As she applied a bit of cosmetic color here and there, Emilie again asked herself the question that had nagged at her incessantly since last night: How could two brothers who shared the same parents and upbringing, much the same looks and intelligence—how could they become such different men?
One a rebel, the other a hero.
One who resorted to physical strength, the other who turned to spiritual strength.
Emilie knew only this: Jonas Fielding wasn’t like any man she’d ever known. Her love and respect for him had grown threefold over the last few days. Now she longed for some way to communicate that love. Not merely with words and affection, but in some tangible way.
Show me, Lord.
Jonas rang the doorbell, once and briefly at that. Emilie opened the door with a frisson of anticipation—for the afternoon’s meaningful reading service, yes, but even more for the man who would sit by her side, the man who filled her doorway as completely as he filled her heart.
His smile—all boy, all man, all hers—covered every inch of his rugged face. “Hello, pretty girl.” His dark, dancing eyes swallowed her whole.
“Jonas.”
She was in his arms before he made it inside the house, covering his face with kisses even as the gentle rain covered them both.
“Emilie Getz, what will the neighbors think?” Jonas easily maneuvered them both inside without dislodging her arms around his neck, then kissed her soundly.
For the first time since last evening’s painful ordeal, she tossed back her head and laughed. “The neighbors will think I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
His lips pressed against her exposed neck, kissing one sensitive spot, then another, bringing a lump to her throat, one she realized he could feel.
He kissed her there as well. “Don’t cry, Em. It’s over.”
She blinked away the tears that stung her eyes, but the lump was more stubborn, reminding her how sore her throat still was. No singing or reading in the service today for her.
Easing out of his embrace, she touched his cheek, then turned for her coat, adjusting her scarf again. She’d refused to have it looked at by a doctor. Who went to the doctor for a bruise? She had no intention of pressing charges, so there was no point drawing attention to her injuries.
The bruises would disappear in a few days.
Nathan was already gone.
“You haven’t heard from Nate, then?” she asked as they walked along Main, her hand tucked in his, both of them grateful for a short respite from the rain.
His sigh was a heavy one. “Nope. No note, no phone message, no sign of him.”
“What about Dee Dee? Heard anything from her?”
“Not since she called and shared her suspicions with me yesterday. For all her faults, the woman came through when we needed her.” He turned toward Emilie, his expression more pensive. “Sweetheart, why did Nate seem to think you knew about the money?”
She stared down at her shoes. Here it is, then. The question that was never asked last night, the one she’d dreaded the most. The one she’d hoped might get lost in the shuffle.
Steeling herself, she began, choosing her words with great care. “Jonas, remember Tuesday after the press conference, you had me stop by your place and water the plants?” She gulped, seeing his brow furrow. “When I walked in your office, Nathan was there at your computer—”
“Emilie!” He stopped and turned her toward him, his expression incredulous. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well … I …” She balled her hands in fists by her side, not knowing how to explain herself. “I was …”
“Tuesday?” Jonas shook his head, clearly dumbfounded. “I could have put a stop to things sooner, maybe have avoided all that mess last night.” His eyes widened. “Em, did he threaten you?”
“Not at all. I didn’t see him actually do anything. He just asked me to keep it to myself. Said it would be our little secret.”
Jonas’ face took on a ruddy tinge. “Secret? You’re telling me you saw Nathan—”
She jumped to her own defense. “All I saw was him working at your computer. I didn’t know what he was doing.” Her eyes searched his, crushed by the doubt she saw mirrored there. “He said he felt guilty about skipping a day of work.”
“The stuff on the screen, did it look like the spreadsheet for Carter’s Run?” She could see he was fighting to keep his voice down as pedestrians walked by, their glances curious, even wary. “Emilie, you know I would never let anyone touch those books except our accountant.”
She turned and started walking, knowing he would follow her, that they had to take their conversation somewhere else, somewhere more private. He was next to her in an instant, his long strides forcing her to walk faster as they turned the corner, ending up in the center of grassy Church Square, alone for the moment.
