Restless Hearts

by Marta Perry

  “I know how much you want to belong here. But if you’re going to accept the advantages of belonging, I’d think you’d be willing to accept the responsibilities, too. I guess you’re not.”

  He turned and walked out. She didn’t call him back.

  Fiona hung up the phone and walked slowly toward the hall, touching the lush blossoms of the geraniums on the windowsill as she passed them. Her office had turned out well, but now she couldn’t think of that without remembering Ted admiring it. Somehow all of her thoughts of this place were tangled up with him.

  And now with the disappointment he’d shown yesterday when she’d refused to help him.

  Not refused, she corrected quickly. She couldn’t help him. Didn’t he understand that?

  She knew perfectly well why she’d made that call to San Francisco. She’d needed to talk to her friend, to someone from that other life, who’d understand why she’d reacted the way she had to Ted’s suggestion.

  Tracy had been supportive, and while Fiona was talking to her she’d felt perfectly justified. Unfortunately, once she’d hung up, all those rationalizations sounded hollow. Was she really refusing to take on the responsibility she should for her new community?

  Frustrated with herself, and more than frustrated with Ted, she grabbed her handbag, making sure she had her cell phone, and went out the door, locking it behind her. She’d walk over to Ruth’s store and have a chat. Maybe that would reassure her that she was doing the right thing, not risking what she had here.

  The bell over the door jingled, seeming louder than normal, as she went inside the store. She glanced up at it, then at Ruth, who was coming toward her from the counter with a welcoming smile.

  “Did you get a new bell?”

  Ruth glanced at it, mouth quirking. “Sign of the times. Ted said I should be sure I could hear when someone came into the store.” She shook her head. “I can remember when folks would come in, get what they wanted and leave the money on the counter. Now it’s bells and alarm systems and not even trusting your neighbor.”

  “I’m sorry.” Here was a different aspect—not a question of law but one of being able to trust. “Did you put in an alarm system after the vandals hit your store?”

  Ruth nodded, smoothing her hair back under her cap. “Ja, I decided Ted was right about that. I was fortunate that it wasn’t worse—maybe something scared them off before they could do too much damage. Or somebody.” She gave Fiona a bright-eyed, questioning look.

  Fiona struggled to hold a polite, interested expression. There’d probably be no harm in letting Ruth know she’d called the police, but how would she know how fast that would spread, or how other people would react?

  “I’m glad you have protection now. That must make you feel safer.”

  “That’s true, but still I’m sorry for the need of it.” She sighed. “Used to be I knew every living soul in Crossroads Township. Now, with all the new folks coming in from goodness knows where, with goodness knows what kind of values—” She stopped, flushing slightly, and reached for Fiona’s hand. “I didn’t mean you, no. After all, you’re one of us.”

  Fiona wanted to hold on to that sense of belonging without adding in that little smidgen of guilt that Ted had induced. It would be nice if she could get his voice, and his disappointment, out of her mind.

  “Goodness, I’m forgetting myself. Your aunt is in the workroom. You’re probably here to see her, not listen to me babble.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to see Emma, but yes, I actually came to see how you’re doing.” Somehow she hadn’t been able to form the habit of saying ‘Aunt Emma,’ probably because Emma seemed like a contemporary of hers, instead of her mother’s.

  She went through the archway, minding her step on the old wooden floor that sloped erratically between the two sections of the store. When she got past the display rack, Emma was already looking up, smiling, obviously having heard her voice.

  “It is good that you are here today. I was hoping to show you this.” With a flick of her wrist, she unfurled the quilt top over the counter.

  Fiona let out an audible gasp as she approached, reaching out to touch the flowing colors. The rose centers of each square drew her with their beauty, but the thing that truly caught her eye was the way Emma had put the patches together, so that the dark and light colors created diagonal stripes across the quilt.

  “It’s so beautiful.” She touched one of the dark lines, realizing that it seemed to disappear as she looked closely at each patch, forming an optical illusion. “I love the effect.”

  “Will keep you warm at night,” Emma said, her face showing the pride in her work that she wouldn’t say aloud. “This design is called Log Cabin with Straight Furrows, like the furrows of a new-plowed field.”

  “Is it done?” She stroked the fabrics, longing to see it on her bed right now.

  “Not yet.” Emma’s smile suggested that she knew what Fiona was thinking. “I must put the borders along the sides, and then it will be ready to add the batting and the backing, and we will quilt it together.”

  “I’m not much of a seamstress.” She hated to think of ruining the beautiful thing with her crooked stitches.

  “It makes no matter,” Emma said. “We will all help you. When we all work together on a quilt, it is…” she hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “It is like sewing love into the quilt. For you.”

  Her heart was too full to speak easily. “Thank you.” Their hands met over the quilt her mother had begun for her. “It means a great deal to me.”

  “To us, too.” Emma patted her hand. “You are one of us, now.”

  One of us. The words echoed in her heart. Ted’s voice seemed to provide the counterpoint. You have to accept the responsibilities of belonging, too.

