“I am looking forward to it,” Grace admitted, “but it’s hard to concentrate on wedding plans with what’s been going on lately.”
“You mean the break-ins?”
“Jah.”
“Like Dad said, maybe it won’t happen again. Maybe whoever broke into his shop got what they wanted when they stole his tools.”
Grace wished she could believe it wouldn’t happen again, but she had a terrible feeling that the break-ins were only the beginning of their troubles. If Gary had come here to make good on his threat to get even with her, then there could be more attacks. Should she tell her folks who Gary was—that she’d dated him during her rumschpringe years? Would that be enough to convince Dad that he needed to notify the sheriff?
She cringed. If she told her folks about Gary, wouldn’t that lead to more questions? Should she tell them the truth about her marriage to Wade, or would it be better to keep quiet and see what happened with Gary?
“Grace, are you listening to me?” Ruth nudged Grace’s arm again.
“Wh–what was that?”
“Do you think there will be more attacks?”
“Oh, I hope not.” Grace pulled a bolt of blue material off the rack and held it up. “I think this is the one I want.”
“Should we look for some white to make your apron now?”
“Okay.” Grace followed Ruth to the other side of the room. Several shelves near the front of the store were stocked with bolts of white material, and she glanced out the window to see if Mom was still talking to Cleon’s mother. She didn’t see any sign of either woman. “I wonder what could be taking Mom so long,” she said, turning to face her sister. “I don’t see her anywhere, and I’m getting worried.”
“She and Irene probably went into one of the other stores. You know how gabby our mamm can get whenever she’s with one of her friends.”
Grace nodded. “Jah, she does like to talk.”
“What do you think of this?” Ruth asked, as she handed a bolt of white material over to Grace.
“It’s nice, but I’d like to keep looking awhile.”
“Want me to hold it out in case you decide it’s the best one?”
“Sure.” Grace looked out the window again, and she nearly dropped the bolt of material she held when she saw her mother standing on the sidewalk talking to Gary.
“What’s wrong, Grace? Your face has gone pale as goat’s milk,” Ruth said in a tone of obvious concern.
“It…it’s that reporter. He’s talking to Mom, and I’ve got to stop him.” Grace thrust the material into her sister’s hands and rushed out the door.
Judith heard Grace holler even before she saw her running down the sidewalk, frantically waving her arms.
“What is it, Grace? What’s the matter?”
Grace gulped in a quick breath and grabbed hold of Judith’s arm. “I—I thought you were with Irene.”
“I was, but she was in a hurry to get home, so she left a few minutes ago.” Judith turned to the English man she’d been talking to and smiled. “My daughter’s choosing the material for her wedding dress today, and she’s real excited.”
“Is she now?” Gary looked over at Grace and offered her a wide grin. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Mom, are you coming?” Grace gave Judith’s arm a little tug, and their elbows collided. “Sorry.”
“No harm done. I’ll come with you as soon as I’ve answered this man’s questions.”
“He’s some kind of a reporter, Mom. Dad wouldn’t like it if anything you said was put in some publication for the whole world to read.” Grace gripped her mother’s arm, and Judith noticed a look of fear in her daughter’s eyes.
The man stared at Grace, and his auburn-colored brows drew together. “Say, haven’t we met before?”
Grace’s eyes darted back and forth, and her face turned crimson. “Mom, let’s go.”
Judith had never seen Grace act in such a strange manner. She seemed afraid of the man. Did the thought of being asked a few questions make her that nervous, or was she still feeling jumpy about the break-ins?
Judith turned to the reporter and smiled. “I think we’d best be on our way.”
He gave her a quick nod. “Sure. I’ve got some business that needs tending to, anyway.”
Judith hurried off toward the quilt shop with her distraught daughter beside her.
“What did you tell that fellow?” Grace asked before they entered the store. “You didn’t mention the break-ins, did you?”
“Of course not. If your daed doesn’t want the sheriff to know, he sure wouldn’t want such news put in some magazine or newspaper for everyone to read.”
“What kind of questions did he ask, and what did you tell him?”
Judith shrugged. “He wanted to know my name and how long I’ve lived in Holmes County. Then he asked me a couple of questions about our family.”
Grace halted in front of the shop door. “What kind of questions?”
“Just wondered how many children I have and what type of work my husband does for a living. They were simple questions, and I saw no harm in answering.”
“If he tries to talk to you again, I hope you won’t answer.”
Judith gave her daughter’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Why do you fret so much? Why can’t you be more like your sister Martha? Sie druwwelt sich wehe nix.”
Grace frowned. “What do you mean, ‘She doesn’t worry about much of anything’? Martha worries about those dogs of hers more than you realize.”
“Maybe so, but she doesn’t worry about everything the way you do.” Judith nodded toward the store. “Shall we go inside and choose your material now?”
Grace nodded, but her wide eyes revealed fear as she watched the reporter cross the street and begin talking to an Amish man.
“You all right? You seem awfully naerfich this afternoon.”
“I’m fine.”
“I think you overreacted to that reporter, don’t you?”
Grace didn’t answer; she just opened the shop door and followed her mother inside.
