by Unknown
"It was in his blood," Liva Zook said suddenly. "Rebellion. He held on to that adornment out of pride, hiding it away and thinking no one knew about it. It took him on a dangerous path, like his grandfather before him."
He blinked. "I'm sorry?" He glanced at Eli. "I don't understand."
Eli bent toward his mother, saying something in a fast patter of the Low German the Amish used among themselves.
She shook her head, replying quickly, almost as if she argued with him. Then she stopped, closing her eyes.
It was unnerving. Had she gone to sleep in the middle of the conversation?
"What did she say?" Eli must know.
Eli shrugged, but his candid blue eyes no longer met Tyler's so forthrightly. "Old folks' gossip, ja. She has forgotten now. That's how it is sometimes."
There was more to it than that. His instincts told him. Eli knew perfectly well what his mother meant, but he didn't want to repeat it.
He could hardly cross-examine an elderly woman, but Eli was another story. "It was you who found him, wasn't it?"
Eli's face tightened. "Ja," he said. "Heard the cows, I did, still in the barn and not milked. I looked inside, saw him."
Eli was the closest thing to an eyewitness he'd find, then. "Where was he?"
"Chust inside the door he was. I could see things was messed up—a lamp broke, his strongbox lying there open. I went for help, but it was too late."
His mouth clamped shut with finality on the words, and for a moment he looked as grim as an Old Testament prophet. Tyler would get nothing else from him.
He thought again of what the elderly woman had said, frowning. He hadn't expected much from this visit. But what he'd heard had raised more questions than it answered.
ELEVEN
Rachel leaned against the car window to wave goodbye to Elizabeth, who stood on the porch, her cape wrapped around her, waving vigorously until the car rounded a bend and was lost to her sight.
"She's such a sweetheart." She glanced at Tyler, wondering if he'd say anything to her about what Eli's mother had told him.
The conversation had been general during supper. His manner had probably seemed perfectly natural to the others, but she knew him well enough to sense the preoccupation behind his pleasant manner.
"She certainly is. What was the piece she was talking about? Something she had to memorize?"
So apparently they were going to continue on a surface level. They turned onto the main road, and the Christmas lights seemed to blur for a moment before her eyes.
"The Christmas program in the Amish school is one of the most important events of the year for the children. The families, too. The kids practice their pieces for weeks, and the day of the program you'll see the buggies lined up for a mile."
"Do they ever invite non-Amish?"
She smiled. "As a matter of fact, we both have an invitation from Elizabeth to attend. It's the Friday before Christmas."
"If I'm still here—" He left that open-ended.
Well, of course. He probably had a wonderful celebration planned back in Baltimore. He wouldn't hang around here any longer than was necessary.
She cleared her throat. "I'm glad you had a chance to try traditional Amish food tonight. Nancy is a great cook."
"I thought if she urged me to eat one more thing, I'd burst. I hope I didn't offend her by turning down that last piece of shoofly pie."
"I expect she understood." She gestured with the plastic food container on her lap. "And she sent along a couple of pieces for a midnight snack."
"She obviously loves feeding people. She could go into business."
They were passing The Willows at the moment, and she noticed, as always, what her competition had going on. The Willows looked like a Dickens Christmas this year.
"I wonder—" The idea began to form in her mind, nebulous at first but firming up quickly.
Tyler glanced at her. "You wonder what?"
"What you said about Nancy's cooking made me think. If we could offer our guests the opportunity to have dinner in an Amish home, that might be really appealing."
"Sounds like a nice extra to pull people in. Why don't you go for it, if Nancy and her family are willing?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that." The light was on in the back room of Phil Longstreet's shop. He must be working late.
"Why complicated? Just add it to the Web site, and you're in business."
"Not complicated at my end. At theirs. Even if Nancy and Samuel are interested, they'd have to get the approval of the bishop first."
He turned into the inn's driveway, darting her a frowning look as they passed under the streetlight. "Don't the Amish have the right to decide things for themselves? Seems pretty oppressive to me."
"They wouldn't see it that way." How to explain an entire lifestyle in a few words? "The Amish way is that of humility, of not being prideful or trying to be better than their neighbors. If something comes up that is not already part of the local Amish way, then the question would be taken to the bishop, and they'd abide by his decision."
"Still seems restrictive to me." He pulled into his usual parking space. "Maybe it would have to my grandfather, too."
"Do you think that's why he left the community?"
For a moment he didn't answer. Her hand was already on the door handle when he shook his head. "No, probably not. Will you stay a while? I'd like to talk."
"Of course."
He stared through the windshield for a moment. Warmth flowed from the car heater, and the motor sound was a soft background. The windows misted, enclosing them in a private world of their own.
"Eli's mother told me a little about my grandfather. And my grandmother." His shoulders moved restlessly under his jacket. "Funny that I never really thought much about her. But if Mrs. Zook was right, she was really the key to understanding him."
"How do you mean?" She put the question softly, not wanting to disturb the connection between them.
"The way she described her—loving, warm, gentle. It sounds as if she melted his heart. When she died, he apparently turned against everyone."
"That's the last thing she would have wanted."
