by Marta Perry
Abby kept telling herself that in less than a half hour the sheriff would arrive.
“You’re crazy,” Triana—this woman had to be Mrs. Tornelli—said. “We suspected Ben, traced him here when he left town, and how nice you’ve found our stolen property for us.”
“Quit wasting time,” Cesar ordered. “Keep an eye on her, and I’ll haul up the bodies. And, yes, Amish Abby,” he said as he leaned out the window to tug up a mannequin, “we did have to steal our own jewels because we were facing bankruptcy. We had no other choice, just as we have no other choice now.”
For sure, Abby thought, they intended to kill her and Ben. They’d clearly identified themselves, admitted their sins and made certain Ben was in no shape to fight them. At least she could tell he was still breathing.
“Now you shut up, Cesar,” Triana said. “She probably doesn’t even know what bankruptcy means.”
“I know what bankruptcy of character, of morals, means,” Abby told them. She felt terrified and panicked, but also defiant. Her dander was up, as Grossmamm used to say—and that wouldn’t do her any good at all. But she’d do anything to keep them talking until Ben woke up or the sheriff arrived.
“I’m going to get out of my buggy and tend to Ben’s head,” she told Triana, making a move to get down. Surely they didn’t want her found with a bullet from their gun in her.
“Just stay put!” the woman ordered, both hands on the gun. “Enjoy those jewels, because… Look, I—we’re really sorry you got tangled up in this. But we figured you saw us hiding the boxes when you shone your light in, and could ID us. When we came back, I saw you find an earring that could be linked to me. This whole mess has just gotten out of hand.”
Cesar drew in the first mannequin—the Amish-dressed woman—and Abby’s insides cartwheeled. The figure was clad in one of her dresses and aprons, which she hadn’t missed at all. Think! she told herself. Find a way to stall!
She tore her gaze away from the mannequin sprawled amid the scattering of jewels. “So, Triana,” she said, “did you tell Cesar that you came on to Ben, tried to seduce him to have a worldly affair? I assume that’s another reason you want to get rid of Ben, besides pinning your theft on him. You wouldn’t want him to tell your husband you’re sick and tired of him.”
“Just shut up!” Triana ordered as the gun wavered in her hand.
But Cesar had turned toward his wife before leaning out the window to haul up the male mannequin. “What?” he demanded, his voice dripping menace and reined-in fury. “Is that why you set up this whole thing—ordering me around, trying to scare her away and now getting rid of Benjamin, instead of just letting him take the fall for us?”
“She’s lying—she’s desperate,” Triana insisted, stepping closer to the buggy and pointing the gun straight at Abby.
“The Amish try not to lie,” Abby told Cesar, ignoring the woman and fighting to keep calm. “And however attractive your wife is, we also refuse to have marriage relations with a man or woman wed to someone else. I realize you don’t know me, Mr. Tornelli, but Ben and I are telling the truth about your wife, so you better hope she doesn’t double-cross you some other way.”
“You lying little—” Triana began, just as Cesar came around the buggy, took her gun and slapped her right through her hemp mask.
Up this close, Abby got a glimpse of her lipstick through the mouth hole, and dark lashes through the eye slits. When Abby had flashed the light at them on the bridge, she had thought at first the woman was Amish, but it had been Triana’s sleek, silver hair and not a prayer kapp she’d glimpsed. They must have feared she would describe them to Ben and he’d—
But Abby’s hopes that she’d stalled their plans were crushed when Cesar shoved Triana toward the window and ordered, “Haul that other one up and let’s get this over.” Now he trained the gun at Abby. If only she could seize the reins and get Fern going. Would a fiberglass buggy stop a bullet? But she could not leave Ben behind. How much time had passed? Dear Lord, please get the sheriff here fast.
Each time Abby so much as moved, pieces of jewelry and gems slid off her onto the buggy seat and floor. Could she throw some in Cesar’s face, or hit him with the buggy whip? She felt filled with fear and fury. Now she understood how Ben had beaten up Steve Commons when he’d attacked Ben’s sister. Oh, ja, if given the chance here, she would not turn the other cheek.
The male figure—garbed in Ben’s clothes, for all she knew—scraped over the windowsill and hit the floor. Triana was breathing hard, and Cesar was cussing her out. If only they would start to fight each other with more than words…
“Get the ropes and nooses,” Cesar said. “We can’t leave marks by tying their hands behind their backs.”
“There will be hair and fiber evidence, anyway,” Abby told him, using another tactic. She tried to remember what else Ben had said about being investigated. “You obviously hit Ben inside his house. You think his blood and your hair and fibers won’t be there?”
“What the heck is this, NCIS Amish?” Cesar asked. “Girl, I regret that you got caught up in this, and I half wish I was tossing Triana over the side instead. Now just climb down here slowly.”
She did, but dared to kneel beside Ben. Sticky blood matted the hair on his left temple. She dabbed at it with her apron and then saw her chance.
