by Marta Perry
The girl just smiled, apparently used to Geneva. The long sleeves of her dress were pushed back to the elbows, but her blue dress and its matching apron were spotless. With her hair pulled straight back from its center part in a knot under her kapp, she might have been the model for a centuries-old painting.
Jessica approached the sink. “What you’re doing looks a bit safer for someone like me. I’m not much of a cook.”
“You’re a lawyer, ja? You have other things to do.”
Elizabeth hadn’t said more important things. Just other things. Was that a reflection of how the Amish viewed the world?
“How can I help?”
Elizabeth gave her an appraising look, apparently to be sure she was serious. “If you’d like to, you can wash and stem the berries. That way I can get on with mashing them. If you want,” she added.
“Sounds good.” She moved into Elizabeth’s spot. Simple enough. Wash and stem the berries. “They smell wonderful.”
That got her a shy smile from Elizabeth. “My mamm always says if one looks specially gut, go ahead and eat it. They always taste best fresh-picked.”
With some idea of establishing rapport, Jessica picked out a berry and popped it in her mouth. The flavor seemed to explode. “I’ve never tasted better.”
“That’s because the ones you’ve eaten before have been picked days or weeks ago,” Geneva said, beginning to ladle the rich red liquid into jars. “They’re even better picked right from the plant and popped in your mouth still warm from the sun. Ain’t so, Elizabeth?” Geneva used the Amish phrase easily.
“Ja.” Elizabeth wielded what seemed to be an old-fashioned potato masher in a large yellow mixing bowl. “My little brothers picked these this morning, soon as the plants dried off, so they’d be just right for you.”
Jessica didn’t miss the affection in the girl’s voice. Not surprising. She hadn’t met anyone yet who didn’t succumb to Geneva’s warmth. “How many little brothers do you have?”
“Three.” Elizabeth’s face clouded. “And one big brother.” Her hands stilled on the bowl. “Daadi says we must accept that whatever happens is God’s will. But—you will help Thomas, won’t you?”
“I’m doing my best.” She tried to keep her gaze on the berries, so that she wouldn’t put too much emphasis on this and frighten the girl off. “You know, you could help, too, Elizabeth.”
“I could?” There was no doubt about her reaction to that. The sun seemed to come up in Elizabeth’s face. “I would do anything for Thomas, I would.”
“Good. I was sure you’d feel that way. You can answer some questions for me, then.”
“Ja, for sure. If I know the answers,” she added.
Jessica hesitated. But there was no way to ask but directly. “Did you know about Thomas and Cherry Wilson?”
She sensed the girl’s withdrawal. “I don’t think—”
“Elizabeth, please.” She caught Elizabeth’s hand impulsively. “You said you’d do anything to help Thomas. You can tell me. I won’t use it against him.”
“Ach, I know that.” She still looked troubled.
“She won’t say anything to your daadi, either,” Geneva said.
Of course that would be what troubled the girl. She should have seen that.
Elizabeth nodded. “Daadi wouldn’t like it. But Thomas told me that there was an Englisch girl that liked him. He said he met her at a party.”
“What else did he say about her?” Jessica prompted.
A frown settled on Elizabeth’s face. “She was the one who invited him to that party. He told me so. Said she told him to come, and she’d meet him there.”
That was what Jessica’d begun to suspect, but it was good to have it verified. Cherry had been taking the initiative with Thomas. But why? Just out of a malicious wish to embarrass an Amish kid?
“Had she ever done that before?”
“I don’t think so.” Elizabeth began mashing berries again, the juice squirting up between the metal tines. “He hadn’t known her very long. Just met her at a couple parties, and she invited him to the next one.”
Jessica tried to make that add up to something but couldn’t. “Did your brother have many girlfriends?” He certainly didn’t look like a player, but what did she know about Amish teens?
“Ach, no.” Elizabeth grinned at that. “He always got red when a girl even talked to him. I’ll tell you who liked him, though. Peggy Byler.”
“I met Peggy.” And she’d suspected something of the kind. “Were they going together?” Would Elizabeth understand the phrase? “I mean—”
“Ja, I know what it means.” Blue eyes twinkled. “Sometimes I babysit for an Englisch family. They have television.”
“I guess you’d know, then. So, were they?”
“Peggy would like for Thomas to be her special come-calling friend. I think Thomas liked her, but one of his friends liked her, too. So it was hard.”
An Amish teenage love triangle? She couldn’t make that fit, either. But she had an idea she knew who the friend was. “This friend…was it Jacob Stoltzfus?”
Elizabeth looked relieved that she already knew. “Ja, that’s so. Thomas wouldn’t want to cause trouble for a friend.”
No, he wouldn’t. But Peggy had impressed her as a young woman who knew her own mind and would make it up without any regard for male egos.
It was a sidelight that complicated matters. But how it fit into Thomas alone in a barn with a murdered woman, she couldn’t imagine.
BY EVENING, TREY HAD battled his way to the conclusion that he was being unreasonable. It didn’t come easily—he was ruefully aware of that. Was he really so accustomed to everyone’s good opinion of him that he couldn’t tolerate anything else? That was a humbling thought.
