Whispers from the Dead (Serenity's Plain Secrets Book 2)

by Karen Ann Hopkins

When the four young people walked in, filling the small store with their lively chatter, I glanced up. It was a cop thing. Most people who were prowling around at this hour were up to no good. I quickly took in that all three boys were wearing the same royal blue sports jackets that had a soccer ball embroidered on the left front side and their names in cursive on the opposite. Since I had grown up playing soccer, I quickly relaxed, figuring that these kids probably weren’t getting into too much trouble tonight. In my experience, the soccer kids weren’t nearly as rowdy as the football players. Two of these boys had buzzed haircuts and the third, a taller one, wore his hair to his shoulders in the typical South American bohemian style that so many of the soccer professionals sported. The lone girl in the group was a pretty red head who was wearing heavy-duty farm coveralls, immediately garnering my respect. Any girl that puts personal comfort ahead of style in the wintertime was all right in my book.

  But still, I couldn’t help keeping one eye on the foursome as I plucked a chocolate bar from the shelf and moved over to the pretzels. I was craving salt, and since I was already going to be caffeined-up on the chocolate and coffee, I decided that I might as well fill up on my other favorite snack as well.

  “Hey, Brandy, what do you want to drink?” the taller boy asked loudly.

  “I don’t know, whatever is fine with me,” she said sulkily.

  The dark haired boy in the group snapped, “I still can’t believe that Gabe Schwartz had the nerve to flirt with Brandy that way.”

  The last name caught my attention and I paused at the bags of chips and tilted my head to listen more carefully.

  “Don’t talk like I’m not even here, Lyell. It was no big deal,” Brandy said.

  I caught the defensive shrug of Lyell’s shoulders at the end of the aisle, but it was the tallest boy who spoke again. “He’s got to be only fourteen or fifteen, and he’s Amish. They act so prim and proper in front of the adults, but get them away from the establishment and anything goes.”

  “Oh, yeah,” chuckled the brown haired boy, “we all know that they ain’t perfect.”

  Lyell walked down the aisle I was standing in and muttered, “Excuse me,” as he reached past me to grab a bag of chips from the shelf. I took a step back, but continued to pretend that I was deciding between the snacks.

  When Lyell returned to the teens clustered beside the refrigerator doors, they began whispering. I couldn’t make out what they were saying for a moment, but then Brandy spoke up, “You really should leave Mariah alone, Nathan. She’s not interested in the likes of you and you’re just going to get her into trouble.”

  “Why, is it a crime to be nice?” Nathan said forcefully. “She’s going to get into trouble all on her own anyway.”

  “Still, no need to make it any worse. I sort of feel sorry for her having to live that way.” Brandy turned to the tall boy and grasped his arm, shaking it. “Tell him what a jerk he’s being, Cody.”

  Cody pointed a finger at Nathan and said in a mock tone, “Don’t corrupt that good little Amish girl…and stop picking fights with Jacob and Jory. We should be ambassadors of good will for our people.”

  Brandy swiped Cody on the shoulder and abruptly headed towards the counter, saying, “You are so full of shit.”

  Cody and Lyell followed quickly behind Brandy, but Nathan lingered beside the packs of gum.

  When Nathan finally moved to join his friends, I turned and grasped his left arm, quickly securing it against his back and pushing him forward against the shelf.

  “What the hell,” Nathan said in a suspiciously low voice for someone being suddenly accosted.

  “There’s a pack of gum in your back pocket that you didn’t pay for. I suggest that you get it with your free hand and place it back on the shelf,” I told him nicely.

  Nathan’s friends and the store owner were now gathered in the narrow aisle way with gaping mouths and wide eyes.

  “Let him go!” Brandy demanded, but I ignored her.

  I twisted Nathan’s arm and said, “Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

  Nathan’s body relaxed at the same time he answered, “All right, all right.”

  Nathan plucked the pack from his pocket and quickly placed it back on the shelf. I released him and returned his stare as he rubbed his wrist vigorously.

