by Debby Giusti
Her comment pricked him like the tip of a sharp knife. “I can see that, Julie.”
“I’ve lived on my own without problem,” she continued. Then, as if realizing his upset, her tone mellowed. “Although I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness. Thank you for checking on me.”
He smelled coffee and wished she would invite him inside.
“Well...” He turned and gazed at the sun, low in the sky. An ominous dread he couldn’t explain settled over him. “If you need anything, I’ll be right down the road.”
“I’m fine, William.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She shut the door and turned the lock.
He stood for a few seconds staring at the closed door and thinking of the many times he had stopped by the Graber home in his youth to see Bennie. One winter day, he had taken closer notice of Julie. She seemed to have changed overnight. From then on, he had considered her more than his friend’s kid sister.
Not long after that, his relationship with his father had become even more volatile, and a desire to break away from Amish control made him search for new ways to assert his independence. He had borrowed an Englisch friend’s car and had driven too fast along the mountain road, as if to prove his worth. He’d crashed the car, but had walked away from the accident. When Bennie’s datt learned about William’s reckless actions, he was no longer welcome in the Graber home.
Leaving the porch, he hurried to the road. The sun would set before long. He wished his own internal upheaval would set, as well.
As he walked home, thoughts of Julianne returned unbidden, transporting him back to the night at the lake when he had taken her in his arms. Her softness had made his breath catch and his heart nearly stop beating. The clouds had parted in the sky, and a narrow band of moonlight had broken through the branches of the trees to illuminate her face, which had been turned up to him with eager anticipation. What he saw in her gaze had made everything in his life up to that moment fade away.
He had driven his buggy home long after Julie had left him at the lake. His heart had longed to knock on her kitchen door so he could see her again, never realizing what had happened to her inside.
Early the next morning, he had caught sight of her running down the road, her kapp gone, and her long auburn hair flying in the wind. As she drew closer, he’d seen her tears and swollen cheeks and the fear that filled her gaze.
If only he could step back in time and stop the tragedy before it happened, but life moved on, and second chances were hard to come by.
Julianne’s brother had been a great guy who’d had his whole future ahead of him. He had planned to court Emma and wanted to ask her to marry him once he’d saved money from his job at Jones Grocery so they had something with which to start their life together.
But Bennie’s life had been snatched away too soon.
His friend never would have shot his father and taken his own life. Bennie wasn’t a killer, no matter what the sheriff claimed.
* * *
After William’s surprise visit, Julia kept thinking of the handsome farmer as she studied her now tidy house. Dust had settled everywhere over the years, and she had spent the afternoon cleaning. With a damp cloth, she’d wiped down the furnishings until the rich wood gleamed. She’d found the broom in the utility room and had swept the floor, then mopped it and tossed the dirty water outside. The kitchen had been the last area to tackle. She’d wiped the cabinets and countertops and had felt a sense of satisfaction when she hung the wet rag to dry.
Peering through the kitchen window as the last light of day slipped below the horizon, she saw the pasture where their horses used to graze. The farm animals had been sold and the money placed in a bank account. She had used some of the funds to buy her car and a few items for her apartment.
Working at the gift shop covered her expenses but left little at the end of the month. Even if she sold the farm, the taxes would be steep. Plus, she needed a way to support herself long-term, a job that would provide health-care insurance and some type of retirement pension. Her aunt had suggested teaching, but she had no formal education beyond the eighth grade. That level of study, along with the many books she had read to increase her knowledge, would suffice if she taught at an Amish school, but she wasn’t willing to remain in Mountain Loft. Not that the community would be interested in hiring an Englischer to teach their children.
She looked back at the stained floor next to the stairs, her heart pounding with the memory it evoked. Grabbing the braided rag rug from the front entryway—the rug had been made by her mother—she placed it over the stain and breathed out a sigh of relief.
Her stomach growled with hunger and she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She poured a cup of coffee, made a sandwich and ate it standing at the counter as she continued to gaze out the window. In the distance, she could see William’s farm and the faint glow of light in a downstairs window. She was grateful for his concern and appreciated that he had checked on her earlier in the evening.
Things could have been so different, if only—
Not willing to dwell on the past, she swallowed the last of the sandwich, wiped her mouth on a napkin and dropped it in the trash.
A small desk sat in the main room, where her father used to do his ledgers, adding the cost of feed and equipment and balancing the outlay against the money earned through the sale of cattle and seasonal crops.
She ran her hand over the desk’s smooth wooden surface as she settled into the desk chair. His papers were still in the drawer. She rifled through the forms, noting his tight script and perfect penmanship.
He had been meticulous in his record keeping. As she studied the ledgers, she realized the farm had prospered, yet the bank-account statements she’d received after his death had been modest at best.
In the bottom drawer, she found an envelope. She pulled it out and stared at her mother’s name written in her father’s hand. Strange that he would keep a note he had addressed to her, unless he had forgotten about it after her death.