He shot her a glance. "That's what Mrs. Zook said, too. How did you know?"
"If she was the person you described, then his bitterness was a betrayal of everything she was." Her throat tightened. "So sad. So very sad."
"Yes." His voice sounded tight, as well. He turned toward her, very close in the confined space. "I'm not sure I like knowing this much about my family. They didn't do a good job of making each other happy, did they?"
"I'm sorry." She reached out impulsively to touch his hand, felt it turn and grasp hers warmly. "Sometimes people just make the wrong choices."
He nodded. "Speaking of choices—" He hesitated, and she sensed a moment of doubt. Then his hand gripped hers more firmly. "I didn't tell you about the strongbox that Chief Burkhalter found. Apparently, it's been shoved in a storeroom all these years."
"Did it—did it give you any ideas about what happened?" She held her breath, half afraid of the answer.
"It had apparently been broken into the night my grandfather died. The police chief at the time must have asked my mother what had been in it. I found a list inside. In her handwriting."
She smoothed her hand along his, offering wordless comfort. How hard that must have been for him, still struggling with his grief.
He cleared his throat. "Apparently he'd kept money in there, but there was no way of knowing how much. One thing she seemed sure was missing, though. It was a medal, a German military decoration. There was a pencil rubbing of it, still fairly legible after all this time. Apparently it was something of a family heirloom." He glanced at her. "Seems funny, doesn't it? I mean, the Amish are pacifists, aren't they?"
"Yes, but I suppose it could date from a time before the family became Amish. Or from a non-Amish relative. He might have kept it out of sentiment."
"Or pride. I get the feel
ing my grandfather really struggled with the whole humility aspect of his faith."
"That's tough for a lot of people, Amish or not."
His square jaw tightened. "There's something else. Something Eli's mother said, about him being rebellious. She said it was in his blood. Talked about him keeping some adornment, keeping it hidden."
"She may have meant the military medal, then." She wasn't sure why that seemed to bother him.
"Maybe." He tapped his hand on the steering wheel. "I could be imagining things, but I thought Eli didn't like her mentioning that. He denied knowing what she was talking about, but I wasn't convinced. He was the one who found my grandfather. Did you know that?"
"You can't imagine Eli had anything to do with your grandfather's death." Her voice sharpened in protest. "He's the most honest, peaceful person I know."
"There could be more involved than you know."
"I know that's ridiculous." Who would he suspect next?
"Maybe so." He didn't seem to react to the tartness in her tone. "In any event, the medal, whatever it means, gives me something that might be traceable. Another road to follow."
"Good. I hope you find something." She also hoped it was something that led away from her family.
"Sorry." He smiled, a little rueful. "I guess I sound obsessed. I can't help following this wherever it takes me. But I do hope—"
"I know." He was very close in the confines of the car, and she could sense the struggle in him. "I know you don't want to hurt me. I mean, us." She felt the warmth flood her cheeks. Thank goodness he wouldn't be able to see in the dim light.
"You." His hand drifted to her cheek, cradling it.
Her breath caught. She could not possibly speak. Maybe there wasn't anything to say. Because his lips lowered, met hers, and everything else slipped away in the moment.
He drew back finally. "I guess maybe we should go in. Before your grandmother wonders what we're doing out here."
It took a moment to catch her breath. To be sure her voice would come out naturally.
"I guess we should." She had to force herself to move, because if she stayed this close to him another moment, they'd just end up kissing again.
She slid out, waiting while he walked around the car to join her. The chill air sent a shiver through her, and she glanced around.
Imagination. It was imagination that put shadows within shadows, that made her feel as if inimical eyes watched from the dark.
Tyler put his arm across her shoulders. The spasm of fear vanished in the strength of his grip, and together they walked toward the house.
* * *
"It should be down just a couple of blocks on the right." Rachel leaned forward, watching as Tyler negotiated the narrow side street in Bethlehem late Wednesday afternoon. "I don't see any numbers, but I'll look for the sign."
"It's a good thing we came together. I didn't expect this much traffic. I'd never have found it alone." He touched the brake as a car jolted out into traffic from a parking space.
"Christmas in Bethlehem. It's a magnet for tourists, and the shoppers are out in full force this afternoon."
They were several blocks away from the attraction of the Moravian Museum and the Christkindlmarket, the Christmas craft mart for which Bethlehem was famous, but the small shops in this block had drawn their share of people.
"Are you sure this is the same medal?" She'd been surprised, to put it mildly, when Tyler told her that an Internet search had already turned up the medal, or one like it, in a military memorabilia shop in Bethlehem. Since she'd planned to come anyway, it made sense that they do the trip together.
"No, I'm not sure. The dealer had a blurry photo on his Web site, tough to compare with a pencil rubbing." He frowned, glancing down at the printout that was tucked into the center console. "Still, it's worth checking out—same decoration, turning up in the same general area."
She nodded, not sure how she felt about this. "If it is the medal—well, I suppose if he valued it as much as you say, he probably wouldn't have sold it. But if the medal was stolen that night, where has it been all this time?"
