Plain Sanctuary

by Alison Stone

  “You’re going to stay up all night watching the house?”

  “That’s my job.” His gaze drifted to Heather. However, that wasn’t entirely true. In just a short time, it was beginning to feel like far more than just a job. He would have thought he’d be able to keep it strictly professional, but something about this woman, even dressed in plain clothing, made him wonder... No, this was just a job. Even if he did enjoy Heather’s company, he would never be able to see her without thinking of his sister. Who wanted to live life with those constant reminders?

  Maryann clasped her hands. “Okay, you can come in the house with your gun.” She pressed her hands together. “But, please, I don’t want to see it. You can take one of the guest rooms. You need to protect Heather. Her mother and I were best friends.”

  “I appreciate that.” Zach grabbed his hat from where he’d set it down. They all went inside the house and he personally saw to it that all the doors and windows were secured.

  Long after the women retired upstairs, he stood in the dark sitting room staring out the window wondering if Fox was still stalking his way through Quail Hollow or if he lay dying deep in the woods. Or if his body had sunk to the bottom of the creek.

  None of the ideas brought him peace. Nothing would bring him peace until he knew for sure that Fox could no longer hurt anyone.

  * * *

  One of the advantages of staying at a true Amish home was that Heather had been unable to watch TV and see what she assumed was the relentless, round-the-clock coverage of a convict on the run playing out over all the local news networks. However, her sisters had been inundated with the news and were wildly relieved when Heather reached out to them. She assured them she was safe, but couldn’t share the details. They also had strict instructions to call the police if they noticed anything suspicious.

  Over the course of the few days that she and Zach were at the Hershbergers’ home, Zach had given Heather occasional news updates—editing out any parts that may have included her, per her request—but the only update she really wanted was the one that reported her ex-husband was back in custody.

  Or dead.

  Feeling a little stir-crazy as a light drizzle made the autumn day bleak, Heather got up from the breakfast table with plans to retreat to the solitude of the greenhouse to water the mums. Zach had excused himself a while ago to make phone calls on the front porch.

  Heather cleared her dishes, then went out the back door. As she crossed the muddy driveway, she was again grateful Ruthie had found an old pair of boots for her.

  She opened the glass door to the greenhouse and stepped inside. The temperature was cranked high, but it felt good on this damp, dreary day. She found she enjoyed working in the greenhouse. The Hershbergers sold plants and flowers to the public. On Sunday, a lot of non-Amish customers stopped by to purchase hay bales, mums and dried cornstalks for autumn decorations. Zach had insisted he and Heather stay inside. Out of sight. But once Monday, Tuesday and now Wednesday rolled around, the visitors dried up. Apparently the greenhouse was a weekend business patronized by tourists out for a country drive.

  Zach had decided it was safe for Heather to stroll the property—not that Brian would be looking for his ex-wife dressed in traditional Amish clothing. She spent time in the greenhouse: watering the mums, deadheading the plants and general organizing. It afforded her the simple luxury of expending some of her nervous energy. Sometimes Ruthie or Emma came with her, keeping her thoughts occupied with things other than Brian Fox. She enjoyed listening to their chatter.

  “There you are. I’m not going to want you to leave,” Maryann said, stepping inside the greenhouse and picking up the garden gloves from the nearby shelf. Then her eyes widened. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. I meant—”

  Heather smiled. “No need to explain. Once I get the bed-and-breakfast up and running, I should make time for gardening. It’s relaxing.”

  “Your mother used to say the same thing.”

  Heather met Maryann’s gaze. “My mother liked to garden?” If Maryann wasn’t such a kind, genuine soul, Heather might have been embarrassed by the raw desire to learn about her mother. Like a child eager to hear every last bit about the day-to-day life of Santa Claus.

  “Oh, she loved to garden. She used to bring you and your sisters here on occasion, not that she had much free time while caring for her growing family and running a household. But she was the one who suggested we start a greenhouse.”

  Heather should have suspected considering her name and those of her sisters, Lily and Rose.

  Maryann continued talking. “My husband had fallen ill and farming was getting tough. This was something I could do with my daughters.” Maryann adjusted the band of her glove. “My husband was sick for many years. Now it’s just me and the two youngest girls.”

  The water from the hose was pooling at Heather’s feet as she listened to the story, realizing her mother had probably stood exactly where she stood. Used the same hose. Felt the heat from the glass enclosure. She tried to still the moment, capture it, but curiosity got the best of her. “What do you know about my mother’s death?”

  The color drained from Maryann’s face and Heather quickly added, “My father never talked about it and there’s not a lot of information online.”

  “Online?” Maryann narrowed her eyes in confusion. Some of the younger Amish may have been familiar with their worldly neighbors’ ways, but obviously Maryann had no exposure to computers or the lingo.

  “I did a search on my computer. People can pull up old news articles. I learned that she was murdered and that she was found in the barn on my mammy’s farm.” A flush of dread washed over her. She hadn’t spoken out loud about her mother’s murder since the day she was fifteen and had asked her dad about it. He’d shut her down in no uncertain terms. His grief had been so palpable that she hadn’t dared ask him again. Now it was too late because he had passed away years ago.

