A Stranger's Wish (The Amish Farm Trilogy 1)

by Gayle Roper

  “Drat!” I said as I rubbed the painful areas.

  Immediately a loud crash sounded upstairs, and Big Bird began to squawk. Simultaneously heavy footfalls slapped across the floor.

  I froze in surprise and fear, memories of that night at Mr. Geohagan’s crowding in. My eyes were on the door to my living space. No one was even supposed to be in the house, let alone in my rooms.

  Suddenly a man I’d never seen before burst into view and stared menacingly down the stairs at me.

  My stomach lurched. He was big! And he looked so threatening with his Braves baseball cap pulled down over his forehead and his gloved fists balled.

  He never hesitated. “Out of my way, girl!” he yelled and charged straight at me.

  I screamed and the sound ricocheted off the walls. There was no room in the narrow stairwell for him to pass me. We were going to collide, and such a collision seemed to be his intended purpose as he raced directly at me.

  I have no recollection of being pushed or falling, but given my skinny body and his considerable bulk, I must have gone flying. Suddenly I was lying in a heap at the base of the stairs as the man climbed none too gently over me. I’m sure he wasn’t wearing hobnailed boots, but it certainly felt like it. I put my hands to my face and curled into a ball to protect myself. I stayed that way until I heard the front door open and the man race across the porch.

  I uncurled cautiously and looked outside, and then I breathed a great sigh as I confirmed that he was truly gone. Slowly I pulled myself up and limped to the door. I must have hit my hip on the stairs as I fell; it was already stiff. Or maybe he kicked me as he passed. Sore toe, scraped shin, and bruised hip. Not bad for less than one minute of time.

  I was uncertain what to do. I could call the police, but somehow the idea of the police at Mary and John’s house was unthinkable. Flashing lights and guns just didn’t fit here. In fact, this peaceful Amish farm made the violence of the big man and my feelings of violation all the more intense.

  I closed my eyes and tried to picture the intruder. Nothing. All I saw was a big man, a terrifying man, rushing at me. The only thing I was certain of was that he wasn’t Amish, and I didn’t even know why I was so sure of that fact beyond the baseball cap.

  I stepped cautiously outside. No one was visible but Jake, sitting in his van with his back to the house, lost in his music. There were no cars or people on the road, and I wondered where Hawk was. There was never a biting dog around when you needed one.

  I limped to the far end of the porch and peered through the wisteria vine. A bulky figure in a baseball cap was running through the corn stubble toward the Stoltzfus farm. It was my giant of an intruder, looking oddly small in the distance.

  Well, at least he was gone. I limped back into the house, rubbing my sore hip.

  “Quiet down, Big Bird,” I called. “I’m coming.”

  I went upstairs one step at a time and found my room almost the way I’d left it except for my philodendron lying on the floor in a tangle of leaves, soil, and pottery shards. That must have been the loud crash I’d heard. I’d been afraid it was Big Bird and his cage. My clothing on the pegs was askew, the items on my night table slightly awry, my bureau top rearranged but nothing seemed harmed. I checked carefully, but I could find nothing missing.

  It wasn’t until I began cleaning up the plant that I discovered my cell phone under the mess, its casing cracked and dirt lodged in every crevice. I sighed. I wouldn’t be talking to anyone on it ever again.

  “In fact,” I said to Jake later as I stood beside the van, “I can’t think of a reason why anyone would try and rob the farm. This isn’t a place where there’s money, is it?”

  Jake shook his head. “Father keeps all his money in the bank. He’s very smart financially, and he’d never leave anything lying around. Your TV’s still there?”

  I nodded.

  “Let me check the rest of the house to see if anything’s gone. I’ve got several electronic things I’d hate to lose.” He pushed the proper buttons and lowered his chair to the ground.

  “Why would anyone risk coming here in the middle of the afternoon?” I asked as I walked to the house with him. I found I didn’t want to be alone.