Triana, who looked furious, was walking in front of Fern and the buggy to get the nooses. Again Abby assured herself that the Tornellis didn’t want to have bodies with a bullet from their gun in them. They wanted it to look as though Ben was so ashamed of what he’d done that he’d hanged her and himself, or even that they’d made a verboten lovers’ pact and jumped off the bridge together.
“Fern, giddyap!” she cried.
The horse jerked the traces; the buggy vaulted forward. Its corner slammed into Triana, throwing her down. Cesar jumped back to keep from being hit by the opposite wheel.
Ben’s eyelids flickered open and he moved. He must have been conscious even before she yelled. He rolled away from Abby into Cesar, taking him down.
On the floor of the bridge, the two men struggled for the gun. If Ben hadn’t been wounded, Abby knew he would have won, but Cesar seemed to be stronger. Use no violence, turn the other cheek. The words came to her even as she ran over and kicked Cesar’s arm to make him drop the gun. When she saw Ben pull one of the man’s arms behind his back to control him, she grabbed the noose on the floor and ran over to Triana, who was gasping for breath and moaning in pain. It looked as if the steel buggy wheel had run over her foot. Fern must have just kept going, because Abby couldn’t see any sign of horse or buggy.
She yanked the hood off the woman. Triana didn’t look one bit beautiful now, tears making black streaks run down her cheeks from her dark-lined eyes. Abby tied her hands behind her back, tightening the noose around her wrists. Triana Tornelli sat sobbing in the strewn beauty of the stolen jewels, which crunched under Abby’s feet when she ran back to Ben.
It seemed to her an eternity before the sheriff came, because Ben was bleeding and had a horrible headache. Sheriff Freeman approached on foot with his gun drawn. Abby said to Ben, “Now you’ll really be late for your meeting with the elders. I hope they don’t think you changed your mind.”
“If you vouch for me, they’ll understand. I think you can tell them how sometimes the rules need to be broken,” he added, as the sheriff handcuffed and put both prisoners in the back of his cruiser.
“Well, I
’ll be,” Sheriff Freeman said when he returned, this time leading Fern and the buggy. He stared again at the litter of jewels while they waited for the county emergency squad to check out Ben’s head and Triana’s broken foot. “Wait till I call the big city police and that pushy insurance adjustor and tell them us ‘rural rubes’ solved their case!”
Somehow, though the Amish had no telephones, word spread of the arrests of the auslanders and their stolen treasure. Buggy after buggy and a few cars drove up, so the sheriff put yellow police tape across both ends of the bridge to keep gawkers out, while the medics patched up Ben’s head on his front porch.
“I’m not a bit worried one of your people will take any of those sparklers,” the sheriff told them. “But we got some folks I don’t trust far’s I can throw them,” he muttered, then hustled over to tell Burt Commons to get off Ben’s property and stay off.
Bishop Esh drove up in a buggy with two of the elders and came over to talk to Ben. Abby had been sitting beside him on the swing, but moved to the lowest porch step while the medics packed up their things. Though she knew she should move even farther away from Ben, she didn’t. Surely, when the Plain People heard what had happened here today, they would understand and forgive.
“How about we have our meeting right inside your place, so you won’t have to drive in today,” Bishop Esh said to Ben. “That is, if you’re up to it. We’re real glad to see you came through all right.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Ben told them. Bandaged head and all, he stood up. Abby could tell he was a bit woozy, but there was no stopping him, nor did she want to. Oh, no, she wanted everything settled right now, right here, because she never wanted to let Ben Kline out of her sight again. From now on, if he was willing, oh, ja, they were going to be hanging out together.
AFTERWORD
IT WAS A DAY Abby would always remember, and not just because the first snow fell, silvering the bare trees and etching the old boards of the bridge. Why, the Hanging Bridge looked like it wore a white linen prayer kapp. It was also the first day after the church service in which Ben was restored to his people and the Amish faith. And it was the Monday morning he had gone to sell his truck and buy a buggy. A courting buggy, he had promised her, and he was going to officially come calling.
She felt as nervous as she had while waiting for her rumspringa days of freedom to begin. But she recalled how strong Ben’s voice had rung out in church six weeks ago when he had knelt among the brethren and asked to be returned to the Amish church and community. Bishop Esh had preached on the prodigal son who came home to his family and people. There had been tears in many eyes, including hers.
And then the six weeks of waiting, with everyone watching Ben’s behavior, had begun. Those days had been hard for Abby, too, for he was still under the bann. Each week she had invited a different friend to come live with her to help her get through the days when she and Ben could not be alone, but yesterday he had been fully forgiven and reinstated during a worship service. On his knees, Ben had promised to “work with the church,” and had been welcomed back with open arms—including hers. Ben’s bann was over.
The final words of the bishop as he blessed Ben echoed in her heart: “The Lord has delivered your soul from death. Therefore, walk before the Lord in the land of the living….” Both she and Ben had escaped death, and he had promised her they would walk together in the land of the living.