  Understanding struck the store owner and he rushed toward Nathan, pointing a finger in the boy’s face and shrieking, “You hoodlum! I call cops on you!”

  I stepped in front of Nathan and held up my hand at the swarthy man. “Hold on.” I turned back to Nathan and asked, “I wonder what your coach will do if he finds out you were shoplifting. If he’s anything like my high school soccer coach, he won’t be happy and he’ll probably be very much inclined to bench you for a few games.”

  Nathan’s face paled, and he glanced nervously between me and the store owner. It only took a few seconds for the kid to resort to begging. “Please, please don’t press charges. I promise I’ll never steal anything again. I won’t even come in here anymore.”

  I had always thought of myself as a pretty good judge of character, and right now, my gut was telling me that the incident had scared the crap out of the kid. He probably had done it before, but the chances of him taking the risk again over a dollar’s worth of gum was not very likely.

  “I think he’s learned his lesson…and I wouldn’t be surprised if his parents, aunts and uncles all stop by here for gas from time to time. I don’t think that it would be worth the trouble of calling law enforcement on this one, if you know what I mean,” I said coaxingly to the man.

  The man frowned for several long seconds, silently deliberating before he finally sighed in annoyance. He wagged his finger in Nathan’s face and said, “I be keeping eyes on you.”

  Nathan took that as his cue to leave and he swept past us. Cody and Lyell converged on Nathan and they hurried away together, but Brandy paused for a second to smile back at me and mouth the words, “Thank you.”

  But I only half acknowledged her. Rowan Schwartz was staring at me from behind her.

  The Amish man’s sudden appearance flustered me for a moment, and his unreadable expression put me immediately on guard, but I recovered enough to say, “Hello, Mr. Schwartz. I wasn’t expecting you to actually come out at this hour.”

  “I’m the one who invited you here, so of course I’ll bend my schedule to accommodate your needs. I would never allow you to wait in your car at a gas station the entire night when you could be sleeping in a soft bed instead.”

  “Well, thanks,” I chirped out, still feeling extremely uncomfortable. “How long have you been standing there?”

  The side of Rowan’s mouth lifted into a small, lopsided smile, and he said, “Long enough to know that Bishop Aaron Esch wasn’t kidding when he spoke about you.”

  Oh, brother. I already had a reputation and I only just arrived.

  3

  By the time I pulled into the long, gravel driveway, the weirdness of following the horse and buggy for the past five miles had worn off. I was actually more surprised at what good time we were making.

  I was beginning to think this Rowan guy was quite the character. He still wasn’t being overly friendly, but the fact that he’d made the effort to come and get me had scored him a few brownie points.

  Now that he had slowed his horse to a walk, I crawled along behind the buggy at a snail’s pace, taking the opportunity to look around. The horse’s heavy breathing was creating large puffs of mist that floated back to my car, and the moon was nearly full. Its brightness illuminated the fields to my left and the scraggly hedge to my right with a soft glow that was enhanced further by the snow.

  Even for the frigid temperatures, there was only about an inch of snow on the ground, which was a lot less than we had back home. When we crested the hill, a white farm house and several red barns came into view. The trees d
ropped away and wood board fencing began, creating large corrals on each side of the drive. Dozens of black cows were heartily eating from the round bales of hay that dotted each paddock.

  I felt bad for the calves that were huddled up against their mothers. They looked miserable, but at least the morning was supposed to bring sunshine and warmer temperatures.

  The two story house was dark and quiet except for the Border Collie that leaped off the porch and barked once at my car before Rowan leaned out of the buggy to call the dog to him.

  I parked and zipped up my jacket. I also put my toboggan, scarf and gloves on. Rowan was already busily unhitching his horse and I guessed that my sleeping accommodations would have to wait until after the horse was cared for.

  I certainly didn’t mind the delay though. It might give me the opportunity to find out some more information about the arsons.