  Little though she wanted to admit it, he might have a point.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ted shoved the budget report away, frustrated. How could he concentrate on figures when his thoughts were totally wrapped up with people—people he cared about, people who were hurting. Or who would be hurting, if he didn’t do something.

  He ran his hand through his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension that had gathered there since that early-morning phone call. If he ignored it—

  Let justice roll down like the waters, and righteousness like an ever-rolling stream. If he didn’t pursue justice, he was betraying everything he believed.

  He had to do his job, even when he hated it. Like Fiona, who hated the idea of doing something that could get someone in trouble.

  But Fiona was a civilian. She had the luxury of standing back, if that was what she chose to do. He didn’t.

  He’d probably been too harsh with her, but the conflict that raged in her was too familiar for him to see clearly. He understood, too well, the cost of belonging. Maybe she was just beginning to find that out.

  Getting up, he stretched, his hand bumping the wall. It reminded him of Fiona’s comments the single time she’d been to his office. A shadow moved across the glass window in the office door. He looked, feeling the quickening of his pulse that he should have been getting used to by now. Apparently Fiona was about to pay her second visit.

  She opened the door slowly. Her reluctance to enter was so strong he could feel it.

  “Fiona. Come in.”

  She walked into the office, closing the door with far more care than it deserved. She apparently found looking at it preferable to looking at him.

  He pulled the visitor’s chair to a more welcoming angle. “What brings you to visit me?”

  “I’ve been thinking.” She cleared her throat. “About what you asked me to do. I still don’t like it, but I’ve decided I should do as you asked and look at the high school yearbook.”

  “I see.” The words came out slowly, but his mind was racing. What had changed her mind? It hadn’t been anything he’d said—he’d messed up that conversation thoroughly. He gestured to the chair. “Please, have a
seat.”

  She sat down, drawing her brown corduroy jacket around her. When she didn’t speak, he knew he had to ask the question.

  “What made you change your mind?”

  She folded her hands in her lap, looking down at them. “Does it matter?”

  He sat down on the corner of his desk, watching her. “Not to me as a cop, no. But to me as a friend—well, yes, it matters.”

  Her lips pressed tightly together. Maybe he’d made a mistake in pressing her. Or in referring to himself as a friend.

  Finally she glanced up at him, her gray eyes troubled. “I’ve been thinking about what you said—about the responsibilities that come with belonging.”

  “And I’ve been thinking that maybe I crossed the line when I said that.”

  Her smile flickered. “Maybe. But perhaps I needed to hear it.” She shrugged, the movement restless. “Since I came to Crossroads, I’ve begun to realize that I’ve been looking for a place to belong all my life. But I haven’t thought about what that might cost.”

  “It’s not easy.” His mind touched on the perennial sore spot—the knowledge of the pain he’d caused his family by his choices.

  “No, I guess it’s not.” She sat up very straight, as if to underscore her decision. “Do you have that yearbook for me to look through?”

  He nodded, reaching across the desk to pick it up and hand it to her. “Take your time. You’re not accusing anyone of anything, remember.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but she took the book with both hands. She began paging through it, scanning each page as carefully as if her happiness depended upon what she saw.

  Watching her, he thought about the tidbit of new information that had come his way. He found himself wanting to share the burden with her, not only because she might help him rule it in or out, but because the load would be easier for him if he shared it.

  But not easier for her, not by a long shot. The careful way she studied each page told him how conscientious she was, how concerned she was not to make a mistake.

  The things she’d told him about her family life had shocked and saddened him. They’d also gone a long way toward explaining how guarded she was in some ways. She didn’t want to risk the pain that could come from opening her heart.

  She was just now beginning to take a step toward belonging. He didn’t want to think about what it would do to her if that belonging were snatched away. If he asked her to help him further he was risking pain for her, to say nothing of endangering the fragile bond that had formed between them. Still, what choice did he have?

  Her fingers touched a photo, and she drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I think this was one of the boys I saw at the auction.” She shook her head. “Not just think. I’m sure.”

  “Okay.” He moved to her side to look at the photo.

  She glanced up at him. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize until I saw the picture that I really could identify him. I guess I got a better look than I thought when he rounded the corner.”

  He looked at the photo, his heart sinking. “Jared Michaels. He’s just sixteen, but he’s already had a couple of brushes with trouble.”

  “You know him?”

  “I know everyone, remember? Somehow, I’m not surprised you picked out Jared’s picture.”

  “I can only say that he was one of the boys at the auction. There’s no connection between the auction and the vandals.”

  “Unfortunately, there is a link. Someone came back to the site of the auction that night and trashed the things that hadn’t sold. Stuff was left sitting outside, so that made it easier for them.”

  “You didn’t tell me that before.” She frowned at him.

  “If you hadn’t been able to identify anyone, there’d have been no need for you to know.”

  He thought she might flare up at that, but she just nodded, her eyes thoughtful. “You don’t look especially happy at having the boy identified,” Fiona said. “What trouble has he been in?”

  “Nothing serious. And unfortunately nothing he was ever held responsible for. His mother claimed her son couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong, and his father took a ‘boys will be boys’ attitude.”