  “Think about most Sunday afternoons, Kristie. Mom and Father visit family. You’re out with Todd. No one’s here but me, and I’m no great threat. Conveniently, even I went out today. If you look at it from the least chance of being caught, Sunday afternoon’s it.”

  “But why take the risk at all?”

  Jake shook his head. “We have little to steal, that’s for sure. How about you? You’re not keeping a stash of valuable jewels up there, are you? He was in your room.”

  I grinned weakly. “Only the few diamonds and rubies I’ve been able to buy with the overwhelming income from my paintings,” I said, digging my shaking hands into my jeans pocket. I began fiddling with the key. “I’ve got nothing. Nothing.”

  14

  When Mary, John, and Elam returned, I was just getting into my car to go to the hospital. I climbed out and told them about our afternoon visitor. Predictably, they were distressed, but they were relieved I hadn’t called the police.

  “You just be very careful, Kristie,” John said. “We don’t want anything happening to you,” With that he and Elam went to the barn to feed the animals and milk the cows.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care,” I called after him, touched by his concern. I smiled reassuringly at Mary. “I’m on my way to visit Mr. Geohagan. Tonight’s his last night at the hospital. Tomorrow he gets transferred to Holiday House.”

  Mary nodded approval. “I know that place. My cousin Sadie Lapp, who’s church Amish, had to go there when all her family died. It’s nice for that kind of place. It’s run by the Mennonites. They’re good at taking care of people.”

  Too bad Mr. Geohagan couldn’t talk to Mary. He didn’t see his upcoming move so positively.

  I had just waved goodbye to her and had my car door open when Clarke pulled into the Zooks’ drive.

  “Hi,” I called and waved, shutting the door.

  “Hi, yourself,” he said as he walked over. “Are you coming or going?”

  Yowzah, he’s handsome! I thought, mesmerized by his smile, his eyes, his gait, his everything. I hoped I didn’t look as infatuated as I felt. Sorry, Mr. G. I think I’ll just see you tomorrow.

  “She’s going.” Jake had rolled up silently beside me. “She’s going to visit Mr. Geohagan and be Lady Bountiful, whoever she was.”

  “Jake!” I exclaimed.

  Both men looked at me, Clarke surprised by the vehemence in my voice, Jake delighted with himself, knowing he’d gotten to me. To cover my outburst, I said quietly and reasonably, “Jake, you’re sneaking again.” I turned to Clarke. “His chair doesn’t make noise. I think he oils the wheels.”

  “I bet the hospital’s noisy though, isn’t it? Poor Mr. Geohagan,” Jake said with mock pity. “He needs you.”

  I wondered what people would think of someone who beat up a wheelchair-bound man.

  “You’ve been very faithful in visiting him, Kristie,” Clarke said, watching with interest and probably understanding as I shot daggers at Jake, who was grinning like an idiot. “I hope he appreciates you.”

  “I think he does. I keep praying that my kindness will let him accept God’s love. He’s absolutely furious with God about his wife and daughter.”

  “It’s funny.” Jake was suddenly serious. “I never considered blaming God for my accident. I may not know much about the deeper things of life, but I have noticed that tragedies seem to strike both the godly and the ungodly without favoritism. I get mad at being crippled because obviously I’d rather be walking, but it’s the guy who ran the stop sign that I get mad at, not God.”

  “The thing that fascinates me is that Mr. Geohagan blames God rather than himself or Cathleen,” Clarke said. “He seems to conveniently forget that choices always have consequences.”

  “Yes!” I wa
s excited that both these men saw the situation as I did. “There they all were, living without a single thought for God and in defiance of His standards. Then, when the natural consequences of their acts occurred, suddenly it’s all God’s fault. And believe me, Mr. Geohagan can be very brutal and caustic about it all.”

  “And you keep going back?” Jake asked.

  “Sure. Why not?” I shrugged. “You were right. He needs me.”

  “But how much do you owe to a quarrelsome old man you met in the emergency room?”

  “If I don’t go visit, who else will? Besides, he’s not quarrelsome; he’s sad. And I have his key.”

