Dark Crossings

by Marta Perry

  Once he was sure no one was hiding anywhere, he checked the front door, too. “Things look untouched,” he told her, not whispering now. “You see anything amiss?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t look in my money box, but I’ll check that. And I have a few other things hidden.”

  “Thieves can be clever. Some are neat, too, and until you do an inventory, you can’t tell what’s missing.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say more. A frown furrowed his forehead again, and he seemed suddenly angry. But he only said, “Now the cellar.” He hesitated at the top of the stairs that led down from the kitchen. “Any cubbyholes or closets down there where someone could hide?”

  “Ja, a root cellar that goes off from the main part, but it’s pretty full of bags of compost.”

  “Point it out but stay back.”

  They tiptoed down into the cellar, where he immediately closed and latched the open window and examined the footprints on the concrete floor. “What’s all that?” he whispered, pointing to her buckets of slurry.

  “Virgin spawn to inoculate maple chips,” she whispered back.

  “Virgin spawn? To impregnate male what?”

  “Maple chips! To inoculate them—to make more mushrooms.”

  “Oh,” he said, staring at her, his mouth half-open.

  Annoyed at herself for blushing over nothing, she pointed toward the root cellar, lifting her lantern higher. Ben hefted his gun again and, keeping her behind him, swung open the unlatched door—which shouldn’t have been unlatched, she realized. When he said, “All clear,” Abby peeked around him and gasped.

  “What?” he asked. “Whew! If an intruder hid in here, he paid the price!” The dim, four-foot-square space with bags of mixed mulch and manure smelled like the stalls of the dairy farm where she’d gotten the compost. He dared to bite back a grin.

  “It’s not funny! Ben, someone was in here! He shoved those bags aside and even sat on one. See that footprint in the mulch mix scattered there? I keep the floor swept—and the bags closed tight—so he somehow spilled that, then stepped in it. And maybe he was hiding while I was working down here!”

  “At least he didn’t mean to harm you then.”

  She nodded, but something else shook her. Either accidentally or deliberately, in the dim corner of the old, hand-dug root cellar lay her lost slipper.

  As Ben looked around the rest of the room, she retrieved it, wishing it could talk. “What’s that?” he asked, sinking wearily onto a stair step.

  “It’s the slipper I lost on the path the night I heard that arguing on the bridge. I found it missing the next morning. That doesn’t mean the people I heard shouting are the ones who brought it here, but—”

  “I’m going to get my sleeping bag and camp outside tonight in case your intruder comes back.”

  “Ben, it’s cold. I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “Would you rather get in my truck, and we’ll drive to the sheriff’s office, have him come look around?” he demanded, his voice rising. “I know as well as you do that our people don’t like to get the law involved, and I sympathize with that, believe me, I do. Or we can drive to someone’s house—one of your Amish girlfriends, who can move in with you for a while and get you in trouble for coming to me.”

  “You know I can’t do any of that. I’ll be more careful, lock up day and night. I’m the one who left that window ajar. I had hunters wander in for a drink last year and—”

  “And you didn’t learn from that? Abby, you could be a sitting duck out here for—for someone wanting…anything!”

  “My family has had this place for decades and nothing has ever hap—”

  “Even when you were just a kid, you always were too stubborn for your own good!”

  “And you got in trouble protecting another woman. I’ll be fine. I know I shouldn’t have run to you, but I panicked.”

  “Oh, right. Don’t call Ben, don’t trust Ben Kline. Why, he committed violence once, beating up a drunkard who was going to rape his sister! You’ve still got my jacket on, so don’t let anyone know about that, either.”

  “I really am grateful,” she said, taking the coat off and handing it to him. He snatched it back and threw it on the step beside him. “You know how the rules are,” she protested, “the ordnung about those under the meidung.”

  “Yeah, I do, but do you think somebody who breaks in and leaves a slipper plays by rules? If you want me off your property, get in your buggy and ride for the sheriff or the bishop to charge me with trespassing or putting a hand on your arm. Otherwise, lock up tight here, I’ll camp outside and we’ll both get back to our separate lives tomorrow. Then I won’t offer you any more advice—that is, maybe until I’m Amish again, if I ever am. Or have you got a come-calling friend who can ride to your rescue?”

  “I had one, but I turned him down and—and for all I know, he might have done this.”

  “You’re not kidding, are you? Who is it?”

  “You can’t have a word with him. If I see any signs it’s him, I’ll ask his parents or the bishop to deal with it.”

  “Any other candidates for your B and E—that’s worldly cop talk for breaking and entering—though I guess this was only entering?”

  She thought about mentioning the people arguing on the bridge again, but she needed to calm him down, get him to leave now that it was late. He shouldn’t be here in the first place. But she was so glad he was.

