Plain Refuge

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I’ll go by my parents’ tomorrow,” he said. “Ask them to spread the word quietly that Barbara could use some help.” He could stop tonight, after he’d sneaked in to talk to Amos, but he knew he wouldn’t. He could already taste his eagerness to get back to Rebecca, and he hadn’t even left yet.

  Worry showed on her face. “That would be nice, as long as nobody talks about who Matthew is.”

  “You know they won’t.”

  After a minute, she nodded.

  “I’ll leave the drapes closed in the living room.” He rarely opened the curtains here in the kitchen. They were thin enough not to shut out much light, but he doubted anyone could see in.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “I know you’re going to be bored,” he said.

  “Oh, Daniel. You worry too much. It will be quiet and peaceful! I haven’t been sleeping well, so I might even take a nap tomorrow.”

  “If you do, sleep in my bed. I won’t open my blinds in the morning.”

  Some emotions shimmered through her eyes. Her teeth closed on her lower lip, but she only nodded. Daniel wondered if she was thinking that his sheets might carry his scent, just as he was enjoying the picture of her in his bed.

  He glanced irritably at the window, not wanting to leave, but seeing that darkness was falling. “Once we clean the kitchen, I’ll run out to tell Amos what’s happening.”

  Her gaze followed his. “Go now. I can take care of the kitchen.” Her smile flickered. “It’ll keep me from getting bored.”

  “I have books—”

  “Shoo.”

  Daniel laughed. “At least you didn’t say ‘get lost.’”

  Her smile faded. So quietly he could only just hear her, she murmured, “I would never say that.”

  His heart skipped a beat. All he could do was give a single, jerky nod before he went out the back door, checking to be sure it would lock behind him before he closed it.

  * * *

  WHILE HE WAS GONE, Rebecca indulged herself by exploring. He did own a smallish flat-screen TV, but no DVD player. CDs were something else again, but the collection was unexpected. Classical and jazz. She pulled out a number of CDs with crayon-bright covers, all featuring music from other parts of the world.

  The two bookcases in the living room were packed with fiction, including sci-fi and mysteries, and an eclectic mix of nonfiction. Whatever had interested him at any given moment, she suspected.

  The dining room lacked even a table. He must eat all his meals in the kitchen.

  Tucked beneath the stairs was a half bath and a closet, and he was obviously using a small additional room as a home office. The tablet was the one modern note, left out on one of those acre-wide oak desks that businesses had jettisoned half a century ago. A filing cabinet sat beside the desk, and another bookcase dominated the back wall. This one held mostly nonfiction, including a shelf of home repair and how-to books.

  She had noticed the wood floors on this level gleamed. Had he refinished them himself? It made her sad to think he’d have to do all the work on his own. If he were Amish, family, friends and neighbors would turn out for a work frolic. Among them would be all the skills needed. The women would prepare a feast while the men tore out old cabinets and replaced them with new, reroofed, repaired the sagging fence, stripped molding and painted.

  Rebecca started to get mad. Had his family ever even seen his house?

  Don’t judge when you don’t know, she reminded herself, but his loneliness spoke for itself.

  Upstairs, she opened the two closed doors. One room served for storage, holding boxes, a bathroom vanity cloaked in thick plastic and some unused or unwanted furniture. The fourth room, a small bedroom, was completely empty, lacking even curtains, although these walls were papered with ivy twining into patterns.

  Really, this house was too big for him. An ache took up residence beneath her breastbone as she realized he must, even if unconsciously, want to marry and have children.

  When Rebecca got to his bedroom, she didn’t let herself go beyond the doorway. Not that she thought it held any secrets. His room had a large antique armoire like hers, as well as an oak dresser. The queen-size bed had no headboard. It was covered by a log cabin quilt that was, presumably, Amish, as no print fabrics had been used. If the room had ever been wallpapered, he’d steamed it off, just as a good Amish man would, since wallpaper was unacceptably decorative. The walls in here were now painted a warm cream color that contrasted with the refinished wood molding. The room was pleasing and plain. Only the digital clock, the lamp beside the bed and the overhead light showed he had embraced any part of being “modern.”

  His parents would say he hadn’t kept up the faith, but Rebecca wondered.

  If she lived here, she’d add some art, but not much. In retrospect, she realized that living in the house Tim had built for them had felt like wearing a too-tight garment. Always a little uncomfortable, even though most of the time she suppressed the awareness. Her parents’ house hadn’t been as old as this one, but the simplicity of the decor made it almost plain. Her father hadn’t minded. He had loved Mamm so much and had studied the Amish enough to understand what would feel right to her. She allowed electricity; he didn’t expect art on every wall.

  I was so foolish, she thought sadly, absorbing this house, taking in a full breath that felt clean.

  * * *

  CHANCES WERE GOOD Rebecca had already gone to bed. He should hope she had, removing temptation. But he couldn’t quell anticipation he hardly recognized, living alone as long as he had. These feelings were too powerful. Not since he was a child had he had someone to come home to. Someone who was his, who would be waiting with eagerness to match his own.