  Immediately I realized what I’d said. Tell no one! Promise! I made a face and muttered under my breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Clarke asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why do you look so guilty?”

  “I do?”

  “You do.”

  The curse of an honest face. “I just broke a promise.”

  “About what?” Jake asked.

  Clarke looked at me closely. “About a key?”

  “I’m not supposed to tell anyone I have it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. Geohagan told me not to.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Clarke said. “You have Mr. Geohagan’s key, you’re not supposed to tell anyone you have it, and you don’t know why.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Why did he give it to you in the first place?” Jake asked.

  “Because he might die?”

  Clarke laughed, and his eyes crinkled almost shut. “Don’t ask us, Kristie. We’re asking you.”

  I grinned back at him, the tension draining away and my shoulders relaxing. It was too late to worry about saying too much now.

  “Mr. Geohagan gave me a key the day we met. I think he thought he might die, and he gave it to me for safekeeping. He even wrote instructions before he had bypass surgery, leaving the key to me. I’ve tried to give it back to him several times, but he keeps telling me he wants me to hold it for him.”

  “What kind of a key is it?” Jake asked. “A house key? A car key? A safety deposit box key? A treasure chest key?”

  “I don’t know.” I pulled it from my jeans pocket and held it out in my palm.

  “Looks like a regular house key to me.” Jake sounded disappointed.

  “It’s pretty small for that. Maybe a garage key?” I had studied the little piece of metal so many times. “All I know is that it isn’t his front door key because he gave me another one when I went to his apartment.”

  “Too bad it wasn’t a closet key,” Clarke said with a wicked smile.

  I made a face at him and slipped the key back in my pocket. “Now I’ll have to tell him that I told you two.”

  “He won’t mind,” Clarke said.

  “I hope not.”

  I parked my car as close to the hospital entrance as I could, which wasn’t very close since the whole world seemed to be visiting this particular hospital on this particular night. I squared my shoulders, confident I’d find Mr. Geohagan in a foul mood because of tomorrow’s move. Wait until he heard my confession.

  “They’re moving me tomorrow,” he said as soon as I walked in the door. He glared at me as if it were my fault.

  I smiled and nodded. “To Holiday House. It’s a wonderful place.” I tried to sound perky.

  My good cheer made not the slightest impression on Mr. Geohagan. “What kind of name is that for a nursing home? Like it’s only open on Christmas and Thanksgiving, and the rest of the year they park the residents in the street? Or do they think that a gooey name is going to make me happy to go there? I may be sick, but that doesn’t mean I can’t think. Holiday House, my eye. Hopeless House is more like it. Or Humiliation House. Or Heartache House. Or Hateful House—”

  “What do you do?” I asked to cut off his tirade. “Spend all your time looking for alliteration?”

  He stared at me steely eyed.

  Poor, lonely man.

  “I must tell you something,” I said hesitantly as I sat in the chair beside his bed. I forced myself to stop twisting my hands like a nervous old lady and stuffed them in my jeans pockets to keep them apart. “I told some people about your key today. I didn’t mean to. It just sort of slipped out. I’m sorry.”

  “Who?” he asked immediately, his frown intense.

  “A son of the Amish family I’m living with and a friend of his.”

  Mr. Geohagan relaxed visibly at that information and actually made an attempt at a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m certain there’s no harm done.”

  I felt great relief. “But I don’t want to keep the key anymore.”

  “I’d feel better if you did.”

  I pulled my hand out of my pocket and laid the key on his night table, where it clinked quietly.

  “Have you got some nasty relative who’s after the fortune it unlocks or something?” I grinned at the absurd idea.

  He didn’t grin back.

  I felt a chill. I looked at him lying there defenseless and incapacitated. I looked again at the key. Maybe I should keep it after all if it made him happy. I reached for it.

  “Hey, Mr. Geohagan!”

  I jumped and turned at the loud voice, key forgotten.

  In walked an aide with a small tray. She smiled so broadly her gums showed. “How are you doing tonight?”

  “How do you think?” Mr. Geohagan asked sourly.