Roman had just stepped outside his shop to load the rocking chair Martin Gingerich had asked him to make for his folks’ anniversary into Martin’s market buggy when a truck rumbled up the driveway. It halted a few feet from where he stood, and when the driver got out, he recognized him immediately—Bill Collins, the land developer who’d expressed interest in buying Roman’s land.
“Afternoon,” Bill said, lifting his hand in a wave.
Roman merely grunted, and Martin, who stood beside his buggy, gave him a strange look.
“I was in the area and thought I’d stop by and see if you’ve changed your mind about selling your land.”
“Nope, sure haven’t.” Roman glanced over at Martin, thinking the young man didn’t need to be in on this conversation. “The chair’s secure in your buggy now, so you can be on your way.”
Martin hesitated but finally climbed into the driver’s seat and took up the reins. As he directed the horse down the driveway, he stuck his head out the window and hollered, “I’ll let you know what the folks had to say about the chair, and danki for getting it done early for me.”
“You’re welcome.” Roman turned back to Bill Collins. “As I said before, I’m not interested in selling my land to you or anyone else.”
“You sure about that?”
“Very sure.” When Roman headed for his shop, Bill followed so close he could feel the man’s warm breath blowing on the back of his neck.
“I hope you’ll at least take a look at these figures,” Bill said, holding a notebook in front of Roman’s nose.
Roman scanned the paper quickly, and his spine went rigid. The man was offering a tidy sum. Even so—
“If you’d like to discuss my offer with your family, I’d be happy to leave you a copy of these figures.” Bill started to tear off the piece of paper, but Roman stopped him with a shake of his head.
“Don’t bother. My place isn’t for
sale, plain and simple.” He pushed past the man. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work waiting.”
“You won’t get an offer like this every day,” Bill called. “I would suggest that you think on it some more.”
Roman gave no reply. Six months ago, the Larsons had asked about buying his property as an investment. He had told them no, too, so he sure wasn’t about to sell off his land to some money-greedy land grabber who wanted to turn it into a development of fancy English houses with electricity. And a golf course was the last thing their Amish community needed!
As Martha stood at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes for their supper, she thought about the break-in of her father’s shop that morning. Ruth had said that Dad seemed real upset at the time. Yet he’d refused to talk about the incident when Martha had taken some lunch out to him later that afternoon.
Martha knew what the Bible said about forgiveness, turning the other cheek, and loving one’s enemies, but she still wondered if the sheriff should be notified.
Forcing herself to concentrate on the matter at hand, she placed the potatoes on the cutting board and cut them into hunks, then dropped them into a kettle, filled it with cold water, and set it aside. She wouldn’t start cooking them until her sisters and Mom came home, and the ham she’d put in the oven a short time ago would be okay until then, too. Maybe she would take a book and go sit on the back porch to relax and read awhile.
She hurried up to her room, grabbed the historical novel she’d borrowed from Ruth a few days ago, and headed down the stairs. When she entered the kitchen, she placed the book on the table and opened the oven to check on the ham.
As she closed the oven door, she heard a sound. What was it? A creak? A bump? Hair prickled on the back of her head as she peered out the window. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least not that she could see.
She turned away from the window and had just picked up her book when a deafening crack split through the air. The kitchen window shattered, and a brick flew into the room, landing with a thud on the floor.
Martha let out a bloodcurdling scream, and with no thought for her safety, she dashed out the back door.
Chapter 12
Martha stepped onto the back porch. Cold, damp air sent a shiver rippling through her body. She scanned the yard but saw no one. “Someone had to have thrown that brick; now where did they go?” she muttered.
Taking the steps two at a time and ignoring how cold and wet the ground felt on her bare feet, she sprinted across the yard. Looking around, she listened for any unusual sounds. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
Needing to know if Heidi and her puppies were safe, Martha raced for the barn, her heart pounding like a herd of stampeding horses.
She had almost reached the door when she noticed a straw hat lying on the ground. It didn’t look like any of her father’s hats, and she bent to pick it up, wondering if he might recently have purchased a new one. I’d better take this out to Dad’s shop when I tell him about the brick, but not until I’ve checked on Heidi and her brood.
Martha opened the barn door, lit the lantern hanging from a beam overhead, and peered cautiously around, allowing her breathing and heartbeat to slow. She saw no one and heard nothing but the gentle nicker of the two buggy horses inside their stalls and the cooing of some pigeons in the loft overhead.
She hung the straw hat on a nail near the door and started toward the back of the building, but she’d only taken a few steps, when a mouse darted in front of her. She let out a yelp, screeched to a halt, and drew in a shaky breath as the tiny critter scurried under a bale of straw. I’m okay. It was only a maus. There’s nothing to be nervous about.
With another quick glance around, she rushed over to the box that had become the temporary home for Heidi and her puppies. A feeling of relief washed over her when she discovered that the pups were nursing and Heidi was sleeping peacefully.
“I’ll check on you again after supper,” Martha whispered, patting the top of the dog’s silky head.
She made her way quickly back to the place where she’d lit the lantern, extinguished the flame, and lifted the straw hat from the nail.
Once outside, Martha scoured the yard one more time; then seeing no one in sight, she dashed for her father’s shop.