  “You think they’ll do the same with this?”

  “I think I’d like to have a little proof before I actually tackle Jared.”

  “Well, I wish you success with it.” She stood up, obviously ready to escape.

  He held out his hand to stop her. “There’s something else.”

  “I didn’t see enough of the other boys to be able—”

  “It’s not that.” He took a breath. This was going to hurt her, but he didn’t see any way out of it. “I received an anonymous tip this morning, saying the caller knew who the Amish boy was who’s running with the vandals.”

  Her eyes darkened, as if she were bracing herself for bad news.

  “Who?”

  “Rachel’s brother. Levi Stolzfus.”

  “I just can’t believe it.” Fiona took the curtain rod from her Aunt Siobhan’s hand and mounted the step stool to slip one end into its bracket.

  “Can’t believe Levi would do it, or can’t believe anyone would say that about him?”

  Siobhan held the other end of the rod, her hand keeping the drape from dragging on the floor of Fiona’s living room. Not only had her aunt insisted she had the perfect drapes for the room, she’d even hemmed them to fit and then come to help Fiona hang them.

  “Both, I guess.” She stepped back down, moved the stool and climbed up to take care of the other side. “He’s such a quiet boy—I haven’t gotten to know him as well as I have Rachel. But even so, I just can’t believe it of him.”

  Did she really know him well enough to say? That was the question that had haunted her since she’d stormed out of Ted’s office.

  “What is he, about thirteen?” Her aunt smoothed the folds of the drapes. “That’s a difficult age. Boys can become secretive and very easily influenced by their peers.”

  “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

  Siobhan smiled. “After the crew I raised? You can believe I speak from experience. What one of them didn’t think of to do, the others did. And Ryan was the worst of the lot, always trying to outdo his older brothers with one outrageous trick after another.”

  “Well, now he’s settled down to be a model husband and father, hasn’t he?”

  “That he has.” Siobhan’s face softened into a sweet smile. “I have to say that grandchildren are a wonderful reward for having raised your children.”

  “I’m sure they are.” Although she couldn’t imagine her stepmother thinking it a good thing for anyone to call her “Grandma.”

  She stepped down from her perch, stroking the floral print fabric with pleasure. “These really are beautiful. The colors are almost like a watercolor painting. You’re sure you didn’t need them any longer?”

  “My husband said that he’d get hay fever if he had to sleep in a room that looked like a flower garden any longer.”

  “So you let him have his way.”

  She waved a hand in the air. “It was a pleasure. And now you can enjoy them.”

  Her aunt smiled as if she really enjoyed giving something up to make her husband happy. Well, maybe that went along with the fact that Siobhan and Joe were as obviously in love as any newlyweds.

  “I will enjoy them.” Fiona carried the step stool to the next window. “To say nothing of appreciating your hard work in fixing them.”

  Curtains for her living room from one aunt; a quilt for her bed from another. She wasn’t used to the sensation of having all these relatives wanting to help her.

  “What did your friend think about the likelihood of young Levi being involved?”

  Ted. Her friend. She wasn’t sure that was how she would describe their relationship at this point.

  “I don’t think he liked it much, but of course he has to investigate. It’s his job.” That came out rather tartly, and her aunt
seemed to notice.

  “Yes, it is his job. He certainly couldn’t show favoritism toward someone just because he knows them.”

  “I know that.” She went back up on the step stool and took the second rod her aunt handed her. “But it is his job, not mine.”

  Aunt Siobhan raised her eyebrows. “Has someone suggested that it’s yours?”

  She fitted the rod end carefully in place. “He keeps talking about the responsibility that comes with belonging, as if I should—”

  She stopped. She really hadn’t intended to say that much to anyone, although of course Aunt Siobhan was perfectly trustworthy.

  “He wants you to do something.” Siobhan took her hand as she clambered down. “And you don’t want to.”

  “No. I don’t.” She may as well tell her aunt the rest of it. Surely Siobhan would agree with her. “He doesn’t want to talk to Levi in any official way if he can help it. Not yet.”

  Her aunt nodded. “I can understand why he’d feel that way, given his friendship with the family.”

  “He wants me to do it.” The words burst out of her. “Just because Rachel and Levi sometimes come to visit me, he thinks I can get him to admit it if he’s involved.”

  “Is that how he put it? Try to get him to admit something?” Siobhan sounded doubtful.

  “Well, not exactly.” She was ashamed of herself for trying to make Ted’s request sound worse that it was. “He just wants me to bring up the subject and see if Levi reacts. He seems to feel that if he is involved, he might be longing for someone to give him an opening to talk about it.”

  She looked at her aunt. The curtain fabric cascaded from her hands, making her look as if she held a bouquet of flowers.

  “I don’t want to be the one. Is that cowardly?”

  “No one would think that.” Siobhan’s gaze was as loving as if she were counseling one of her own children. “But that’s not really the point, is it? You don’t want to feel as if you’re betraying your family, just when you’re starting to be accepted by them.”