  “Ben, I am regretful about our circumstances. We’re really strangers and need to stay that way until you decide about your future. But danki, danki for your help. I’ll be more careful now, really, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  He stood with a sigh, picked up his jacket and went up two steps before turning back and stooping to look down at her. “You are fine, Abigail Baughman. That’s why, if you see anything else suspicious after tonight, you come to me, and it will be our secret. Come upstairs and lock up behind me then. I’m going to circle the house and make sure no one can lift any other window, so watch me from inside.”

  She did as he said, closing the curtains after he’d checked each window, following him around, watching him intently—kind of like she used to do years ago, she thought. He finally waved and walked away toward the bridge. Everything was closed and locked, so she felt safe now. Safe, except for her wild feelings for Ben Kline.

  She felt even better when she saw the spending money kept in her bedside table untouched, and that things in her dresser looked completely undisturbed. Until, that is, she searched the back of the middle drawer under her neatly rolled stockings. Her grandmother’s handkerchief was there, folded just the way she’d left it. But the diamond piece of jewelry she’d so carefully secreted inside was gone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BEN ROLLED OVER. His back hurt, his hip hurt. As he snuggled deeper into his sleeping bag, it took him a minute to recall where he was. He’d slept under a tree just off Abby’s property, and he ached all over. This was the second night he’d spent here, without her knowing it. Let’s see, this was Monday morning. He’d hurried away yesterday before she’d driven off to church in her buggy.

  That stubborn woman thought she didn’t need him, but he’d decided to camp out here to keep an eye on her place. He stretched stiff muscles. He’d slept only the last few hours. He had his own inner demons to worry about.

  Dawn was breaking, coloring the eastern sky. He figured he’d better get up and cross the bridge before she saw him
here.

  He unzipped the bag, then realized it wasn’t a tree root but his cell phone pressing against his shoulder. If he rejoined the Amish, it was one of the many things he would have to give up, but returning to his Amish roots would give him more important things back. His people’s trust and support. So much to live for, and hope for in future. A family of his own. But to get all that, he’d have to not only atone for his past here, but level with the bishop and the elders about being under suspicion for a massive jewelry heist.

  As Ben slid out of the bag and stretched, he heard a voice coming from behind a large stack of wood that sprouted layers of mushrooms.

  “I see you didn’t listen to me,” Abby said as she hurried toward him, carrying a tray of food. She looked as if she hadn’t slept well, either, but she was still beautiful in that natural, windswept way of hers. She wore an unbuttoned navy blue coat over her dark green dress and work apron. Though she wore her prayer kapp, she had not pinned her big braid up under it, and loose tendrils peeking from the starched linen blew against her rosy cheeks. Gawky Abby, he thought, the little pain in the neck he recalled from years ago, had turned into a stunning, seductive vision. He half wondered if he was still dreaming. He could almost imagine how she would look with her honey-hued hair loose against her bare shoulders….

  He blinked and shook his head to clear it. The tray was crowded with a glass of orange juice, a fat muffin, two pitchers, a mug and covered plate. His nose told him the larger of the two pitchers held steaming coffee.

  “I’m sorry I can’t ask you in, and should not have the other night, but this is the least I can do,” she said, putting the tray down on his sleeping bag. “You…you’ve been out here two nights, haven’t you? I hope you didn’t work yesterday on the day of rest. I’m going to have a lot to do around here today.”

  She chattered on, no doubt nervous to be feeding someone under the bann. It was a strange game they played, he thought, giving each other things but not touching. And he wanted to touch her. The time he had merely taken her elbow had shaken him, which showed how much he needed a woman.

  “I hope you like mushroom fritters,” Abby was saying. “There’s maple syrup in the little pitcher. I’m assuming you still drink your coffee black, ja? Well, I have many chores, so I’ll let you eat. I’ll be right in the garden when you’re done so I can get your tray. You shouldn’t have stayed out all night—either night—but danki again. You look ravenous.”

  He was ravenous, all right, and not only for food. He realized he was staring at her, so he said, “This is a great surprise. Ja, danki, mein freund Abigail.” He sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag and tucked into the delicious food, the best picnic he’d ever had. Under the covered plate he found not only fritters, but stewed apples with cinnamon and three thick strips of country bacon. Abby Baughman knew how to feed a man. And mushrooms had never tasted so good.

  * * *

  ABBY WAS CUTTING giant garden mushrooms off a patch of bark mulch when Ben came into the garden carrying his tray. “You’re a great cook,” he said, putting it on a wooden bench by the back door. “Man, those things are big,” he observed. “A couple of those tops are about a foot across.”

  “You can grill or sauté the caps in butter. These were in your fritters. They taste good with corn, too.”

  “I have a lot to learn.”

  “Ja, I guess we all do about a lot of things—and each other. So, you said it didn’t fret you to make ornate boxes for fancy jewels even though you were raised Amish?”

  He looked a little confused at the sudden change of subject.

  “I consider it honest work.”

  “So did you leave your life there just to come back for the good hardwood in the area, like you said, or the simple life? And did you bring any jewels back with you?”

