Hearse and Buggy

by Laura Bradford

  Feeling the intensity of his eyes as he studied her from the side, she smiled and looked away, her mind a swirl of thoughts she couldn’t quite pin down. Life was confusing no matter how you lived. The Amish had worries just like everyone else. Yet, somehow, the dawning of that reality held little comfort.

  Chapter 15

  It was close to eight o’clock when Benjamin dropped her off at Sleep Heavenly, the melodic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves fairly successful at drowning out the occasional rumble of hunger from one or both of their stomachs.

  “I had nice time, Miss Weatherly.”

  “Claire, please,” she reminded as she stepped down off the buggy and turned to face him once again. “Thank you for such a nice evening.”

  “Was the spot good?”

  She grinned. “That spot was spectacular; the company even better.”

  He glanced down at the reins in his hand, a slight flush of his face barely visible in the decreasing light of day. “Yes. It was.”

  She felt the answering warmth in her own face. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in? I’m sure Aunt Diane has some leftovers from dinner we could eat.”

  Benjamin shook his head. “I am home each night. I must check in with Eli and Ruth so they do not worry.”

  “Then please tell them I said hello.” She lifted her hand to wave, then pulled it back down when the buggy remained in the same spot. “Is something wrong?”

  “I can not leave until you are inside.”

  “Oh, then I guess I’ll say goodnight.” She turned toward the inn and made her way up the sidewalk, the answering swish of the curtain in the front hallway window catching her by surprise, first pausing and then quickening her step to the door. When she reached her destination, she offered one final wave to Benjamin Miller and then stepped inside, anxious to put a face to the unidentified snoop.

  But there was no one there.

  Slowly, Claire worked her way out from the window in question, peeking into various corners and nesting spots sprinkled around the inn. Her first human sighting, though, didn’t come until she was in the kitchen off the back of the sprawling Victorian home. She took in her aunt’s soapy hands and the stack of dishes in the drainer and announced her presence, earning herself a curious smile in response.

  “Where did you disappear to this evening, dear?”

  Claire plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and a dish towel from the rack and headed over to dry. “I went for a walk after work only to have it turn into a buggy ride.”

  Her aunt’s left eyebrow rose upward. “Oh?”

  She took a quick bite of her apple and then set it on the counter, her stomach gurgling in protest. “I just got back a minute ago.” Reaching for a plate, she ran the dish towel around the outer edges and worked her way toward the center. “You wouldn’t have any idea who might have been watching me from the front hallway, would you?”

  “Watching you?” her aunt echoed before extracting the plate and the towel from Claire’s hands and gesturing toward the apple with her chin. “This is your night off, remember?”

  “You don’t get a night off.”

  “Because this is my business, not yours.” Diane stared at the apple until Claire picked it up and took another bite. “As for your question, I can’t imagine who would have been in the hallway just now. Arnie is upstairs working on his thesis.”

  “And the lovebirds?” she asked playfully.

  “Not standing in a hallway watching you, I’m quite certain.” Diane finished wiping the dish Claire had started and set it on the counter to the right of the dish drainer. “Perhaps it was our new guest.”

  She paused midbite and studied her aunt. “So where is this one from?”

  “Here.”

  “You mean Pennsylvania?”

  Diane grabbed the next dish and added it to the growing dry stack with quiet efficiency. “No, here as in Heavenly.”

  “Heavenly? Why on earth would someone stay here if they live in Heavenly?” She winced at her choice of words and did her best to lessen any sting they may have caused. “Wait. I don’t mean it like that. I mean, I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to stay here, but isn’t that kind of wasting money when you already live in the same town?”

  “She’s staying here to get away from the memories, I guess.”

  Claire opened her mouth to speak only to shut it at the sound of tapping on the kitchen door. Tossing the dish towel atop the stack of clean dishes, Diane crossed the kitchen and pushed the swinging door open to reveal a familiar face.

  Only the Nellie Snow standing less than twenty feet away seemed much different than the Nellie Snow who had marched into Heavenly Treasures a few days earlier, demanding Jakob arrest Eli for the murder of her crooked husband.

  Gone was the anger she’d spat through clenched teeth.

  Gone was the aura of suspicion.

  And gone was the feeling that Nellie Snow was standing on a mountaintop looking down on everyone else.

  In its place was a woman who looked tired—like she’d backpacked around the world all by herself.

  “Ms. Weatherly, I was wondering if I could have a glass of water for my bedside table.” Nellie pulled the flaps of her silk robe more tightly against her body and peered around the kitchen, her tired eyes coming to rest on Claire. “Oooh, I know you, don’t I?”

  She dropped her apple core into the trash container and joined the women by the door. “We met very briefly the other day.”

  Nellie covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time keeping track of anything since my husband was killed.” When Claire didn’t react, Nellie stole a peek over the tips of her fingers. “He was … murdered.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry.” Claire patted the woman’s silky sleeve. “This must be an awful time for you.”