Emilie faced him again, still balling then releasing her hands, close to tears, struggling for control. “Nathan said he majored in economics, Jonas.”
“Right. Ten years ago.” His voice was tinged with pain. “Did he also tell you he didn’t graduate?”
Swallowing didn’t budge the knot in her throat a single inch. “Yes … he did.”
She felt him pulling away from her. “Another conversation I missed, Em?”
“Y-yes.” She exhaled, choking on self-imposed misery. There was nothing to do but confess the whole of it, and so she did. Told him about the clandestine visit, the unintentional eavesdropping, the wrong conclusions, the discussion with Nathan in the backyard, the promises that should never have been made, the scene in Jonas’ office that ought to have prepared her for last night but didn’t.
Nothing could have prepared her for that. Or for this.
Jonas, the man she loved, was furious with her.
“Let me get this straight, Emilie.” He was breathing hard, his face redder still. “You chose keeping a promise made to Nathan over being honest with me?”
“But he said I owed him one, and I—”
“Don’t you and I owe one another something?” His voice was still low, but the anger and hurt were unmistakable. “After all we’ve been through, all we mean to one another.” His eyes searched hers for answers. “I love you, Emilie. I believed you when you said you loved me.”
It was the last straw. Tears were pouring down her cheeks unabated. “I do love you, Jonas! With all my heart.” She reached out her hands, placing them on his chest, needing to touch him, to feel his heart and let him see hers, dangling from her sleeve. “It’s just that … when I stood in that hallway and heard you say to Dee Dee on the phone, Not a word to Emilie, well I thought … I thought …”
“You thought what?” His words sounded like an accusation, but she sensed something growing behind and beneath them. Awareness, perhaps. Or a touch of guilt.
“You thought what?” he asked again, softer this time.
Her voice trembled, even as she focused her watery eyes on his. “I thought you were keeping a secret from me.”
Slowly he placed his hands on top of hers, melting away the sharp edges around them, healing them both with a touch. “A secret, huh?” The chagrin on his face reflected his own remorse. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
Despite the tension, her lips began curling upward. “Are we talking semantics again here? Surprise or secret, either way it means being less than truthful, don’t you think?”
“I’ll tell you what I think.” He let go of her hands only long enough to wrap his arms around her, enfolding her in his embrace. His voice was low, tender, and rough all at once, sending a shiver up her spine. “I think you are one brave, feisty, stubborn, wonderful woman.”
Ohh. Emilie tucked her head under his chin, loving the way it rubbed against her hair, already like sandpaper at two in the afternoon. She murmured into his chest, not trusting herself to look at him. “And do you think you could forgive me, Jonas? Please?”
He didn’t let her get away with hiding. Instead, he leaned back and tipped up her
chin, forcing her to meet his brown-eyed gaze. “Forgiven and forgotten. Will you forgive me, Emilie?”
She nodded, then sank back against him, loving the solid warmth, the masculine scent of soap and April rain and something purely Jonas overwhelming her senses.
Thank you, Lord.
There was no doubt where the power to forgive began.
Jonas leaned down and nuzzled her ear. “Uh … probably time to move toward the sanctuary.”
Her sigh was pure satisfaction. “Do we have to?”
“Yup.” Gently disengaging himself from her, and her from him, Jonas slipped an arm behind her as they headed toward the door, patently ignoring the knowing smiles among the parishioners gathered around the front door.
“Afternoon, everyone,” Jonas said as if nothing had transpired on their soggy church lawn, while Emilie pinched her lips tight to keep from giggling. Giggling, Em! Honestly.
At that, she stopped short.
Wait. Yes, giggling. She was the new, improved Emilie Getz, was she not? A woman who no longer worried about keeping a stiff upper lip and looking professional at every turn and waving her credentials under everyone’s nose.
She was a child of God and loved by Jonas Fielding.
Credentials enough for any woman.
So there! She giggled—loudly—and strolled into the sanctuary, her face beaming until she saw the simple cross, the solemn faces, the dimmed lights, and remembered.
