Plain Refuge

by Janice Kay Johnson

  The women exchanged glances. Rose Chupp, sister-in-law of Paul Chupp and aunt of Deborah, who had just served Daniel at the café, spoke up.

  “He said he thought to buy a quilt to surprise his wife. He looked at the ones displayed—” she nodded toward the front room, where quilts hung from wooden dowels on the walls “—but not as if he saw what he wanted. He said he was told Ruth Graber was an especially fine quilter.”

  “Which she is,” one of the other women chimed in.

  Rebecca’s grandmother.

  Gloria, whose shop this was, said, “I showed him two quilts she made, one for a bed, one smaller. He barely looked at them. He wanted to speak to her, ask her to make a custom quilt.”

  Rose Chupp, who it so happened was a good friend of Daniel’s mother, said, “I told him Ruth’s husband is in poor health and she has no time to make new quilts.”

  “We suggested other quilters. So many fine ones whose quilts I sell.” Gloria’s gaze was opaque when it met his. It appeared that she was aware of Rebecca Holt’s situation, but didn’t know he knew. “I said if he didn’t like these, there are places in Byrum and River Grove for him to look. Or he could go to Jamestown. He said he just wanted to talk to Ruth.”

  “Hope you didn’t tell him how to find her. She doesn’t need to be bothered right now.”

  “I didn’t, but someone else might.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stepped out to see the man crossing the street toward him. And not pleased to see a uniformed police officer, Daniel decided.

  He waited on the sidewalk, smiling pleasantly. “Don’t know how you can resist buying something,” he observed.

  “I always like to look first, think about what I saw,” the man said. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short, the crease in his chinos sharp. Thin but athletic, he was likely in his forties. He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Not a lot here, in a town this size.”

  Daniel really would have liked to see his eyes. Hard to judge a man hidden behind dark glasses.

  “If you’re looking for Amish crafts,” he suggested, “you might prefer Jamestown.”

  “You’re the third person to say that.” He sounded irked. “Thought I might get better prices off the beaten track.”

  “Are you staying locally?” Daniel asked pleasantly.

  His face tightened. “Haven’t decided. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, you let me know.”

  The man took a couple of steps, then stopped and turned. “Maybe there is. I’m looking for a young woman who might be staying with her grandparents. Ephraim and Ruth Graber. You wouldn’t know them, would you?”

  “Amish, are they?” Daniel scratched his head. “We have a lot of Grabers in these parts. You know how many kids they tend to have. I imagine you could find some Grabers down in Daviess County, too, and probably Livingston. Of course, they aren’t listed in any phone book. Don’t believe in having phones.”

  “Ruth is a quilter, I’m told.”

  “Did you check at the quilt shop? They’d probably have heard of her.”

  “The woman there said her husband is ill and she’s not taking commissions right now. Really, I’m more interested in her granddaughter and great-grandson who might be visiting.”

  “Did you tell the ladies that?”

  He hesitated. “No. This is...a delicate situation.”

  “If that’s so, why don’t you come on over to the station and we can talk. I’m the Henness County sheriff, Daniel Byler.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather keep this casual for now. I’d just like to talk to the woman, that’s all.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Nothing you need to be concerned with,” he said, sounding a lot less friendly. “Excuse me.”

  Daniel watched as he got in his car and drove past without his head so much as turning. Pondering, Daniel started down the sidewalk toward the sheriff’s department headquarters, two blocks east and one block down a cross street.

  The stranger wasn’t Tim Gregory, Robert Gregory or Josh Griffen. Daniel would have recognized them. He wasn’t Steven Stowe, either, assuming the missing man would have any interest at all in Rebecca or her son. A PI, Daniel suspected. He surely had stood out in this small, dusty town. Daniel wanted to think the guy would widen his search to Byrum and beyond, but something told him they wouldn’t be that lucky. The fact that he had Ephraim’s and Ruth’s names, knew she was a quilter and that Ephraim had bred Percheron horses meant he was too close to his target.