“You sure have sold a lot of honey lately,” Cleon’s brother Ivan commented, as the two headed home from town in one of their family’s closed-in buggies. After they’d finished helping their father and younger brothers, Willard and Delbert, in the fields earlier that day, the two of them had made some honey deliveries and taken a few orders.
Cleon smiled. “I’m doing real well here of late.”
“Think you’ll ever quit helping Pop on the farm and go out on your own with the honey business?” Ivan’s dark eyes looked full of question as he tipped his head.
“I hope so. Never have liked farming that much. I’ll have to find more customers for my honey than just a few stores in the towns around here and a handful of people from our community, though.”
“Looks to me like you’ve got more customers than just a handful.” Ivan tapped Cleon’s arm. “We delivered twenty quarts of honey this afternoon, and you met with five others who want to become regular customers.”
“I’m glad for that, but it’s still not enough to make a decent living.”
“You’ll be gettin’ married soon, so I can see why you might need some extra cash.”
Cleon nodded. “The wood for the house I’m building on the acreage behind the Hostettlers’ place is costing a lot more than I’d figured, so it’s taking longer than I’d planned.”
“Building materials aren’t cheap anymore, that’s for sure.”
“Nothing’s cheap nowadays.”
“So, what’d Grace want when she came by to see you this morning?” Ivan asked. “I got so busy helping Pop with chores all morning, I forgot to ask.”
Cleon grimaced. “The Hostettlers had a break-in at their house after church last Sunday, but we didn’t hear about it because we left for Montana early the next morning.”
“That’s too bad. Was anything stolen?”
“Not until this morning.”
“They had another break-in this morning?”
“Not at the house, but Roman’s shop got broken into. Grace said whoever did it made a mess of things, and some of her daed’s tools were stolen, too.”
“That’s a shame. You think it could have been done by whoever dumped over those outhouses some weeks ago?”
Cleon shrugged. “Could be, but that was several miles from here.”
“You’ve got a point, but there was some cowtipping done at the bishop’s place awhile back, too.”
“I’m sure that was done by some pranksters.”
“Do you have any idea why someone would want to target Grace’s family like that?”
“Nope. None at all.”
“Well, hopefully, it won’t happen again.”
“Sure hope not. The Hostettlers don’t need this. No one does.”
“Changing the subject,” Ivan said, “you mentioned before that you thought Grace felt nervous about getting married. I was wondering if you’re feeling that way, too.”
“Not really. I love Grace a lot, and I’m sure we’re going to be happy living together as husband and wife.”
“You plannin’ to start a family right away?”
Cleon shrugged. “Kinner will come in God’s time, not ours.”
“Jah, well, I know for a fact that our mamm’s lookin’ forward to bein’ a grossmudder, so she’ll be real happy when you do have some kinner.”
Cleon thumped his brother’s arm. “Maybe you ought to find yourself an aldi and get married, too. That way you can take an active part in giving Mamm a bunch of kinskinner.”
Ivan wrinkled his nose. “I’m in no hurry for that. Besides, women have too many peculiar ideas to suit me.”
Cleon grimaced as a vision of Grace came to mind. She’d been acting kind of peculiar hersel
f lately. He hoped she wasn’t getting cold feet about marrying him. His whole being ached with the desire to make Grace his wife, and he didn’t think he could stand it if she broke things off.
Ivan leaned closer to Cleon. “Say, you’d better watch out for that hilly dip we’re coming to. Last week my friend Enos hit a deer standing in the road.”
“I’ll be careful.” Cleon guided the horse up the hill and started down the other side. They had just reached the bottom of the hill when he spotted a black pickup in his side mirror coming up behind them at a pretty good clip. The driver, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap, laid on his horn, and Cleon steered the horse toward the shoulder of the road, glad he had one of their more docile mares today. With no traffic coming in the opposite direction, he figured the truck would have plenty of room to pass. Apparently the driver didn’t think so, because he nearly sideswiped Cleon’s buggy as he whipped around him and raced down the road.
“Whew, that was too close for comfort,” Cleon said, sweat beading on his forehead and rolling onto his cheeks. “I wish people wouldn’t drive so fast on these back country roads.”
“Makes me wonder if that fellow was trying to run us off the road on purpose,” Ivan grumbled.
Cleon gripped the reins a bit tighter and directed the horse back onto the road. “What would make you think that?”
“Last week, Willard and I were heading home from a singing, and a truck nearly sideswiped our open buggy. It was dark out, and we couldn’t see the color or make of the vehicle, but we knew it was a truck.” Ivan’s dark brows drew together in a frown. “Willard was driving, and boy, waar er awwer bees.”
“I can imagine just how angry he was, but it’s not likely that it was the same truck. Whoever was driving wasn’t trying to hit you on purpose any more than that fellow was trying to hit us just now. Some Englishers get in too big of a hurry and drive too fast, that’s all.”
“Humph!” Ivan folded his arms and stared straight ahead. “Some English don’t think we have a right to be on the road with our buggies, and they don’t like the road apples our horses leave, either. It’s almost like they’re singling us out because we’re different.”
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