  He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head as if he wasn’t sure what to say at her barrage of questions. His hair looked mussed, his usually clear blue eyes a bit bleary. His beard stubble gleamed in the sun again. She ached to stroke it, to flick her fingernails through the gold sheen. She forced herself to look away, to put another mushroom in the basket at her feet.

  “You’re curious about my jewel boxes,” he said, as if she hadn’t brought up the jewels themselves. “Since I can’t invite you over to view my inventory, I’ll leave a brochure on your porch from the Jeweled Treasures Store where I worked in Cincinnati. The company has a lot of my work displayed online, too—the internet. But not for the Amish, right? I know the internet’s forbidden, unless the computer’s owned by a boss at work, and I don’t think your mushrooms have a website.”

  She smiled tautly at his attempted joke, then swept a cobweb away from the next big mushroom she cut. “A website—sounds like a spider at work to me,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. But she knew there were two laptops in the library bookmobile, and she could take a look at his carved boxes there. She shouldn’t, of course, but…

  He wasn’t leaving. He kept staring at her.

  “So,” he said, pointing at the mushroom in her hand, “is there such a thing as a ‘dummies’ guide to mushrooms’ for someone like me?”

  “I’ll tell you my main observations—just to show you how much you can learn about people from them.”

  “About people?”

  “About life,” she said. Elam Garber had hated her work with the mushrooms, while Ben seemed sincerely interested. “Can you guess what I mean?”

  “Okay, here’s my first thought. This garden of mushrooms—” he swept his arm around her backyard “—makes me feel like I’m in a special place, maybe like walking on another planet, because they all look so exotic.”

  “Exotic? Not to me. I’m so used to them. Actually, native types do better than exotic ones—same as life around here, right? Real outsiders, auslanders, stand out, but once you’re born and bred here, it’s hard to leave, ja?”

  “Ja,” he whispered, staring into her eyes. He was so close she could see her reflection in them.

  “But,” she rushed on, “like people, mushrooms have so much hidden beneath the surface.”

  He frowned. “Big roots?”

  “Masses of rhizomes. The real core is hidden, but the fruits show. Like the Bible says, people are truly known by their fruits, their actions.”

  “I hear you loud and clear. I’m going to see about returning to our people’s life and ways. I’m planning to see the bishop soon, to learn what needs to be done. But you and I have been put together, here—almost together with Killibuck Creek and the bridge between us—so let’s lean on each other from a distance.”

  He stepped even closer. Lean on each other. His words echoed in her head. And he was hardly keeping his distance. She did not give ground, but held the mushroom in one hand and her knife in the other, crossing her arms over her chest as if she could ward off his power over her. Yet she almost swayed toward him.

  She didn’t really know him now, however much she wanted to. Could she trust him? They were not allowed to be together, not this close. Her toes curled, her lips tingled and she felt as if little butterflies fluttered in her belly.

  “I’d better go,” he said, taking a step back. “But here’s the thing. Each day we’re losing more leaves off the trees, so I can see your side windows from my place, and you can see mine. If anything goes wrong and you need me, just open one of the dark green curtains in your main room and hang a white towel or sheet there with a lantern behind, and I’ll rush over.”r />
  “And you’ll do the same so I can rush over?”

  She was teasing, almost flirting, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t want you out at night,” he said. “No working these mushroom beds after dark, either.”

  “But autumn is the time to harvest a lot of these. Daylight hours are getting shorter, so I sometimes get a lantern and—”

  “No! No, or I’m going to get the sheriff involved or camp out on your doorstep again!”

  “All right. I’ll work in the light of day. But there’s one thing I need to tell you, too.”

  He came closer again. She’d agonized last night whether to tell him about her slipper showing up and the diamond going missing. But since he’d worked for a jewelry store—Jeweled Treasures of Cincinnati, he’d said—he might have some good advice for her.

  “As I was heading back from your house after I brought you the bread,” she said, trying to choose her words carefully, “I found a diamond between two floorboards on the bridge. A round one, really pretty, set in a gold circle with a little spike, like one that would go through a rich lady’s earlobe.”

  His eyes widened and he frowned through a long silence. Then he said, “Can I see it?”

  “That’s what my intruder must have taken—only that, as far as I can tell. But it was like a ghost stole it, because nothing was disturbed. The things around it in my drawer were just as I’d left them, a handkerchief I folded around it was the same—and don’t say I just dropped the jewel, because I looked all through the drawer, on the floor….”

  “Could someone have seen you picking it up on the bridge?”

  “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t they just ask me about it if it was theirs? The previous night, I shone a light at those people in the dark, so they probably put two and two together and know who disturbed them—after they’d disturbed me. Maybe it’s just the Lord telling me I should never have kept the diamond, but I thought if I put up a lost-and-found sign, anyone could say it was theirs, so I was waiting for someone to come asking.”