  I walked closer to the side of the barn, hopeful that it would provide some protection from the brisk wind and said, “Do you need any help with that, Mr. Schwartz?”

  Rowan paused from the strappings and looked at me with that same unreadable expression that he’d worn in my office a couple of weeks earlier. “You can call me Rowan and if you don’t mind, I’ll address you as Serenity.” He continued to undo the straps while he talked. “I’m only a few years older than you at most. It feels a little awkward having you address me so formally.”

  I chewed the corner of my lip, trying to gage whether the Amish man was being sincere or sarcastic. I decided to take it at face value.

  “All right then. Rowan, do you need any help?”

  “Yes, actually, I’d appreciate it if you would brush Dakota off for me.” He handed me the lead rope that he had just clipped to the horse’s halter and pointed to the barn door. “Go ahead and crosstie him in the aisle. The grooming box is in the tack room.”

  I led the horse into the barn and then paused to call over my shoulder. “Where’s the light?”

  Rowan was in the process of pulling the buggy towards the side of the barn where an open topped buggy was already parked in a covered bay.

  He chuckled and replied, “Sorry, but we don’t have lights in the barn. You should be able to feel your way around with the moonlight, I reckon.”

  Then he turned back to his job and forgot all about me.

  Luckily, I wasn’t totally ignorant around horses. Growing up, I had a horse-crazy friend named Missy who took me out for rides sometimes. Turning to the black horse that was standing patiently beside me, I said, “Being an Amish horse, you’re probably very well behaved, so I think we can get this done without too much hoopla.”

  I squinted into the darkness and decided to tie the horse closer to the doorway even though the air blowing through it was icy cold. Better to have a little bit of light, I thought, as I found the rope that was already connected to the wall and latched it to the side of Dakota’s halter. Since Rowan had mentioned ‘cross ties,’ I looked across the aisle and saw another matching rope. I pulled the rope to Dakota’s head and was delighted to find that it reached perfectly.

  It only took about a minute and a few bumps to get my hands on a wooden box full of horse brushes in the darkness of the tack room. I was hardly even aware of the fact that it was about three o’clock in the morning as I brushed the sweaty fur vigorously. The movement got my blood flowing again, warming me somewhat, and seeing that Dakota was stretching out in enjoyment to the attention made me happy to work even harder.

  By the time Rowan reappeared beside me, Dakota was thoroughly brushed and there was only a little steam rising from his back. I looked at Rowan expecting him to admire my work, but instead, he pulled a small tool from his pocket and lifted each of the horse’s hooves in turn to pick the debris out of them. He then placed a quilted blanket on Dakota, latched the straps beneath the horse’s belly and led him into a stall.

  I waited a few more minutes while the man filled a bucket of water from the heavily wrapped water spigot and placed some hay into Dakota’s stall. When he closed the stall door behind him, he finally acknowledged me again, saying, “Now it’s time to get you settled for the night.”

  Rowan insisted on carrying my heavy suitcase and I followed him across the frozen ground with my purse and a duffle bag over my shoulder. I had to stretch my legs to keep up with the tall man. As I walked in his moonlit shadow towards a small, square building to the side of the house, I once again noticed that Rowan’s hat was larger and his coat longer than the Amish living in my jurisdiction. I didn’t think it was possible, but Rowan looked even more outdated than the people of the Blood Rock community.

  The kitchen was dimly illuminated by a shard of moonlight coming through the window. I found myself straining to watch my host as he fiddled with the matches and gas lamp above the table. He wasn’t as tall or as broad shouldered as Daniel, but he was still a big guy. And although he didn’t come close to the good looks that Daniel possessed, Rowan was a decent looking man. The arrogant confidence that oozed off of him made him even more attractive.

  The room was suddenly filled with light, and I looked around the small interior of the box house, noting that although there weren’t any pictures adorning the walls, there was a brightly colored quilt hanging on one of them. A round table with three high backed chairs, a trundle bed and a sleeper sofa completed the room. There was one doorway that led to a small bathroom and another that seemed to be a closet. The woodsy scent from the charred remains in the potbellied stove wafted on the air and I breathed in the pleasant aroma as memories of childhood campfires stirred in my mind.

