by Alison Stone
“Looks like you’ve covered everything,” Heather said, dragging a hand through her hair, the exhaustion catching up with her. She hadn’t slept well last night and today had been nothing but one stress-inducing event after another.
“My job is to keep you safe,” Zach said.
“Well,” she said, trying to sound more encouraged than she really felt, “hopefully this mess will be behind us soon and we can all go back to our regularly scheduled lives.”
Ruthie grabbed a paper sack and opened it up. “I brought you some clothes.”
“Thank you.” Heather took the bag and set it in the back of the van. The fabric of the long dress felt heavy as she pulled it out.
“Do you really think this is necessary?” She ran her fingers down the ties of the bonnet.
“It’s another layer of protection. I don’t think Fox will be looking for an Amish woman.”
Heather smoothed her hand down the pale blue fabric and a distant memory fluttered around the periphery of her mind. “I suppose not.” She glanced around the open space of the barn. “Am I to get dressed in here?”
“We’ll give you privacy.” Zach tipped his head to the driver and they both stepped out of the barn.
“Would you like some help?” Ruthie asked. “There are pins to hold it closed.”
“Pins?” Heather noticed the metal sparkle in the dull light.
“No buttons allowed.”
Heather blinked slowly, unable to wrap her fuzzy brain around all the arbitrary rules. Rules her mother and father both had grown up following.
“Yes, I’d appreciate that.”
Ruthie turned her back and Heather slipped off what her friend would call Englisch clothes and quickly slipped on the dress. “Okay, ready.”
Ruthie spun around and her eyes widened. “Wow, you look... Wait...” She stepped closer and reached for Heather’s hair, twisting it back into a low bun. With careful concentration, Ruthie reached into her apron and pulled out some bobby pins and secured her hair. “Almost ready.” She stooped and reached into the bag and produced a bonnet. Ruthie secured it on Heather’s head and stepped back. “There. You look right nice. Like regular Amish.”
Heather touched the bonnet and was eager to see herself in the mirror. She hadn’t had time to put makeup on this morning, so she imagined she did look like most other Amish women, even if she didn’t feel like one.
Heather pulled up the hem of her dress and examined her purple sneakers. Ruthie laughed—the young woman had such an easygoing nature—and said, “You can always go barefoot. Or I’m sure I can find an old pair of boots.”
Before Heather had a chance to comment, Zach hollered from outside the door. “You decent in there?”
Without saying anything, Heather walked to the opening where the truck was still parked, her heart racing in her chest. She felt a little bit like she was going to prom and about to show off her gown to her date, albeit the dress she was wearing was a lot plainer than the pink sparkly one she had worn another lifetime ago.
What Zach didn’t say was telegraphed in his eyes. “I guess you’re ready.”
“Wait a minute,” Heather said with feigned annoyance. “What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be undercover?”
Zach made a sound she couldn’t quite decipher.
Ruthie held up a finger and ran into the barn, then came back with a broad-brimmed felt hat. She handed it to Zach, who stuffed it on his head. “All right, then.”
“We can find some of my dat’s clothes for you once we get inside.”
“Ready?” he asked.
Heather couldn’t read the expression in his shadowed eyes. A part of her felt like she was playing dress up, but nothing about this dangerous situation was pretend.
* * *
The truck that had provided Heather safe passage had pulled away and Zach escorted her across the farm, past the greenhouse and up the front steps of Ruthie’s home. He continuously scanned the surroundings. Far too many places for someone to hide. But they had decided the less police presence here, the better. If Fox had somehow gotten off the creek, they didn’t want to send out any red flares as to Heather’s location.
Zach blinked slowly as flashes of memory assaulted him. The sound of the shots, the smell of the residue, his own jagged breathing in his ears...
There was no way he’d missed. No way. The first few shots he took were defensive shots from behind the safety of the tree. But the last shot, he had Fox in his sights.
As they climbed the front steps, Heather reached up and slipped her hand around the crook of his arm. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t want to put anyone else in danger,” she whispered as Ruthie opened the door.
“This will all be over soon. I promise.”
Heather dropped her hand and smoothed it over her dress.
“You look rather fetching,” he said, keeping his voice low while trying to lighten the mood.
“Nice hat,” she tossed back at him.
“I might see if we can add it to the U.S. Marshals uniform.”
She turned to him and raised her eyebrows. She looked like she was about to say something else when his cell phone rang. Zach glanced at the screen and noticed it was a local call, probably the sheriff’s department.
“I better take this. I’ll be in shortly.” He waited until Ruthie and Heather closed the door behind them. He stepped off the porch and hung in the shadows. “Marshal Walker.”
“Hey, it’s Gates. I have an update.”
Zach held his breath waiting for the words like body, dead, recovery, it’s over. Instead the local sheriff’s deputy said, “We found a boat on the creek with some blood in it. But there’s still no sign of Fox.”
Zach swallowed hard. “What do you mean?” A thumping started behind his eyes and any hope that this situation was going to be resolved today ebbed out of him.
“The boat was found on the west side of Quail Hollow Creek. It wasn’t anchored or tied down. We could speculate a lot from that.”