Good Friday.
All joy came with a price.
Tenebrae.
Jonas knew the meaning of the Latin word: darkness.
Lititz was shrouded in darkness by this hour. The sun had long set, the rain refused to end. Standing in the vestibule with Emilie, the evening Tenebrae service concluded, Jonas listened to the murmur of voices around him, trying hard to be fully present when his heart and mind were somewhere else.
Searching for Nathan.
The afternoon’s reading service—a verse-by-verse account of Good Friday—had been almost more than he could bear, opening with the story of Judas, the betrayer of Jesus, trying to give back his thirty pieces of silver, only to be rejected.
“And he went and hanged himself.” The words had clutched at his throat when he read them.
Would Nathan do such a thing? Clearly, his brother was in more trouble than he’d been willing to admit. Where had he gone Thursday night? And where was he now, this minute?
Hungry? Thirsty? Dead?
Jonas’ grip around Emilie’s shoulder tightened. The past hours, full of suffering and sorrow, washed over him afresh.
Where’s my brother, Lord?
He and Emilie had called everyone they thought might have seen Nate—including the police—then spent the rainy hours between today’s services driving the streets of Lititz, looking for a thirty-year-old man wearing navy pants and jacket, a yellow golf shirt, a two-day beard.
Wherever his destination, Nate hadn’t taken any clothes or a suitcase. They were all still in his closet at Jonas’ place, waiting for his return.
Come home, Nate. I love you, brother. All is forgiven. Just come home.
Emilie looked up at him, her expression creased with concern. “Jonas? You don’t look well. Shall we leave?”
He nodded, suddenly anxious to be away from the hubbub and alone with Emilie. Though he was lousy company, she seemed glad to be with him, supporting him with silent glances and warm hugs. What a gift this woman was! It brought the slightest of smiles to his face when he remembered the gift he’d prepared for her on Resurrection Sunday.
But this was Friday. The day of shadows.
Until they heard from Nathan, the joy of Easter seemed a long way off.
Darting across the square, skirting puddles and mud, Jonas kept Emilie close to his side, memories of Thursday night in her kitchen still taunting him. If I’d been there earlier … Truth was, he wouldn’t have been there at all, would have been in church, except that Dee Dee called with her bad news and Nathan never showed up for dinner.
Jonas had wanted Emilie to know the sordid story and so drove directly over to her place, never dreaming he’d find his brother with his hands around her neck …
Was it possible to love someone yet loathe their behavior?
Yes, son. It is.
Of course.
Starting the engine, Jonas lifted Emilie’s hand and pressed his lips to her palm in gratitude, then without a word, steered the Explorer through the misty, wet streets. Around the square, the glow of the streetlamps was diffused by the moist air, creating large, pale circles of light.
If anyone was in need of light tonight, it was Nathan. Help us find him, Lord.
They arrived at his place minutes later, any hope of finding Nate there quickly dashed. The porch light was off, the drive was empty, the mailbox had no note tucked inside. Following him through the back door, Emilie carefully deposited her wet raincoat across the clothes dryer in the laundry room.
Her purse put aside, Emilie stretched up on tiptoe and kissed his forehead. “Mind if I brew some tea?” Her voice still sounded rough around the edges. Weak and strained, threaded with pain. It ravaged his heart to hear it.
He said the words again: “I’m sorry, Em.”
With a wave of her hand, she went about her tea-making duties. “Enough of that, handsome. None of it was your fault. I’m praying we find the man before he hurts himself. Have you checked the answering machine?”
“Three messages,” he called out from the den a moment later, and pushed rewind. Long ones, from the sound of them. Emilie joined him, dropping into his lap on the desk chair as he pushed the playback button.
“Jonas, it’s Dee Dee. I’ve been out of town since we spoke Thursday, so I just got your message. Sorry I missed you. Look, I haven’t seen Nate. I … I hope it was appropriate to tell you about my discussions with him. Was I right? Did he try and pull something? Jonas, I’m … sorry. He’s a cute guy, but he’s trouble.” Dee Dee’s throaty laugh rolled out of the tiny speaker. “He may be a Fielding, but he’s not you. Tell that professor she’s one lucky dame.”