  But Rebecca wasn’t his. He couldn’t be sure how she felt about him. He hadn’t liked wondering how she saw his house, after living in such luxury with her husband. When he’d showed her around, it had suddenly appeared even shabbier than usual, and he’d had to say something about meaning to remodel, as a kind of apology.

  Turning the last corner, he saw that the same lights were on in the house as when he’d left, which didn’t mean she had stayed up, only that she was using common sense.

  His talk with himself hadn’t lessened the hungry anticipation that had him leaping out of his SUV once he was in the garage and covering the distance to the back door with long strides. Stupid as it was, he had a vision of her jumping to her feet the minute she saw him, stepping into his arms as if she couldn’t do anything else.

  The kitchen was bright and empty, and spotlessly clean. But as he closed and locked the door, he heard quick, light footsteps. Her face lit up at the sight of him, but he also saw nerves and shyness and a whole lot more on her expressive face.

  “Daniel! That was quick.”

  “Was it?” He glanced at the clock above the kitchen table. “I was gone an hour and a half.”

  “I didn’t know if you had other things to do.” She stayed a good ten feet from him. “Did you see Matthew?”

  His pleasure was dampened by knowing she had met him so eagerly because he would bring news of her son. But he understood and sympathized.

  “I did. I gave him a hug from you, and told him you weren’t far away, and were thinking about him all the time.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she wiped them with the back of her hand and smiled, too. “Thank you. You knew the right thing to say. He already likes you, you know. You’ll make a good father.” Her gaze shied from his. “I mean, when you’re ready. Um, to have your own kids.”

  He was ready. Not something he could say, so he only nodded.

  “Barbara said he’d been good, and he only worried about when his mamm would come back. Amos took the boys to a pond on Rudy Bontrager’s place just up the road. They swam and splashed him, he said.”

 
“Oh.” Eyes brimming with emotion, she laid a hand on her chest. But then she said, “Do you want coffee? Or something to eat? That rhubarb cobbler, maybe?”

  Daniel laughed and shook his head. “I was stuffed before I left, and coffee would just keep me awake. Let’s go sit down.”

  They went to the living room, where he saw his stereo was on, an open CD case lying beside it. She’d been listening to music.

  She sank onto one end of the sofa and waited until he lowered himself into the recliner. “What did Amos say?”

  “He wasn’t happy I hadn’t taken you to another family, but he understood.” Actually, he had lectured Daniel, saying that, while Rebecca was not a maidal, she was a good woman, modest and knowing right from wrong. Daniel took offense at the suggestion that he didn’t know right from wrong. He and his uncle had gone at it, shouting until his aunt rushed into the kitchen to remind them that there were kinder in the house. He thought he wasn’t the only one to be ashamed, then.

  “He didn’t really understand, did he?” Rebecca said unhappily, obviously having read more on Daniel’s face than he had meant her to see. “I suppose he’s shocked.”

  He tipped the recliner forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not that, I think. Just...struggling with the reminder that you aren’t really Amish.”

  She nodded after a moment, her gaze fastened on his. “Like you.”

  “What?” He sat up.

  “Isn’t that what you were telling me? Earlier, I mean, after I changed into this.” She waved at herself.

  “No!” Wasn’t it? “The first couple of times I saw you, when I thought you were Amish, I was...disappointed.” A mild word for what he’d felt, out of the blue. “When you admitted you weren’t, that you were dressing plain only to hide—”

  “And out of respect for my family,” she interrupted.

  Daniel nodded. “To be respectful, too. When I found out you weren’t Amish, and were not married, either, I was relieved, because something about you called to me even before I knew you.”

  She had quit moving, maybe even breathing. They stared at each other. That was more honesty than he’d intended to give, but it was something he had needed to say.

  Finally she drew a shuddery breath. “I...felt the same.”

  His heart began to hammer.

  “I didn’t want to,” she said softly. “You scared me. You saw too much. I told myself you could help, but...the danger seemed too great.”

  “You thought I’d hurt you?”

  Rebecca’s ponytail swayed when she shook her head. “See right through me.” She tried to smile. “Be able to tell when I was lying.”

  “Mostly, I could. You’re not a good liar.”

  She made a face.

  “It frustrated me that you kept withholding things.”

  “I’m sorry, but...I was pulled so many ways.”

  What he wanted to know was whether she could imagine a life here, with him, rather than returning to the city. But he couldn’t ask that yet. “You never said how your parents died.”

  “A drunk driver. Mamm was gone right away. Dad...lingered for a day, but never regained consciousness. It was so hard to lose them. I wasn’t ready.”

  This time he didn’t fight temptation. He rose and went to her, sitting beside her on the sofa so he could take her hand in his. “Is anyone ever?”

  She grimaced. “Probably not. But it hurt, knowing Matthew wouldn’t remember them, that they’d never be there again when I had questions. Not having any other family...”

  “But you did,” he said gently.

  Rebecca nodded. “Then...well, I was married, and the gulf seemed too great to cross. I let my grandparents know Mamm had died. Ever since I got over being an awful teenager, I had written them regularly. Grossmammi was good about writing back.”

  He smiled, moving his thumb gently across her palm. “The Amish are excellent correspondents.”