  “This is cozy,” I said.

  Again, Rowan chuckled and I knew this time it was at my own expense. He obviously thought that I was the one being facetious.

  “No, really, I mean it,” I told him.

  Rowan smiled. “I built this for my parents to stay in when they come to help me with the children.” He glanced around. “It serves its purpose well enough.”

  “How many kids do you have?” I hadn’t really thought about Rowan’s family and now I felt a little guilty for not doing so earlier.

  “I have five.”

  “That must keep your wife busy,” I said conversationally.

  “My wife died four years ago. The children are my sole responsibility, except for when my parents are visiting.”

  Now I felt like complete dirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  “There is no reason for you to apologize. How could you have known? Besides, the reason I brought you here is because of your curious mind. I would be sorely disappointed if you didn’t ask questions.”

  He had given me the perfect opening and I seized the opportunity. “When you were in my office a few weeks ago, you mentioned that a body had been found in the rubble of the latest fire. I pulled up the local newspaper articles and discovered that the remains weren’t identifiable. Do you have any idea who it is?”

  The sudden change of subject didn’t seem to faze Rowan, but I could tell even before he spoke that he wasn’t going to answer my question.

  “It’s awfully late. Let me take a few more minutes to show you how to light the lamps and to keep the fire going in the stove.”

  I bristled at the way he completely blew off my question, but I didn’t have much time to stew over it when he quickly launched into an explanation of how to light the damp wick from the oil lamp above the sink. He also told me that instead of a refrigerator, I had the use of an icebox, and that because there wasn’t any running water in the house, the toilet in the bathroom was not a real toilet at all, but a kind of indoor-outhouse. There was a small tank above the sink filled with water for both of my drinking and washing needs, and I found myself closely watching Rowan as he loaded up the wood burning stove for the night. He illustrated how to use the vent and advised me to put a few logs in when I woke up.

  “I think you’ll make it throug
h the night,” Rowan said, heading for the door.

  I was a little worried about remembering all of his instructions, but a nagging question was forefront on my mind.

  “Wait, Rowan. I won’t keep you much longer, but I was wondering about something.”

  Rowan paused, letting go of the door knob. He looked back expectantly.

  “How did your wife die?”

  A fleeting shadow of surprise lit his eyes before he regained his composure and said, “She was killed in a house fire.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was through the door.

  Finally alone, I sat down at the table and took a deep breath.

  Any hopes of getting out of Poplar Springs before my two week vacation was up had just vanished with his words. And for the first time in many hours, I thought about Daniel, and how his familiarity with the Amish people would be very helpful at the moment. I was suddenly wistful, wishing I had waited a few days for him to join me.

  4

  Even with the foreign scents of the lamp oil and wood smoke, and the early morning crowing of several roosters, I still slept well. It was the bright sunshine slicing through the window at nine o’clock in the morning that finally got me moving.

  Stoking up the fire in the stove, making a cup of coffee with a pot of water on the stove and even brushing my teeth with water from the tank had all been quite the adventure. I couldn’t help glancing down at the dime size hole on the knee of my jeans where an ember had sparked out of the stove and landed on me while I had been stuffing the logs in. It had taken an unreasonable amount of time to just get the basics taken care of. And then there was the whole indoor-outhouse to deal with.

  It was unfathomable to understand why anyone would put themselves through this kind of daily torture when it wasn’t necessary. But as I peeked out the corner of the window and watched Rowan’s children hooking up a devilish looking red pony to an open cart, I could kind of understand the culture’s allure.

  The kids had been busy little bees ever since the first time I pushed the sheer curtain aside to look outside. I caught glimpses of them throwing corn on the ground for a colorful flock of chickens, filling up water troughs with hoses dragged all throughout the barnyard and pouring feed into the long troughs for the cows that were patiently lined up waiting to be fed.