  Daniel wished Yonnie had pretended not to know anyone who bred Percherons. Either Willard Hostetler or one of the Masts, father or son, might generously share the name of a competitor.

  Speaking of names... First thing he’d do was run the plates. Call the rental company, if the car was indeed a rental.

  And then he’d better take a drive out to talk to Rebecca and Samuel.

  * * *

  REBECCA WAS RETURNING from the grossdawdi haus with a tray of dirty dishes when she saw the familiar sheriff’s department SUV turn into their lane. Feeling a squeeze of fear, she prayed Daniel Byler was here only to ask more questions. Nosy as he was, that was likely, she told herself.

  She slipped into the house and set the tray beside the kitchen sink. Her aunt smiled at her. “Denke for fetching those. It’s gut to see Ephraim must have finished his soup, at least.”

  “He looks a little better.” She smiled. “He scolded me for not wearing my kapp, so I asked why he wasn’t wearing his hat.”

  Aenti Emma chuckled. “A stickler he always is.” She sobered. “It’s this hot weather. When it turns cool, you’ll see, he will feel better.”

  Rebecca knew that nobody except possibly her grandmother really believed that. They all knew the end was coming. The inevitability made Rebecca glad she had had a chance to see him again, and that Matthew was old enough to remember meeting his great-grandfather.

  A rap on the door had her aunt starting. “Who—”

  “The sheriff is here again.”

  “Ah.” Her face relaxed. “Then it is you he wants to see.”

  “Is Matthew actually asleep?” He only occasionally napped, but had been droopy today in the afternoon heat.

  “I haven’t heard a peep.”

  Nodding, Rebecca went to let the sheriff in. She hoped each time she saw him that the impact of his presence would lessen, but once again she felt breathless the minute he stepped into the kitchen. Aside from his strong build and too-perceptive eyes, he had an air. He wouldn’t be a very good subordinate, she thought—people would always assume he was in charge. She bet that even as a boy, he had been the leader of his crowd.

  “Let me cut you a slice of raspberry pie,” Aenti Emma said briskly. “The coffee is always on, but we have lemonade, too.”

  “Thank you,” he said, “but nothing this time. I ate at the café in town.” He patted his stomach.

  “Ach, if it’s Rebecca you need to see, why don’t you two sit out on the porch? There might be a breeze, ja?”

  Of course there wasn’t a breeze. Aenti Emma was offering a degree of privacy.

  “I’d hoped to speak to Samuel, too,” the sheriff said, his tone grave.

  Rebecca’s heart constricted. “I’ll run and get him.”

  The farrier had come to shoe several horses, so she found her uncle where she’d expected, in the barn holding one of the massive beasts. Mose was there, too, as was Samuel’s youngest son, apprenticed to the farrier. When she told them her errand, Mose gripped the horse’s halter and Samuel accompanied her out of the barn.

  “Did the sheriff say why he needs to speak to me?” he asked.

  “No. But he looked worried, I think.”

  With his b
ig, callused hand, he patted her shoulder. “Trust in God, Rebecca. You take too much on yourself.”

  She managed a smile at him and kept her rebellious thoughts unspoken.

  Daniel was waiting for them on the porch, his shoulder resting against an upright. He watched as they approached, lines scoring his forehead. He exchanged nods with her uncle. Samuel urged her to sit on the porch swing, and even joined her when Daniel said, “I sit too much of the day already.”

  Then Onkel Samuel asked, “What is this about?”

  “A man came to town today looking for Rebecca and Matthew.”

  Rebecca pressed her hand to her mouth.

  Regret darkened Daniel’s eyes when he saw how stricken she was, but he continued, telling them about the stranger who went to most of the Amish businesses in town, framing his questions differently in each. “At the quilt shop, he had heard what a fine quilter Ruth is and wanted to talk to her about taking a commission. At Miller’s and in the harness shop, he was asking about breeders of Percherons. He wasn’t satisfied by the names he was given, the Masts and Willard Hostetler. In each store, he tried a different story. Only with me did he admit he hoped to locate Ephraim and Ruth’s granddaughter, maybe here for a visit.”