And as if that wasn’t enough, his mother informed him, rather accusingly, that Jessica was talking about moving back to the motel in the morning. Clearly Mom thought that was his fault.
He found Jessica sitting in the corner of the sofa in the family room, intent on her laptop screen.
“Still working?”
She looked up at his words, face startled. She glanced at her watch. “I guess it is getting late. I was trying to find something about this.” She touched, with one finger, the object that lay on the end table next to her—that odd little tile she’d gotten from Cherry’s friend.
“Any luck?” He leaned on the back of the sofa, close enough to smell the faint fragrance of her hair, and tried to focus on the screen.
“Nothing.” She stretched, the movement bringing her even closer, so that her hair brushed his fingers. “I hope Leo has better luck.”
“He will,” he assured her, hoping he was right. “Leo’s forgotten more about the history and folklore of this region than most people ever knew. He’ll track it down.”
“It’s not familiar to you? I mean, other than from your father’s collection?” She tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes more green than blue in this light, like a pond in summer with the trees reflecting in it.
It took him a moment to wrench his gaze away and look at the tile instead. He frowned at it.
“It seems vaguely familiar, that’s all I can say.” A memory teased at the corners of his mind, like something slithering out of the shadows, and was gone again. “Leo will know.” He shoved the subject aside to focus on her face. “What’s this I hear about you moving out?”
Her gaze slid away from his. “I just think it’s time I got back on my own.” She flexed her hand. “My wrist is well enough that I can drive again, so there’s no reason to impose.”
“It wouldn’t, by any chance, be because I acted like an idiot today?”
“No, of course not.” Her denial was too quick. “I mean, did you?”
He grinned, coming around to sit down next to her. “Too late. You know I did.”
“You thought I was accusing you of something.” She said the words carefully. “I was only—”
“You wer
e doing your job,” he finished for her. “I’m too used to people’s good opinion of me, maybe. It stung, that you considered I might have been running around with Cherry and keeping it quiet.”
“Because Blake Morgan the Third wouldn’t do that.”
“It sounds a little pompous when you put it like that.”
“You’re not pompous.” She closed the laptop and set it aside. “Just sure of yourself. Sure of your place here.”
She said that almost wistfully, as if she envied him that. Maybe she did. Given what she’d said to him about her early life, shipped off to boarding schools and camps, there probably hadn’t been much sense of a solid place to cling to.
“I’ve always known where I belonged. What my future held.” He said it slowly, feeling his way. “Maybe it sounds hopelessly old-fashioned, but Morgans are important to this community. My father…I never wanted more than to be the kind of man my father was.” His throat tightened on the words.
“His suicide hurt you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t understand it. I still don’t. Mom says he was troubled about something else. I didn’t see that.” His voice thickened. He didn’t talk about this, not to anyone. But Jessica wasn’t just anyone. He knew that as surely as he knew anything.
“You’re not blaming yourself, are you? If your father didn’t talk about it to your mother, he wouldn’t have to you, would he?”
“Probably not.” He stared absently at the braided rug. “And what could have pushed him to suicide, other than his illness?” He shifted his gaze to her. “If you heard about a suicide like that, not knowing anyone involved, what would you think?”
Her eyes showed so clearly that she didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want to risk hurting him. “I don’t know. Debts, I suppose. Or depression, mental illness. Or some scandal that was about to be revealed.”
“That’s the list I’ve come up with, too. But any of those things would have come out.” He shook his head, trying to shake off the feelings that clung like cobwebs. “Anyway, I just have to carry on, but there’s a hole where something sure and solid used to be. Like stepping through a familiar doorway and finding yourself falling into a well.”
It was a relief to say the words. He hadn’t been able to, not to anyone else. He’d had to take his father’s place, to be the rock everyone could depend on.
“I’m sorry.” Jessica’s voice was very soft. She touched his cheek, turning his face toward hers. “I’ve never known anything like your relationship with your father, so I can’t claim to understand. But when I was sent away, on my own, all my security was gone. It was like I was walking a tightrope without a safety net.” Tears glimmered in her eyes, like rain on still water. “I do understand the feeling.”
He put his hand over hers where it lay against his cheek, feeling the warmth and comfort that flowed from her. He turned his face slightly, so that her palm was over his lips, and he kissed it. There was a pulse beating in her wrist, and it seemed to be beating in him, as well.
He turned, drawing her into his arms, and kissed her. The familiar lamplit room receded, the sounds of the old house faded. His responsibilities, her duty…they’d be waiting, but for now there was nothing beyond the two of them.
PREDICTABLY, TREY WAS still arguing with Jessica when he followed her down the hall to Leo’s office the next day.
“There is no reason for you to move back to the motel.” It was probably the thirtieth time he’d said that, with an increased edge of irritation to his voice with each repetition. “Especially now.” His fingers closed over hers warmly.
She returned the pressure of his hand, feeling warmth and caring flooding through her. “Maybe because of that.” She paused, her hand on the door, knowing there was something she had to say before she lost the will. “Trey, we’ve moved a long way in a very short time.”