  “It’s true.” She looked painfully vulnerable when she met his eyes. “Have you heard anything about my grandfather?”

  Daniel didn’t like to tell her, but knew he had to. “He’s failing. Onkel Amos said he was told it won’t be more than a day or two now.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, stricken. “Do you think—”

  He shook his head. “You know it’s not safe. He has family around him, and the joy of having gotten to know you again. He’s had weeks longer than the doctors expected.”

  “Yes. I suppose...” Rebecca ducked her head, probably to hide tears.

  Daniel tugged her toward him. “Come here.”

  As she laid her cheek against his shoulder, her body held no tension, as if she were trusting herself to him. Even though it would be easy to let himself become aroused, Daniel felt such contentment he didn’t want to move, to lose the tickle of her hair on his throat and chin, her scent.

  “Something I’ve wondered.” Obsessed about was more like it. “Were you happy in your marriage until the problems at work came up?”

  Daniel wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. He wished he hadn’t asked when she pulled away so she could see his face.

  “Only at the beginning.” A different kind of sadness clung to her now. “I believed marriage was forever. I didn’t let myself acknowledge how disappointed I was. Tim put in such long hours. He was excited about building the company, and I was excited for him, but it was lonely. Especially since he never really talked about decisions he made or any of the important stuff. He had Josh and Steven for that. He never let me feel we were in it together. I wish I’d worked longer before I had Matthew.” Rebecca sighed. “The end result is, here I am, thirty-one years old, and I only had my own classroom for a year. Getting my foot in the door now won’t be easy.”

  “Maybe in San Francisco,” he said, trying to sound casual, “if you’re determined to go back there. But it’s not like that in a lot of rural areas. Last year, a fifth-grade teacher here in Hadburg had to quit suddenly, and the school district ended up using substitutes all year. Shiny new grads don’t want to come here. It’s not so different from my problems replacing a deputy. To young people especially, life here looks backward. And the pay doesn’t equal what’s offered in a city.”

  She asked a few questions, and he took the opportunity to tell her that the county had three school districts with a total of eight schools, which didn’t sound all that impressive. Still, he hoped for enthusiastic interest, but her response was noncommittal. That made him decide it was time to end the evening before he let himself do something foolish. He wanted her in his bed—but if the idea of staying in Missouri wasn’t on her radar, he needed to protect himself.

  If that was still possible.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Daniel sat in his squad car studying a house that had been for sale for months. Backing on a creek, the property was good, eighty acres with a small woodlot and old fruit trees. The house wasn’t much—dating from the 1940s, at a guess, with probably no more than two bedrooms. The place would take work—the fields were overgrown, blackberries claiming large swaths of land, and even from here he could tell that if the roof on the barn wasn’t replaced soon, the whole structure would be lost. Amish were no strangers to hard work, and this would be ideal for a young family wanting to farm. The problem, as Daniel had heard it, was that the owners wanted too much money.

  This house had been next on his list of empty homes that were potential hideouts for the men he sought. Ever since Tim Gregory’s assault on Rebecca in the hospital parking lot, deputies had been visiting properties like this. Ben Slater had his men doing the same in Byrum, as did the chief in River Grove, although Daniel didn’t think Griffen and Gregory would have gone to ground anywhere near neighbors who would be likely to notice their comings and goings.

  With real estate moving slowly in no
rtheastern Missouri, Daniel doubted local agents had shown this house in some time. Still, squatting here would be a risk. If the owner had been approached about a short-term rental, he would be crazy not to have grabbed it. Daniel had tried calling the man, who now lived in Virginia, but hadn’t gotten a return call.

  He lowered his window and listened, hearing nothing but birdsong. After a minute, he got out and walked toward the house, but with each step his uneasiness grew. He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. There was no reason to think he wasn’t alone here, but he’d learned to listen to his instincts. Besides, what he saw lined up with Anna Lantz’s description of where she had been held.

  If he hadn’t been listening so hard, he might not have heard a squeak as if a porch board were protesting. Going completely still, Daniel let his eyes rove. The sun off the front windows hadn’t let him see until now that shades had been drawn, giving the house a secretive look that didn’t fit with it being for sale.

  One of the barn doors stood open, although the interior was too shadowy for him to tell if a car might be parked there. What he knew was that he felt exposed, certain that somebody was watching him.

  Given his department’s staffing issues, deputies all patrolled alone.

  He eased one foot back, then the next. He could wait the ten or fifteen minutes it would take for backup to arrive.

  At a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, a glint of sun off metal, he spun to face the woods and started to draw. That was the moment an engine roared to life.

  A white van exploded out of the barn, its driver barreling right for him. He got off one shot before he had to dive out of the way, landing hard on what had been lawn. Even as he rolled, he saw the van swerving at him.

  His next shot went through the windshield, but he knew he hadn’t hit the driver. Another roll and he got his feet under him enough to leap away—but not before the driver’s-side mirror struck his shoulder, sending him flying.

  Even as he jumped to his feet and lifted his Glock, the van turned onto the road. He ran down the driveway, hearing the squeal of brakes. A car door slammed. Then the van took off again.