  A sound escaped from behind her fingers, one she didn’t recognize. Daniel straightened. Her uncle took her free hand in his.

  “We have to leave. Right now.” She started to stand.

  Onkel Samuel pulled her back down. “Let Sheriff Byler tell us the rest. Was this man Matthew’s father?”

  “No.” His eyes locked on to hers. “He was a private investigator. I looked up the license-plate number on his car, determined it was a rental and called the company. The woman there gave me the man’s name and I found him online. He owns a private investigation firm based in San Francisco. If he doesn’t get any cooperation, he may not want to stay here long. Nobody in town I spoke to told him how to find this place. They went out of their way not to, Rebecca. Some aren’t in your church district and probably don’t know, but they didn’t trust the man today, and they didn’t want to give him what he asked. Everyone sensed there was something wrong with his interest.”

  “Somebody will tell him,” she burst out. “Onkel Samuel’s Percherons are well-known. Even in Byrum, people will say, go talk to Samuel Graber.”

  Her uncle didn’t express his usual humility, because she was right. He had buyers from up in Iowa and down to southern Missouri, maybe farther away.

  “Your ex-husband was only making a guess when he sent the PI to check here.” The father-in-law was another possibility, Daniel had realized. Tim Gregory might have shared what he knew about Rebecca’s grandmother being a quilter, her grandfather breeding the magnificent draft horses. The guy had paid more attention when she talked about those summers spent here than she’d believed. “It might be best if this man does get this far. If there is no sign that you and Matthew have ever been here, they’ll move on to searching elsewhere.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “You’re suggesting...what?”

  “That you stay close to the house and keep Matthew out of sight, too. If Samuel and Emma are willing to mislead him...”

  He was careful not to say “lie to him,” Rebecca noticed.

  “Ja,” Samuel said. “No one needs to know we have family visiting.”

  “He’ll try to insist on talking to Ruth or Ephraim,” Daniel warned.

  Her uncle’s expression became forbidding. “Bothering them, I will not permit.”

  “How is Ephraim?” Daniel asked, his voice becoming gentler, as if he really cared.

  Samuel shook his head. “Not good, no. His heart is giving out.”

  “So my mother said. I’m sorry. He will be missed.”

  “Ja.” Her uncle cleared his throat. “I still need his advice. No one knows horses like my daad.”

  His grief touched Rebecca even through her fear. Did she dare stay? What if the PI didn’t drive openly up to the house, but sneaked across the field, instead, and saw her or Matthew outside?

  “Did that man look like someone who would sneak around in the woods or fields?” she asked, surprising both men.

  Daniel’s mouth curved. “He looked like he’d never been out of the city. He wouldn’t want to snag his fancy trousers on a fence or step into a pat of manure. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

  Onkel Samuel was chuckling. “The horses would be curious about a stranger in their pasture. They would follow him, lip his hair thinking it might be a new kind of hay, even step on his heels.”

  Daniel laughed out loud. “I’d like to see that. This man didn’t seem the type to have ever been in touching distance of a horse. And such a big one?”

  Rebecca still felt reassured despite her exasperation at the two men’s open merriment. Daniel was right—if they could fool the PI, he’d go back to San Francisco and tell Tim she wasn’t here. The challenge would be keeping Matthew close.

  “Thank you,” she said, letting herself meet Daniel Byler’s dark blue eyes. “It was good of you to let us know someone was asking about me.”

  He stayed still for a moment that felt a little too long. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “No, I—”

  He gave her no chance to explain or apologize, only dipped his head, said, “Samuel, Rebecca,” and walked away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “REBECCA GREGORY?” ONKEL SAMUEL repeated the name the stranger had given him, then seemed to ponder. He took off his straw hat and slapped it against his thigh. “I have a cousin Rebecca,” he said helpfully. “She married Marvin Bontrager, over Hickory Creek Way. But she was a Troyer before she married. This Gregory...” He shook his head.