  The woman let her hands drift back to her sides in lieu of a dramatic nod. “Everywhere I looked around the house, I saw Walter’s face, Walter’s smile. It simply became too unbearable.” Claire watched Nellie’s eyes follow Diane to the cupboard, the sink, and back to the door before continuing her tale. “Ms. Weatherly was kind enough to offer me a deal on a room, knowing that I’ll make up the difference when Walter’s finances are released.”

  “I imagine the money he stole will have to be returned first.” She hadn’t meant to say it, to utter the thought aloud, but it had just come out, prompted no doubt by her evening with Benjamin Miller, one of the people most affected by Walter Snow’s thievery.

  In a flash, the Nellie Snow of earlier came back with a vengeance, the woman’s tired eyes crackling to life. “I’m fairly certain the court will be more interested in putting an Amish murderer behind bars than making sure Walter’s books are squared.”

  She swallowed back the urge to defend Eli out of respect for her aunt, but it was hard. It was obvious that Nellie Snow had made up her mind as to the identity of her husband’s killer. And it was also obvious—based on what Claire had witnessed the other day—that Nellie was going to do everything in her power to keep the Heavenly Police Department focused on the same suspect.

  Fortunately, Jakob Fisher was a smart man, determined to find the truth no matter where it led. He just needed the Amish to cooperate in order to do his job …

  “The problem is how closed-mouthed those people are. Everyone seems to believe they are so peaceful, so quiet, so law abiding. But it’s all a farce.” Nellie took the tall glass of water from Diane’s outstretched hands and clutched it between her own. “They fight. They drink. They—”

  Diane rested her hands on her hips. “Now, Mrs. Snow, I’ve lived in this town long enough to know when something is true and when it’s not. The Amish do not drink.”

  “Eli Miller does.”

  “He was on his Rumspringa.”

  “He is still Amish, isn’t he?” Nellie challenged.

  “When on Rumspringa, he is no different than an English college student exploring the world around him. Which mea
ns he can drink.”

  “Rumspringa.” Nellie rolled her eyes. “As if all their ill behavior is confined to that year. Please. I’ve seen enough in this town to know that the Amish engage in all sorts of behaviors people think they avoid. But I’m here to tell you both that it’s not true. Not even close.”

  With each new word, each new accusation that filtered between Nellie’s lips, Claire could sense Diane getting tenser.

  “They take things that don’t belong to them and—”

  “Like what?” Diane demanded, her voice adopting an unfamiliar shrillness.

  Nellie stared at Claire and her aunt. “Like goods that were left in my husband’s store when he … when he went away for a little while.”

  Claire took a step forward, successfully cutting off her aunt’s response. “The goods that were left in your husband’s store didn’t belong to him in the first place. They belonged to the people who’d made them. Which is why I returned each and every item to its rightful owner.”

  Nellie’s eyes narrowed on Claire. “You’re the woman who opened that shop in Walter’s space?”

  “You mean the space Walter had rented before skipping out on the landlord without a word?” She didn’t wait for a response, choosing, instead, to stick to the facts. “I left the stockroom untouched for weeks in the event he came back ready to square things away. When he didn’t, I went through it with a fine-toothed comb, returning each handcrafted item to its rightful owner. Perhaps you should do that with the money that is rightfully theirs, too.”

  Nellie’s jaw tightened in anger. “And their women? Are you going to defend them as well?”

  Diane gasped. “What are you talking about?”

  “Everyone thinks they’re so innocent in their little bonnets and simple dresses. But they’re not. They think nothing of prancing around and flirting with just about anything that crosses their path—Amish, English … married or unmarried. It makes no difference.”

  Reaching behind her back, Diane untied her apron and draped it over a stool. “Mrs. Snow, I understand that you are finding it difficult to stay in the home you shared with your husband in light of everything that has happened. But Sleep Heavenly is not the right place for you, either.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” Nellie spat.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “You did the right thing, Aunt Diane.”

  Diane looked up from her spot on the couch, instinctively moving to the side to make room for her niece. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

  “I know. You’ve been staring at that spot on the wall over there for the past ten minutes.” Claire bypassed the empty sofa cushion in favor of the ottoman. “Are you okay?”

  Her aunt’s shoulders hitched upward ever so slightly in the flickering candlelight. “I’ve never asked someone to leave before.”

  She grabbed hold of the woman’s hands and held them tight. “People stay here because they’ve come to learn about the Amish. Nellie Snow would be detrimental to that.”

  “I can’t believe those awful things she was saying. That they drink, steal, flirt with married men … I can’t remember the last time I was so angry. About anything.” Diane pushed off the couch and wandered around the room, stopping to straighten a hanging frame or fix a cockeyed book. “I mean, can you imagine accusing the Amish of such things? After her husband bilked them of their money?”

  “No, I can’t.” She shifted on the ottoman to afford a better view of her aunt. “I think the part that really pushed me over was the accusation about the women.”

  “That was like everything else with her—a way to make reality more palatable.” Diane released a pent-up sigh and then retraced her way back to the couch. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about Nellie Snow anymore. I’d much prefer to hear about this buggy ride of yours.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at her aunt’s ability to shut off the negative on a dime. It was certainly a skill worth learning. “I ran into Benjamin Miller while I was out walking, and we spent a little time together.” Feeling her aunt’s gaze, she twisted her hands together in her lap. “He told me a little bit about his life, I told him a little bit about mine. It was … nice.”