Zach closed his eyes and pushed his hat up on his head and rubbed his forehead. “He might have fallen out of the boat.”
“If that’s the case, might take a few more days to find his body.”
Zach turned around and glanced at the well-maintained house. A soft light glowed in the front window. He had to reassure himself that Heather was safe, regardless of the bad news.
Just a few more days.
But a niggling in the back of his head made him wonder if it really would be over in a few days. Fox was one tough egg.
“What are the chances Fox got out of the boat and is on the run? How much blood was in the boat?”
“The amount of blood itself didn’t indicate a fatal injury, but a wounded prisoner won’t make it long in the woods. We’ll find him.”
“And if he went into the creek?”
“Search teams are scheduled to drag a section of the creek in the morning. Hold tight.”
“Will do.” Zach ended the call and stood for a few more minutes outside. He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm his rioting emotions. The stillness on the farm was almost eerie.
Brian Fox was not going to get away. Law enforcement would either find him or his body tomorrow, in the light of day. Zach’s job was to keep Heather safe in the meantime.
SIX
“Mem!” Ruthie called as she led Heather into her home through a tidy sitting room and toward the back of the house. Every time Heather visited the Hershbergers’ home, she was struck by how there wasn’t a single framed photo in the room. Maybe she noted it because she regretted that she didn’t have any photos of her mother, who grew up in the Amish way. The Amish were forbidden from having their photos taken.
“We’re here. I have Heather Miller with me,” Ruthie called cheerily, as if she had simply brought hom
e a friend for dinner.
When they reached the kitchen, Mrs. Hershberger put the glass she had been washing into the drying rack and turned to face them. Her mouth opened as if she were about to offer them a greeting, when a look Heather couldn’t quite define skated across the older woman’s eyes. Her hands flew to her mouth in slow motion. Water rimmed her wide eyes.
“Oh, you look just like your mem, Sarah.” Mrs. Hershberger walked over slowly to Heather and stopped in front of her. Heather half expected her to touch her face, but Ruthie’s mother simply dropped her hands to her sides and studied her intently. “I saw the resemblance before, but now...” She clasped her hands and held them to her chest.
For a moment, any words were trapped in Heather’s throat as the walls of the cozy kitchen grew close. She tipped her head and felt the tightness of her hair gathered at the nape of her neck. Finally she found some words. “My father used to tell me that I looked a lot like my mother, but I had never seen a photo of her.” Her voice cracked. The fact that the Amish forbade their members from having their photo taken seemed like a harmless enough rule, but when you were a kid whose mom died when you were six, you couldn’t help but be a bit resentful. Yet, unbeknownst to her, with each passing year she had apparently grown to resemble her mother.
“I saw the resemblance when you visited before.” Mrs. Hershberger had started to repeat what she was saying earlier. “But now, without makeup and with the Amish clothes...” There was a quiet reverence to the older woman’s tone.
“I hardly remember my mom, but I’m honored that you think I look like her. My father said she was a beauty.”
Mrs. Hershberger dropped her hands to her sides and pink splotches colored her fair skin. “Oh, forgive me. That was rude. Please come in. Sit down.” She pulled a chair out from the long pine table. “Can I get you something? Ruthie tells me you’ve run into a bit of trouble and need someplace to stay.”
Heather’s gaze drifted to Ruthie and she wondered how much she had confided in her mom. Mrs. Hershberger deserved the entire truth if she was opening her home up to her.
“Did Ruthie tell you what was going on, Mrs. Hershberger?”
The older woman froze, her well-worked fingers wrapped around the top slat of the back of the chair. “Please, call me Maryann. And yes, Ruthie told me you had an old boyfriend who might try to hurt you.”
Heather made eye contact with Ruthie and smiled. Ruthie was both determined and confident, two qualities Heather imagined were not in overabundance in young Amish women—or in young women in general.
“It’s more than that. He’s actually my ex-husband, who escaped from prison after being sent there for killing his second wife.”
Maryann gasped and walked around to the front of the chair and slowly sat down, as if the news had ripped the steel rod from her spine. She sat perched on the edge of the chair, seeming ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “Perhaps my daughter left out a few details.”
“I didn’t want to be a gossip,” Ruthie said, joining them at the table and leaning eagerly forward as if afraid her mother was going to rescind the invitation.
Heather wondered if the woman was more horrified that she had been divorced or that her ex was an escaped convict. She hoped, despite the woman’s strong religious convictions, that she wouldn’t condemn her for putting her very life above the sanctity of marriage. Heather had long ago made peace with her decision and expected that God would forgive her.
However, during all her previous visits with the Hershbergers, Heather had omitted the darker side of her past. Had she not forgiven herself?
Heather ran the palms of her hands over the edge of the pine table. She imagined that not too long ago, it was surrounded by a big loving family who had now grown and moved on to create happy dinner tables of their own. The passage of time and her spouse’s premature death had left Maryann alone with her youngest two daughters, Ruthie and Emma.
“I’d understand if you’d rather I stay someplace else. My ex-husband is both smart and ruthless.”