  Rebecca could see only the strange man’s back from where she stood tensely to one side of the window in Sarah’s bedroom, looking out to the driveway. Would he turn so she could catch sight of his face? She didn’t recognize the mix of dark and gray hair, salon-cut in contrast to her uncle’s thick bowl-cut. He had to be the private investigator Daniel Byler had told them about Saturday. Truthfully, she was surprised it had taken him two days to find them.

  Rebecca, who had been in the kitchen when the car drove up the lane, had seen how quickly her uncle strode from the barn, intercepting the man as soon as he got out of the silver-gray sedan. Onkel Samuel hadn’t so much as glanced toward the house.

  Aenti Emma had flapped her dish towel at Rebecca. “Shoo! Upstairs with you, but not to worry.”

  How could she not? Matthew was playing with Abram, and though Mose’s wife, Esther, knew to keep the boys close, would Matthew come over if he heard the car?

  Sarah’s window was open but screened, so Rebecca could just hear the voices drifting up. Even as she strained not to miss a word, she kept glancing toward the cornfield or creek where Matthew would appear if he returned unexpectedly.

  “I should have said Rebecca Holt,” the stranger said. “She went back to her maiden name after the divorce.”

  “Rebecca Holt,” Samuel repeated, sounding enlightened. “Ja, her I remember. Little girl, used to visit summers. My niece, she is. Loved to fish and run wild with the boys. Her grossmammi tried to teach her to quilt, but that girl had no patience for sitting down.” Smiling, he shook his head.

  “I’m told she’s visiting you now, her and her son, Matthew.” The quick, sharp voice suggested the private investigator was struggling for the same patience Rebecca had lacked as a girl. Onkel Samuel’s deliberate way of speaking would be driving the outsider crazy.

  “Visiting?” Onkel Samuel sounded surprised. “Who told you that? She came... Let me think.” He stroked his beard. “My Mose was having his Rumspringa. He might have been sixteen? Seventeen? He has four kinder of his own now, a blessing they are. So I think my niece Rebecca was eleven or twelve. Such a nice
little girl. My mamm and daad were real sorry when she didn’t come again. Her mamm—who was my sister, you know—wrote to say that Rebecca wanted to stay close to her friends. She writes sometimes, Rebecca does.”

  “Recently?” The question shot out with the explosive force of a gun firing.

  “She did write of her divorce. It might have been in January or February the letter came. Sorry we were to hear about it, but he wasn’t such a good man.” He shook his head in obvious dismay. “Is it him who sent you looking for her?”

  “Yes. She took off with his little boy. He is desperate to find his son.”

  “She might be afraid he would hurt the boy, seems to me.”

  “He loves his kid,” the PI snapped.

  “Men who say they love their wives and children sometimes hurt them, anyway,” Onkel Samuel observed, an edge in his voice for the first time. “A man like that might hire someone like you to find a wife and son who ran away because they were afraid.”

  “You’re saying that’s why she took off?”

  “No, no. How would I know?” Samuel did perplexed well. “No, I was asking you.”

  “I’m told they were having a custody dispute. She didn’t want Matthew spending time with his father, which is wrong. A boy should grow up knowing his dad, don’t you think?”

  “Usually that is so, ja. But I can’t help you find her so you can ask.” He shrugged and clapped his hat back on his head. “Is that all?”

  “No. If you’d point me their way, I’d like to talk to Ephraim and Ruth. They may have heard from her and not told you.”

  “Not so. They would have shared such news. And I will not let you bother them. My daad’s heart is failing, and it’s all my mamm can do to care for him. She does not need to worry more, this time about her granddaughter.” There was no give in his voice. The PI was fortunate he hadn’t been foolish enough to come here yesterday. Sundays were not to be defiled by such errands. Onkel Samuel took a step back. “I have told you what you need to know. I think you should leave now.”