As she paced back and forth in her kitchen, watching the road by his house for any sign of him, she read snatches of the latest circle letter, which lay on the table. She had it memorized, especially the parts about Sarah and Lena’s best wishes and fervent prayers that everything would work out just fine for her and Ben. Ja, she thought, better than for Cesar and Triana, who were both going to prison. Better than for the insurance agent, who was losing her job for targeting Ben after being led astray by the Tornellis.
When she caught a glimpse of a buggy turning toward the bridge, Abby sucked in a deep breath and clasped her hands. She’d already seen Ben’s fine new mare, a former harness racer he’d bought at the livestock auction in Kidron. But—oh, maybe it wasn’t Ben, because it was hardly a small, two-seat courting buggy, but a big, six-seat family sedan. He’d gone over to Sugarcreek to buy a buggy, because he didn’t want to get one from the place where Elam Garber worked, even though her former friend was going to wed Ruth Yutzy. But it had to be Ben. Her people were real good at telling who was coming on the road just by the size and gait of the horse.
Suddenly, Abby felt hit with the jitters. Go out to greet him? She’d waited years for this. Stay put and let him come up and knock on the door? What had Liddy used to do when Ben came calling and Abby would peek out her bedroom window and wish he was coming for her?
But she couldn’t wait a moment more. Smoothing her best apron over her lilac-hued dress, she pulled a tan woolen shawl around her shoulders, made sure her kapp was on straight, and went out onto the porch into the brisk air. It sure made a pretty scene with the falling snow, the buggy and the bridge.
Oh, ja, it was Ben, smiling at her. But when he got down, he didn’t come straight toward her. He leaned back into the big buggy and lifted down a large, carved, polished chest and carried it over to her.
“A hope chest full of hope, and I hope I don’t get this or me turned down,” he said as his eyes went thoroughly over her, immediately warming the bite of the wind. He held the big box toward her so she could see it better.
“Oh, Ben, you carved mushroom handles and corners!”
“Right. Mostly turkey tails and shaggy manes.”
“It’s just beautiful!”
“Like you, Abby. Strong, too. Well, do I have to stand here in this wind holding it, hoping you’ll ask me in and accept it?”
“Of course I accept it!” she said, fighting tears of joy and sweeping wide the door for him. “And that is one great-looking horse and buggy, but a big one.”
He put the chest down on her kitchen table and opened it for her to see inside. Within its smoothly sanded, polished interior lay an inch-thick stack of money, held together with a rubber band. As he pulled it out and flipped through it, she saw it was all one-hundred-dollar bills! For one wild second, it flew through her head that the Tornellis had accused Ben of theft and—and now here he was with…
“The insurance company did what they called ‘settled’ for ‘undue harassment’ by one of their agents,” he explained. “They were impressed, I guess, that I didn’t sue them. We made the right decision not to, but this comes my—our way, anyhow. I think we might want to use some of it to add a couple bedrooms on the back of this house, fix up my old place and rent it out, and live here—if you’ll marry me. Abby? You all right? I’m trying not to touch you yet to sway your decision, but it’s not like you to not have a word to say.”
“A word to say,” she repeated, feeling dazed and trying to catch her breath. “Here’s a word then—ja! Ja, Ben Kline!” she cried, and took two running steps into his arms.
He picked her up and twirled her, until, laughing and breathless, he leaned back against the kitchen counter, still holding her. “I figured with that windfall of money,” he said, “I’d just spring for a family sedan so we have room for our kinder, your mushrooms and my boxes and chests. As for children, we are getting a late start and are going to have to work real hard to catch up.”
“I like your ideas—all of them.” She barely got the words out before he kissed her hard
. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him just as good back. When she came up for air, her head still spinning, she said, “We’ve kind of had a crazy courtship, so far. You think Bishop Esh would let us have a church and wedding service on the bridge this spring?”
“This spring? I’ve been thinking about six weeks away—the new year, a new life—but if you want a wedding on the bridge, we can try. Abby, my love, you’re a gem!”
* * * * *
Fallen in Plain Sight
Marta Perry
To my loving husband, as always.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
CHAPTER ONE
“IF YOU ARE NOT CAREFUL, Sarah Elizabeth Weaver, you will end up a maidal, as lonely and sad as that old man you work for.” Mamm had what she obviously considered the last word as she drew the buggy to a halt by the Strickland house.
“Mamm…” Sarah hesitated, ready to jump down, but not wanting to leave her mother for the day with harsh words between them. “I know you want to see me married, with a home and family of my own. But I’m just not ready.”
Her mother shook her head, a mix of sorrow and exasperation on her face. “When will you be ready? Independence is all very gut, but having someone of your own is better, that’s certain sure. Ach, well, go on to work.” She waved her hand toward the huge old Victorian house, its gingerbread trim and fancy touches a far cry from a simple Amish farmhouse. “But think on it. All of your friends are starting families already.”