Ruthie squared her shoulders, the light in her eyes suggesting she rarely had such excitement in her life. “Marshal Walker made sure no one followed Heather here. Precautions were taken. There’s no reason to believe we’re in danger. Besides, Heather needs someplace safe to stay.”
Maryann’s gaze drifted toward the front room. “And this law enforcement person—”
“He had to take a phone call. He’ll be in in a minute,” Ruthie interrupted her mother, obviously determined to convince her that they had to host their Englisch friends.
Maryann’s lips grew pinched, then relaxed before she spoke again. “He plans to stay here, too?”
Heather caught Ruthie’s eye, encouraging her to stay quiet so she could speak. “Yes, if that’s okay with you. It’ll be safer if he’s here. For everyone.”
Maryann smoothed the folds in her dress near her thighs. “I do suppose we have the room. But I’ll need for both of you to respect our home. No phone calls. No guns.”
“Mem,” Ruthie groaned, sounding like a typical teenager. “He needs his gun.”
Maryann hiked her chin, not about to back down. “He can keep it in the barn.”
“Are you sure we’re not an imposition? We can make other plans,” Heather suggested, even though she wasn’t sure what those other plans would be. Her preference was to stay in Quail Hollow, close to the final renovations of her bed-and-breakfast. But those were selfish plans.
“We have invited you into our home. You don’t need to make other plans.” The finality in Maryann’s tone stopped Heather from questioning her host further.
“I’ll check on Zach.” Heather pushed away from the table. Just then Emma came running down the stairs. She greeted them shyly.
“Excuse me a minute,” Heather said, not missing the look of surprise on Ruthie’s fifteen-year-old sister’s face. On the way to the front door, Heather caught sight of her sneakers poking out from the bottom of her dress.
Pausing at the front door, she listened to see if Zach was still talking on the phone. She didn’t want to interrupt. She thought she heard him wrapping up the call. Reaching for the door handle, she said a silent prayer that he’d have good news for her.
Was it wrong to pray that Brian was dead?
Maybe. Perhaps she should pray that he was back in custody instead?
Drawing in a deep breath, she opened the door. Zach turned toward her. The deep lines of concern etched on his handsome face under the moonlight told her that her prayers would have to wait to be answered.
* * *
Zach slid his cell phone back into his jacket pocket, then took off his broad-brimmed hat and set it on a small table that sat between two rocking chairs on the front porch.
“That’s not the face of a man with good news,” Heather said, pulling the front door closed behind her with a quiet click.
He searched her face for a moment. “No, it’s not. They still haven’t located Fox.”
The strings of Heather’s white bonnet pooled around the hollow of her neck. Her hand fluttered around the tips of the strings. A part of him wondered if this ruse was being disrespectful to the Amish people of this community. Playing dress up to avoid detection.
“Is it wrong that I hoped he was dead?” Heather whispered.
“You have a right to be frightened.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch him earlier, then neither one of us would be standing on this porch pretending we’re Amish.”
“Hmm...” There was a distant quality to her voice. “I thought being here in the country would be more peaceful. I guess I didn’t bargain on Brian escaping from prison.”
“None of us could have predicted that.”
“I know.” She drew in a deep breath. “Hey, listen,” she said with a forced cheery tone. “Ruthie’s mother is fine with us staying
, but she asked that we don’t use our phones in her house and she wants you to keep your gun in the barn.”
Zach gave his head a quick shake. “Wait. What? I need to be able to protect you.” He took a step back, then forward. “No, okay...” He ran the options over in his head. “It’s probably better if I patrol the grounds tonight anyway. Yeah, that will work. I’ll stay outside.”
“You’ve got to be exhausted. You didn’t sleep last night, either.”
Zach blinked slowly but refused to admit how tired he was. Regardless of his exhaustion, he wouldn’t be able to rest until Fox was no longer a threat.
When he didn’t answer, Heather said, “I can keep you company.”
He slowly shook his head. “I’d feel better if I knew you were safely inside. I’m going to see if Mrs. Hershberger will allow me to do a quick sweep of the house.” He scratched his head. “Please tell me the Amish have locks.”
“We have locks.”
Both Heather and Zach spun around to find Mrs. Hershberger standing in the doorway. After telling Zach to call her Maryann, she went on to explain that not every Amish home had a lock, but Maryann had insisted her husband put locks on the doors and windows after her dear friend—Heather’s mother—had been murdered.
Maryann turned to look Heather in the eye. “We all lost a little something the day your mother was killed. Some far more than others, of course. But many of us who called her friend forever lost a sense of safety.”
Heather bowed her head but didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Maryann continued. “I’m not happy about the situation, but I’m grateful I can help my dear friend’s daughter.”
Until this very moment, Zach hadn’t truly considered the amount of loss Heather had suffered over her short life. He had been too focused on his own.
Heather nodded, as if she couldn’t spare any words.
“Locks are a good thing,” Zach said, needing to focus on the task at hand. “I have my gun in its holster, but can I do a quick tour of your home, then I’ll stay outside?”
