, listening to the roar, offering up house, barn, anything the monster wanted, if only it would pass by the terrified kid and his dog.

  Ben rubbed both hands over his face. Every time his damn phone rang lately, he expected the caller to be either Nadia or a first responder, letting him know she’d been attacked again. If she died...

  He couldn’t let himself think that way. She was being careful, not being stupid enough to be rebellious. Unless she was slipping out when he was unaware, she hadn’t yet stepped out of her building alone. She should be safe there. Daytime,
the risk of being seen and recognized would be too great for a gunman to, say, walk right into the fabric store and gun her down. The streets were busy, A Stitch in Time surrounded by other businesses.

  Breaking in at night...that would be harder, but not impossible. It wouldn’t happen quietly, though. The chair she was still bracing beneath the doorknob at the foot of the stairs was low-tech, but it would be a surprise to an intruder, and probably a noisy one. She’d have time to call for help, maybe blockade herself in the bedroom.

  In the next days, he took to stopping by her store often, making his visits at unpredictable intervals, even on days when they planned to get together for dinner. That was just about every night. Lucy usually cooked. Either he’d pick Nadia up, or he and Lucy would bring the meal to her place. Those times, he didn’t even get a serious good-night kiss, but he liked to see the growing friendship between the two women. They both needed the connection. What he didn’t like was leaving Nadia alone. So far, she had stubbornly refused to stay at his house, either putting him out of his bed or sleeping with him across the hall from his sister’s room.

  This morning, Lucy had displayed her finished quilt for him. These past weeks, he’d become enough of a connoisseur to see that the stitches weren’t as tiny as Nadia was putting in the quilt in the frame at the back of her shop, or on some of the quilts displayed on the walls there, but they weren’t far off. Lucy pointed out her mistakes, then told him she intended to start another one right away. Not bed-size yet, but her third quilt would be. The firm way she said that was just another sign of her growing confidence.

  She hadn’t said a word about when she intended to leave, and that made him uneasy. Just yesterday, he had asked Nadia if she’d seen Lucy with Jacob Yoder again.

  Her hesitation was answer enough.

  He had growled, That’s what I thought.

  She had been cutting out fabric at the time, but the rotary cutter went still. Nadia didn’t look at him. You’d rather she wasn’t hanging out here so much, wouldn’t you?

  His Don’t be ridiculous was probably too brusque, and not a 100 percent honest. What if somebody came after Nadia again, and Lucy was injured, too? Or instead? Or was so traumatized, all the progress she’d made was erased?