Click.
Jonas grinned and leaned over to whisper in Emilie’s ear. “Is that what you are, Dr. Getz? A lucky dame?”
“Humph. Luck had nothing to do with it.”
He erased Dee Dee’s message, relieved to know she’d been gone Thursday night. Nathan might have tried to pull the same stunt at her place that he’d pulled at Emilie’s. Em might be willing to let it go, but Dee Dee Snyder would have seen Nate behind bars within the hour.
If she’d lived through it.
Nathan was trouble, all right. More than Jonas had realized.
He pushed the start button for the next message, which had his complete attention from the first sentence.
“Nate? It’s over, kid. Do you understand what I’m saying? We’re talking months of patience on my part, covering for you. This ain’t a bank, Nate, and I ain’t a loan officer. Twenty thousand on April 1, that was our agreement. I waited all day. No check. Time’s up and I’m tired of waiting, Nate. So long and good riddance.”
Click.
Jonas stared at the machine, stunned.
“What was all that about?” Emilie slipped out of his lap, ignoring the teakettle whistling in the kitchen, reaching out to push replay instead.
The message was even more disturbing on the second listen. No name, no identifying noises in the background, nothing except an older man making a threat that sounded anything but idle.
“Save that one, and let’s see if the next message sheds a little light on it.”
It did more than that.
“Jonas Fielding? This is the Lititz Borough Police calling at 7:08 on Friday evening. Mr. Fielding, we just picked up your brother, Nathan Fielding, on a charge of public drunkenness and disorderly conduct. Unfortunately, he resisted arrest, so we’re going to need to keep him locked up here for a while. Thought you might want to come down and talk some sense into him. Bring him a
change of clothes and an electric shaver while you’re at it. The guy’s a mess.”
Click.
Jonas couldn’t have put it better himself. Nathan was a mess.
Nate’s curly brown hair was matted to his head as if he’d slept in a mud puddle. Probably did.
His bloodshot eyes were glazed over with a veneer of alcohol.
His hands shook, making the steel cuffs around them jangle.
His clothes reeked of perspiration and worse.
“I brought these for you, Nathan.” Jonas handed the officer standing behind his brother a small bag of clothes and the shaver, as requested. “You’re welcome to check these, Officer. Feel free to toss what he’s wearing after he changes.”
“Uh-uh,” Nate mumbled, barely able to lift his head. “Good clothes.”
“Not anymore, brother.” Jonas shook his head, pulling up a wooden chair and straddling it backwards as he sat, resting his chin on the back. “Are you gonna tell me where you’ve been the last twenty-four hours?”
Nate stared out the small, barred window. “You don’t wanna know.”
“Actually I do. I spent a long, sleepless night wanting to know.”
Nate shrugged, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Somewhere dry.”
“Not dry enough, looks like.” Jonas dropped his voice. “Nate, we got a phone message from your twenty-thousand-dollar headache.”
His brother’s head shot up at that, terror gripping his face. “Cy called?”
Cy, huh. “Never gave his name.”
Nate exhaled, aging in front of his eyes. “What did he say?”
“I wrote down the message so you could explain it to me.” Jonas handed him the note, carefully printed. “The part I’m worried about is the ‘good riddance.’ ”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it. I’m safe as long as I’m in here, aren’t I?” Nate tipped his head back, taking in the spartan surroundings. “Like I said Thursday night, brother Jonas, the less you know, the better.”
“What I know is, you are in a heap of trouble sitting right here, with more waiting when you get out. Bigger stuff. Dangerous stuff.” Jonas rested one fist on Nate’s shoulder, not meant to comfort or threaten, simply a way to make contact with a man who’d suddenly become a stranger. “Nate, how can I help you when you won’t tell me what’s going on?”
Bookends Page 34