  She ignored his snarl. “I’ve got a snack for you, Mr. Geohagan.” She set down the tray holding a ginger ale and two packets of saltines. She rolled the tray over to the bed. Then with a flourish she whisked a cupcake from someplace on her person and put it on the tray. “I bet you’ll enjoy this. You’d better. I baked it just for you as a going away present.”

  “Hah!” he said with considerable force. “I haven’t enjoyed one bite of food here yet, and I’m not starting now, especially if you baked it.”

  The aide left with a huge smile on her face.

  “She drives me crazy,” Mr. Geohagan said. “Everything I say or do makes her laugh.”

  “But it was nice of her to bring you this cupcake.”

  He snorted again. “She didn’t do it for me. She did it for herself. She’s a do-gooder.”

  “Like me?”

  “No,” he said. “You’re cute.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And you’re impossible.”

  I watched as he picked the cupcake to death, eating every single crumb but slowly so I wouldn’t think he was enjoying it. The key lay forgotten. I didn’t remember it again until I was walking across the parking lot and reached in my voluminous shoulder bag for my car key, which was hiding as usual.

  I made a face. Should I go back to the room and get it? Nah. What could happen to it overnight?

  Tomorrow. I’ll get it tomorrow.

  I grabbed one strap of my shoulder bag with my left hand and pulled it open with my right, peering hopefully into the dark interior, willing my car keys to walk to the surface of the collection within.

  So quickly that I didn’t have time to react, a man’s hand grabbed my bag, pulling on it with a force that threw me off balance. At the same time his other hand shoved me hard in the middle of my back, sending me reeling.

  Attacked twice in one day! Not fair!

  As I went down, some instinct kept my hands clamped to my purse rather than reaching out to break my fall. Nobody was going to get my things, not if I had anything to say about it! I had no idea of half the stuff that was in my bag, but I knew I didn’t want some stranger pawing through any of it.

  Don’t let him get it, Lord!

  I twisted slightly midair so that I landed on my side rather than my face, and my twisting broke the thief’s hold. It was either let go or fall with me. I hit the ground in a bone-crunching thud, bounced a ti
me or two, and through the daze of pain rolled protectively onto my stomach, my purse beneath me.

  I took a deep breath and tried to scream, but only a gurgle emerged.

  I sensed more than heard that my attacker was gone, and I slowly, painfully began pulling myself to my feet by using my car door handle. Soon a small crowd converged on me, and as I tried to get to my knees, gentle hands helped me the rest of the way up. I looked gratefully at a security guard, an orderly, and two other men I presumed had been visiting the hospital.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Did he get your purse?”

  “Uh-oh. Look at your elbow. Your sweater’s torn, and you’re bleeding.”

  “How’s your head? Can you tell me your name? Should you be standing?” The last was from the orderly.

  I was grateful for the strong arms supporting me because once again my own knees weren’t up to the job.

  “He’s gone, isn’t he?” I managed to ask.

  “Yeah,” said the security guard. “He had a car waiting over there.” He pointed to the edge of the lot. “Let’s get you inside so they can check you over.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted. “Really, I’m fine.” Fortunately, none of my rescuers listened.

  They shepherded me into the ER, the two strangers making a seat for me with clasped hands. The orderly walked beside us, reaching over to take my pulse. The security guard scurried ahead to open the door with great dramatic flare, an unnecessary act since the door was automatic, but it seemed to make him feel better.

  I clutched at the man on my left to keep from sliding off my perch as the men slewed sideways to fit through the door without missing a step. My purse, still slung over my shoulder, bumped rhythmically against the one man’s side as the orderly led us through the waiting room into the treatment area.

  An hour later I was finally alone. I ached and knew that tomorrow I’d be black and blue all down my right side. I’d landed on the same spot on my hip as when I’d tumbled down the steps this afternoon. My shoulder was stiff and tender, but an X-ray showed nothing was broken. My right hand, arm, and leg were painted bright red where I had brush burns, and there was a good-sized lump above my right temple where my head had bounced on the macadam.