"Might have been in the dealer's hands for years, and he just now got around to putting it up on a Web site."
He might be overly optimistic about that. The chances of finding the object so easily seemed doubtful to her. But if it was the right medal, and if the dealer remembered who'd sold it to him—
"There it is. In the next block." She couldn't help a thread of apprehension in her voice.
Tyler flipped on the turn signal and backed smoothly into a parking space that she wouldn't even have attempted. "Good. Let's see what we can find out."
A chilly wind cut into her as she stepped out of the car, and she wrapped her jacket tighter around her. Tyler tucked his hand warmly into the crook of her arm as they hurried down the sidewalk, passing antique shop and a craft store.
Military Memorabilia, the sign read. Joseph Whittaker, Owner. Dusty display windows revealed little of what lay inside.
"It'll probably be mostly Minnie balls and shell fragments," she warned. "There are plenty of places where a Civil War enthusiast with a metal detector can come up with those."
"Nothing ventured," Tyler murmured, and pushed open the door.
The shop was just as crowded and disorganized inside as it appeared from the street. Wooden shelves and bins held a miscellaneous accumulation of larger items, while a few glass cases contained what might have been military insignia and decoration. A Union Army uniform hung from a peg near the door, exuding an aroma of wool and mothballs.
An elderly man sat on a stool behind the counter. He unfolded himself slowly, straightening with a smile, and pulled a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from atop scanty white hair to settle them on a pointed nose.
"Welcome, welcome." He dusted off his hands as he came toward them. "What are you folks looking for today? Anything in the military line, I'm bound to have it. The best collection in the county, if I do say so myself."
"I'm looking for a military decoration you have listed on your Web site." Tyler obviously saw no reason to beat around the bush. He'd be as straightforward in this as in everything else.
"The Web site." For a moment the man looked confused. "Yes, well, my nephew did that for me. I'm afraid I'm not really up on such things. What was it you were looking for?"
She could sense Tyler's impatience as he pulled the printout from his pocket. "This medal."
The man squinted at the image for a long moment. "Ah, you collect Bavarian military memorabilia. Quite a specialty, that is. I have several pieces you might care to see."
"Just this piece." The impatience was getting a bit more pronounced. "Do you have it?"
He peered again at the sheet. "Well, yes, I'm sure I do. Let me just have a look around." He moved along behind the counter, peering down through the wavy glass and muttering to himself.
Rachel tried not to smile as he vanished around the corner of the shelves, still murmuring. "The White Rabbit," she whispered.
Tyler's frown dissolved in a surprised smile. "Exactly. I suspect he hasn't the faintest idea—"
"Ah, I know." The shopkeeper popped his head around the corner. "My nephew took some things in the back when he photographed them for the Web site. His new digital camera, you see. Just a moment while I check." He went through a door that was hidden by what seemed to be half of a medieval suit of armor.
"If he doesn't keep track of his stock any better than that…" she began.
"…he's unlikely to know where it came from. Well, all I can do is try." Tyler drummed his fingers impatiently on the countertop.
It couldn't be this easy. That was what she wanted to say, but it hardly seemed encouraging.
The shopkeeper hustled back in, something dangling from his hand.
"Here we go. I knew I had it somewhere."
Tyler leaned forward, his face tight with concentration. The man put the medal on the glass-top counter, where it landed with a tiny clink.<
br />
Dull silver in color, the shape of a Roman cross, with something that might have been a laurel wreath design around it and a profile in the center. Tyler turned it over, frowning at some faint scratches, and then flipped it back. "What can you tell me about it?"
"Fairly rare, I assure you. Early eighteenth-century Bavarian. I'm not an expert on the period, I'm afraid. Civil War is more my area."
Minnie balls, she thought but didn't say.
"How did you come by this?" Tyler's voice sounded casual, but his fingers pressed taut against the glass.
She held her breath. Suppose he said—Well, that was impossible. Her father could not have been involved.
"Came from the collection of Stanley Albright, over at New Holland. Quite a collector, he was, but after he passed away, his widow decided to sell some things off."
"And do you know where he got it?" Tyler's gaze was intent.
The man shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but I assure you it's genuine. Albright knew his stuff, all right."
Since Mr. Albright was no longer around to be questioned, his expertise didn't help. She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
"Do you think his widow might have any records of his collection?"
"She might," he conceded. "I'm sure I have her number somewhere." He looked around, as if expecting the number to materialize in front of him. "Now about the medal—"
Rachel watched, a bit dissatisfied, as Tyler agreed to the first price that was named. He wasn't used to the routine haggling that the shopkeeper had probably looked forward to. She could have gotten it for at least fifteen percent less, but it wasn't her place to interfere.
She couldn't help commenting when they were back on the street with the medal and Mrs. Albright's phone number tucked into Tyler's pocket. "He didn't expect you to agree to the first amount he named, you know."
"Didn't he?" He looked startled for a moment, and then smiled. "No, of course not. I was just so obsessed with getting it that I didn't think."
"You're convinced this medal is the right one, then." It all seemed too easy to her. Still, the dealer's account held together. Apparently the police hadn't even tried to trace the medal at the time.