  Then a few years later, she met Brian and things spiraled out of control from there. Heather had been so fixated on protecting herself that she hadn’t had time to reflect on the past. Only after Brian’s incarceration did Heather feel that maybe she could reclaim some of her past. Figure out who she was. What she had lost all those years ago.

  “The news articles were pretty vague.” Heather studied Maryann’s face, not wanting to rehash the tragic incident. “I imagine not many of the Amish wanted to talk to the newspapers or the police.”

  Maryann lifted her hand and shook her head. “I have tried to put it out of my memory.” She pressed her lips together. “It was a long time ago. Maybe it’s best if you forget.”

  “How can I forget something that shaped who I am? If my mem hadn’t been murdered, I would have grown up in this Amish community. My entire life would have been different. Please, tell me what you remember.”

  Maryann peeled back the lid from a container of fertilizer and focused intently on scooping out the contents, then dumping the small beads into the pot of a mum, bursting with pretty purple buds.

  Finally Maryann dropped the scoop back into the container and tore off her gardening gloves. She slumped back, resting a hip against the metal table. “The person who hurt your mother was an outsider. He was never caught.” She looked up. “Don’t ruin your future by searching the past. There are no answers. You must forgive him in your heart. He will be judged by God.”

  Maryann had grown somber and Heather regretted bringing up her mom’s murder. If she couldn’t have answers about her death, at least she wanted to know who her mem was in life. She decided to bring up the subject of her mother’s life at another time.

  A quiet knock sounded on the door. The two women turned to see Zach opening the glass door to the greenhouse. He wore black pants and a black shirt—most likely purchased from the men’s department at some major retailer, certainly not Amish, but perhaps close enough from a dista
nce if Brian was spying on them. He took off his broad-brimmed hat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It’s fine.” Maryann tossed her gardening gloves aside and slipped out of the greenhouse past Zach. “I need to check on the girls. See that they’re getting their chores done.”

  Heather watched Maryann leave, the fabric of her long dress swishing around her legs. She was sorry she had ruined the peaceful mood by her tactless questions about her mother’s murder. Maryann had been her mother’s dear friend.

  Heather turned to Zach and noticed he was spinning the hat in his hands, a nervous gesture. Her heart plummeted. She sucked in a breath with eager anticipation. “Do you have news?”

  SEVEN

  “I don’t have any news.” Zach wished he did. He’d do anything to take away Heather’s worry and see her smile. He blinked a few times, then stepped back, determined to maintain the wall of professionalism. He had a job to do. “Not concrete news, anyway,” he clarified.

  “What does that mean?” There was an edge to her voice as she turned away from him and shut off the hose in the greenhouse. She seemed to take her time rolling it up.

  “Deputy Gates called me. They dragged the bottom of the creek and they haven’t found Fox’s body. The currents may have carried him out. Or maybe they didn’t search the right spots. From the dock where he entered the boat to the point where we found the empty vessel was three-quarters of a mile.”

  “They may never find the body?” She crossed her arms and glared at him, as if somehow this was his fault.

  “That’s unlikely. But it might take a while. I’m sorry.”

  Heather bowed her head and ran a shaky hand across her hair, pushing back her bonnet. She took a moment to adjust her bonnet, then met his gaze. “What do I do now?” Her voice grew high-pitched. She waved her hand frantically up and down her Amish dress. The bonnet she had just adjusted. “Am I supposed to stay here? Hide forever?”

  She spun around, paced a few steps, then turned back to him, shooting daggers at him with her steely gaze. She ripped off her bonnet and tossed it aside. It landed on the edge of a pot of mums in full bloom, dangled for a few seconds, then dropped to the floor of the greenhouse and settled into a puddle. He bent to pick it up, when she instructed him to leave it alone. With jerky movements, she yanked at the pins holding her hair in a neat bun at the base of her head. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft curls.

  Combing her fingers frantically through her hair, she said, “I’m not going to spend another minute hiding.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I wasted ten years already. Not to mention the years I had already wasted with Brian.” She winced. “You said you shot him, right?” Her eyebrows rose as she waited for confirmation.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then he’s dead. I’m going to go back to living my life. Back to the bed-and-breakfast.”

  Doubt whispered across Zach’s brain. His mind flashed back to the creek. To his erratic pulse pounding in his ears. Lifting his gun, aiming it at his target. He was a good shot. He had to have hit Fox.

  Heather’s life depended on it.

  “Give it a few more days,” Zach urged her. “They’ve extended the search north up the creek, cutting through the hills. If he lived long enough to get out near where the boat was found, he wouldn’t have lived long. They’ll find his body in the woods.”

  Her fingers edged with soil curled into a fist. “Then when his body doesn’t turn up in the woods, you’ll tell me to wait until they check north of there or west of here.” Her face flushed red. “I have to believe he’s dead. I’m done hiding.”

  Apparently sensing his apprehension, she stepped forward, looking like a woman straddling two worlds with her gorgeous long curls flowing down over her drab gray dress that only revealed the laces of her well-worn boots. She reached out and took his hat from his hands. A smile glinted in her eyes. “Now you don’t have to pretend you’re the Amish marshal.”