“Yes.” He brushed her face, a featherlight touch, his eyes darkening. “Too far? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
She shook her head. Impossible to deny her feelings. “Just that I have a job to do now. I have to concentrate on that. Afterward…”
“Afterward.” There was a promise in his gaze. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”
“What?”
“We have a job to do. Not just you.” He pulled the door open. “We’re all involved. Especially me.”
Not alone, in other words. She didn’t have to do this alone.
A flicker of excitement lit Leo’s face when he saw them. “Guess what I’ve found.” He held up a slim book—an old one, judging by the faded, stained cloth cover. She could just make out the title, Legends and Lore of Old Pennsylvania.
“Something about the hex sign,” Trey said. “I figured you’d get so caught up in the research that you wouldn’t quit until you’d found it.”
“Guess I am a bit predictable.” Leo didn’t look as if that bothered him. “I knew it was familiar to me.”
He flipped open the book. Jessica stowed her wet umbrella safely out of the way before she looked. The illustration was of something that looked like a woodcut—a raven, identical to the one on the threatening note.
“What does it mean?” She dropped her bag on her chair and came to look over Leo’s shoulder at the book. Closer examination didn’t help. She still felt the revulsion she’d had the first time she’d seen it.
“Sign of the raven,” Leo said, satisfaction in his voice. “The so-called hex signs have been part of Pennsylvania Dutch folk art for hundreds of years. Most of them are used over and over—painted on barns and pottery, carved or stenciled on furniture, even inked onto documents. This particular symbol is rare, though. It’s almost never seen, except…” He paused.
Trey nudged him. “Quit trying to build up suspense. Just tell us.”
Leo gave him a mock affronted look. “I am telling you.” His face warmed with a smile. “I can’t help getting excited. How often do my antiquarian and legal interests coincide? Anyway, back in the 1700s, this—” he tapped the image on the page “—was the sign of a secret society so powerful it controlled virtually the whole area.”
“Secret society?” Was he making a joke? “That sounds like something out of a comic book, Leo. You’re not serious.”
“It was serious business all right.” Leo pushed his glasses up with the tip of his finger, and his voice had taken on a lecturing tone. “Secret societies were rampant in Europe and the colonies in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It made a certain amount of sense in an era when rulers could control the lives of their subjects. Banded together, committed to the group by its secret signs and rituals, people had more power than anyone could individually.”
“You’re serious.” She found it hard to believe. “This group really had significance?”
“Very much so. Supposedly they became so large and so powerful that they controlled most of the business and political life of the area. Undercover, of course. It was one of those things everyone knew and no one talked about.”
Trey stirred. “So what happened to them?”
“A number of the secret societies became perfectly respectable and well-known, like the Masons and other fraternal orders. Others, including the Brotherhood of the Raven, faded from view.” Leo frowned. “It’s odd, actually, that the brotherhood disappeared. I suppose, in all the turmoil of the American Revolution, things like that came to seem unimportant.”
“Sheds a new light on the things our forefathers got up to, doesn’t it?” Trey obviously took it lightly. “So what does that tell us? That the person who wrote that threatening note to Jessica was a history buff?”
“Or that he saw the symbol someplace and decided to copy it,” she said, trying to chase away the unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach. “He thought it would add a creepy tone to his threats.”
“Could be. Must be,” Trey said, but she could see that he was troubled. “It can’t be anything else. Still, I don’t like the premeditation and th
e violence implied in wringing the neck of that bird and throwing it at your window.”
Leo glanced at her face and then, warningly, at Trey.
“I’m not going to go into hysterics at the idea that this joker is prone to violence,” she said, irritated. “So you two can stop trying to protect me from facing facts. Anyway, it may have nothing to do with proving Thomas’s innocence.”
“Maybe not, but Cherry had that piece of jewelry, and the raven reappeared as a motif in the threats against you. That can’t be coincidence,” Leo said.
“It may just mean that Cherry’s secret lover doesn’t want the person he sees as her killer to get off,” Trey said briskly. “Anything else we should know about this raven thing, Leo?”
“The Brotherhood of the Raven crumbled to dust a long time ago. Still, it’s odd that it should recur in such a context. Among other things, the brotherhood supposedly controlled the legal system. Just a glimpse of the symbol would be enough to keep witnesses from testifying and sway juries to deliver the verdict the brotherhood wanted. So using it to scare away an attorney would fit right in.”
Trey plucked the book from Leo’s hand and closed it with a slap. “Like I said. Interesting, but as Jessica said, it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with defending Thomas.”
Jessica’s grip tightened on the back of the chair as Trey’s words set up an echoing response in her mind. There was something—some reason why the sign affected her as it did, some connection she hadn’t yet made.
She turned, images clicking together in her mind like tiles. She picked up her briefcase, found the file she wanted and dumped its contents onto Leo’s desk.
“Jessica?” There was a question in Trey’s voice. He and Leo were looking at her with identical expressions of concern. “What is it?”
She shuffled through the crime-scene photos. There it was, the picture showing the area around the body. She pointed to an object in the picture—an object she hadn’t consciously remembered until now. It was a necklace, a thin gold chain that had apparently been ripped from Cherry’s neck in her final struggle. It lay next to her body on the rough wooden floor of the barn.