  “He’s Amish, Claire.”

  Surprised by the implication, she snapped her head up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t think I noticed that sparkle in your eye when you came into the kitchen this evening?”

  She felt her face warm. “What sparkle?”

  “The kind that comes from a connection. Like I saw after your dinner with Jakob.”

  She wanted to argue, to call her aunt crazy, but she couldn’t. Nor could she explain to herself why. Instead, she simply shrugged. “Benjamin is nice, and he’s a good listener.”

  “And Jakob?”

  She closed her eyes at the image of the Amish-turned-English detective and the odd feeling he, too, stirred inside her heart. “Jakob is also very nice.”

  “I’m glad. I’m glad to see you settling in and making Heavenly your home. I think it’s a perfect match for you, dear. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, that’s all.”

  “Hurt?” she echoed.

  Diane nodded, her gaze never leaving Claire’s face. “Benjamin is, and always will be, Amish. So long as you remember that, you’ll be fine.”

  Chapter 16

  Claire turned the hand-painted coal bucket around in her hands and marveled at the detail of the winter cabin it depicted, her mind actively considering and discarding various display options.

  “I had no idea your mother could paint like this. I mean, look at this stuff.” She swept her hands above the crowded countertop. “It’s amazing.”

  Esther leaned against the counter, her expression lacking the awed shock Claire knew her own face revealed. “Mamm likes to paint.”

  “Likes to paint?” she babbled, taking in the hand-painted handsaw and milk can Esther had placed on the counter upon her arrival, the scenes they portrayed more befitting of an expensive frame than regular everyday items. “Saying she likes to paint implies a basic interest, Esther. There’s nothing the slightest bit basic about your mother’s work.”

  Reaching down beside her feet, Esther grabbed hold of a bag and handed it to Claire. “There’s more.”

  “More?” she whispered.

  Esther nodded. “Some pillows.”

  “She made some pillows?” Claire stuck her hand inside the bag and extracted a soft quilted pillow, the pleasing feel of the material bringing a smile to her lips. “Ohhh, Esther, this feels wonderful.”

  “Watch.” Esther took the pillow from Claire and unfolded it, the soft material transforming itself into a blanket. “And see? A pocket to keep your feet warm.”

  Claire leaned forward, mesmerized. Sure enough, the blanket had a special place for feet. “I had no idea. I thought it was a pillow when I pulled it out.”

  “It is that, too.” With a few easy motions, Esther folded the blanket into itself once again, re-creating the original pillow in the process. “See? The English call them quillows.”

  She looked from the pillow to the hand-painted items and back again. “Your mother is a genius, an absolute genius.”

  Esther’s eyes widened. “She is just Mamm.”

  She wanted to argue but thought better of it, her aunt’s ongoing tutorial on the Amish and their humility looping its way through her thoughts. “You will thank her for me, won’t you?” she finally said.

  “I will do so.” Esther scooped up her mother’s creations and peered at Claire. “Where do I place these?”

  Glancing at the clock beside the register, Claire shook her head, curiosity and an awareness of Arnie’s pending arrival pushing the latest inventory additions to the background. “I was hoping we could talk for a minute instead.”

  Slowly, Esther set the items back down on the counter. “Is there something I am doing wrong?”

  “No! Having you here is working wonderfully.” S
he took hold of Esther’s hand and guided her toward the solitary stool propped behind the counter. “It’s just … Well, I found something the other day that I don’t think you wanted me to see.”

  Esther’s eyebrows dipped downward. “I have nothing.”

  Claire reached into the front pocket of her trousers and pulled the crinkled heart-shaped note from its depths. Holding it outward, she studied her employee’s horror-filled eyes. “You have this.”

  Esther gasped and grabbed the paper, her slender hand balling it up and shoving it beneath the register once again. “Please, please, please do not speak of this. Eli can not know.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt Eli,” she explained. “I’m just worried about you. About what this note means.”

  “It means nothing.”

  “Then why are you worried about Eli? It can’t hurt him if it means nothing.”

  “Not hurt. Anger. Much, much anger.”

  “Walter Snow wrote it, didn’t he?” she asked.

  The bell above the door sounded, sucking all remaining color from Esther’s face. “Please,” she whispered. “I can not speak of this now.”

  “But I don’t understand. You said he grabbed your arm. That he yelled at you when he came in that last day. Why would he do that if he had feelings for you?”

  Esther drew back, shock widening her eyes still further. “I can not explain that. He … he just did.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, to offer to listen when Esther was finally ready, but it was too late. Arnie Streen was on the scene, notebook in tow.

  “Esther! I’ve been looking for you for days.”

  Esther shot a worried look in Claire’s direction. “I am sorry. I did not know.”

  She rushed to explain the man’s presence. “You remember Arnie Streen, don’t you? He’s staying at my—”

  “Of course she remembers me,” Arnie boasted as he plucked a pen from his shirt pocket. “Isn’t that right, Esther?”