  Zach couldn’t help but smile. “I thought I looked good in this hat.”

  She patted his chest. “You couldn’t even commit to the entire ruse.” She dropped her hand and adjusted the collar on his black golf shirt. “Now, I was committed.”

  He tipped his head and tried to read her. “It’s not a good idea to go back to the bed-and-breakfast, you know.”

  “He’s dead. I want to go back to my grandmother’s house on Lapp Road and get the bed-and-breakfast ready for our first guests.” Heather bit her lower lip and her eyes grew glazed for a moment, as if she were trying to figure something out. “I’ve lost five days. I’m expecting guests in just over one week. It’s time I go back.”

  Zach ran a hand over his mouth. “I can’t—”

  “You can’t what?” Anger sparked in her eyes. “I let a man dictate what I wore, when I slept, what I ate! I am not going to let you tell me what to do.”

  Zach held up his hands in surrender. “Can I at least accompany you to the bed-and-breakfast? Stay a few more days. Until the body turns up.”

  “Your boss will let you stay longer?”

  “He knows how important this case is to me.” Besides, his boss owed him one for pulling him away from his vacation that he had planned to spend in his cabin surrounded by nothing but some dusty old books, a black-and-white TV and his feelings of guilt and self-recrimination.

  Heather snagged the bonnet from the puddle on the floor and balled it up in her hand. “You’re welcome to come to the bed-and-breakfast with me, but you know I’m going to put you to work.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  * * *

  A sense of pride filled Heather when Zach drove up to her grandmother’s house. Her house now. They had used the unmarked vehicle the sheriff’s department had left for their use until his truck was repaired. Ruthie had come along, insisting she needed to stay at the house to help with the preparations. Heather was happy for the company.

  Looking at the house now was like seeing it for the first time. The workers had finished putting a fresh coat of gray paint on the shingled siding and the white trim gleamed anew.

  For the briefest of moments she forget about all her troubles.

  “Sloppy Sam did a great job,” Ruthie said with a hint of pride she tried to suppress. The Amish were a humble people.

  “Is there someplace I could park? In the barn maybe?” Zach asked.

  Heather shot him a sideways look, knowing it was unreasonable to think these precautions weren’t still necessary. “Sure. The barn’s fine.” She herself had decided to park her little car behind the barn because she still hadn’t mustered the courage to go inside the barn. Maybe she never would.

  As the truck bobbled over the ruts in the dirt driveway, she gasped in excitement when she saw the completed back of the house. “The window has been installed. Here—” she patted the dashboard “—let me out.” She tugged on the door handle and climbed out of the truck, unable to take her eyes off the completed addition. The siding. The painting. The window. All complete.

  Excitement bubbled up inside Heather as Ruthie jumped out and followed her. Heather dug into the bag she had strapped across her body and pulled out the house key. She ran up the back steps and unlocked the door. She pushed it open and the smell of new wood mingled with that of fresh paint. The kitchen was untouched, per Heather’s request, except for the updated appliances. She wanted to feel her grandmother’s presence. The workers had even seamlessly extended the wood floor from the kitchen into the new eating area.

  “This is better than I imagined,” Heather said. Sloppy Sam had built a long picnic table that could seat plenty of guests.

  “Sloppy Sam is a craftsman,” Ruthie said.

  As Heather’s gaze moved to the freshly painted wall to the right of the window, she found herself drawn forward. She ran her hand over the flat surface where the man who had
tormented her for years had stood. Where he had scratched his creepy message. But thankfully, the workers had seen to it that no trace was left.

  “Things will get better from here, I just know it,” Ruthie said, smiling.

  Heather smiled in return. Maybe, just maybe, she could finally allow herself to have hope again for the future.

  She heard Zach at the back door. She squared her shoulders and met him in the kitchen. He had their bags slung over his shoulder.

  Ruthie approached him and took her bag. “Heather, would you mind if I went upstairs to unpack?”

  “Of course not. Go on.” Heather had converted the smallest room upstairs—one too small for paying guests—to a cozy room for Ruthie, who initially intended to stay over only on weekend nights when the bed-and-breakfast had guests. The rest of the week, Ruthie would live at home and help with the greenhouse. And Heather had no plans to host guests during the week.

  Zach placed the other bags on the floor in the new addition. “Place looks great.”

  “It does.” She bit her lower lip, trying to contain her excitement. The silence stretched on for a beat too long. Heather took a step backward. “Let me show you where you can stay. There’s a small space downstairs on the other side of the kitchen. It only has a cot, but...” She hadn’t really thought this through.

  “It’ll be fine. Really.” A smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “I’ll put my bag away and be right back. You can give me a list of things you need done.” He held out his hand. “But from the looks of it, this place is ready for visitors.”

  His smile was contagious. “I can always come up with a list.”

  “I didn’t doubt that.”

  Heather strolled into the kitchen and braced her arms on the oversize kitchen sink. How often had her mammy stood in this very same spot, mourning the death of her daughter and the loss of her grandchildren? Heather wanted desperately to change the course of the future. To find answers. To find happiness. And not to allow the ghost of Brian Fox to take that away from her.