Julianne removed a sheet of unlined paper from the envelope and leaned closer to the oil lamp.
Dearest Margaret,
Should any harm befall me, remember the money I have set aside for our older years. I know you will make good use of it, and I hope with time, the amount will grow. Also, the cash kept here at the house will be available immediately so you can provide for the children until the other funds are available. The community will rally to help you, but you may need more than they have to offer. This note is not to make you worry. It is to bring comfort should Gott call me home first. Stay in His care and trust in Him to provide for your needs.
Your loving husband, Daniel
Reading the note again, her eyes focused on his mention of available cash. Aunt Mary had taken care of shutting down the farm after his death, but she had never mentioned finding a stash of money. Throughout that time, Julianne had remained sequestered at her aunt’s house in Willkommen and had never set foot in her childhood home again. Until this morning.
The day had been long and stressful, and Julianne suddenly felt overcome with fatigue. Tomorrow would be time enough to search for the missing money. She slipped the note into the envelope and clutched it in her hand as she climbed the stairs.
Her room was the same as when she had left it, except for the bedding that had been washed, stored in a protective plastic case and placed in a drawer. Grateful to have clean linens, she made the bed, changed into the sleepwear she had brought and slipped into bed.
In her youth, she had prayed before going to sleep. Something she had not done for years. Settling her head on the pillow, she wondered if she would ever call on Gott again.
Her eyes were heavy, and she started to drift into a light slumber. Thoughts of William circled through her mind like a dream not yet formed.
A clap of thunder st
artled her awake. She blinked her eyes open and stared into the darkness. Outside, strong gusts of wind rustled in the trees. The boughs of the hardwoods creaked and groaned.
Her pulse picked up a notch as another sound filtered through the night. Lying perfectly still, she tilted her head and strained to distinguish the subtle nuances of what she had heard.
A rhythmic pat, pat, pat.
Or were her ears playing tricks on her?
Another rumble of thunder, then a loud crash, as if the barn door had blown open. She jumped out of bed, hurried to the window and stared at the farmyard below. The barn was secure, but the door to her father’s workshop swung back and forth in the wind. Relieved to learn the source of the crash, she let out the breath she was holding, slipped into her robe and headed downstairs.
Much as she wanted to remain inside, the wind could blow the door off its hinges. If what the sheriff had said was true, last night’s attacker was under lock and key. It was doubtful anyone else would be prowling around, especially in the middle of a raging storm. If she ran to the workshop, quickly closed the door and made sure it was secure, she could return to the comfort of the warm house within minutes.
She grabbed her coat off the wall peg and slipped it on before she opened the kitchen door and stared into the night, searching for a man in black lurking in the shadows. Seeing nothing that caused her concern, she pulled in a breath and raced into the storm. The wind tugged at her hair and rain stung her cheeks. She lowered her head and ran toward the small outbuilding.
Stepping inside, she surveyed her father’s workbench and the tools hanging on the wall pegs. His shop was usually neat and organized, which was her father’s way in everything he did, but tonight, the small area was cluttered with tools strewn helter-skelter over his workbench.
Something moved behind her. A mouse or—
She glanced over her shoulder and into eyes glaring at her over the top of a red bandana. Her heart nearly stopped, then a jolt of adrenaline shoved her forward. She raced out of the shop and across the yard.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Forcing her legs to move faster, she slipped on the wet grass, nearly tripping, then righted herself and hurried on.
He grabbed her arm. She screamed and jerked from his hold. He tugged at her coat and ripped it from her shoulders.
She kept running. Her feet splashed through puddles of water. Wet strands of hair plastered against her face, and her heart pounded nearly out of her chest.
The door to the house—had she left it open? She flew up the porch steps and into the kitchen. Slamming the door, she turned the lock.
The house shook in the bellowing storm and thrashing wind. She dashed to the stairs. The doorknob rattled behind her.
She glanced back. A dark form stood staring through the window. Holding back the scream that welled up within her, she raced upstairs to her bedroom, grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand and tapped in 911, grateful she had a signal.
A Southern voice drawled a greeting. “You’ve reached 911. State your emergency.”
“Someone attacked me last night. He came back... He’s at my door. This is Julianne Graber.” Breathless, she provided her address. “I’m alone and need help.”
“I’ll contact the sheriff’s office. Stay on the line.”
She couldn’t wait on Dispatch. She needed to do something. Now!
Think, think. How could she protect herself?
Her father’s hunting rifle.
She ran into his room, peered under his bed and pulled out the rifle. Dropping the lever, she checked the chamber and magazine. Both were empty.
Where was the ammunition?
Trembling, she opened one dresser drawer, then another and another. She fisted her hands and wanted to scream with frustration.
Finally, she yanked open the bottom drawer and felt into the deep recesses. Her fingers found the cardboard box. She pulled it out, fumbled with the lid and nearly dropped the cartridges as she loaded them into the rifle.
She dashed to the window and opened it ever so slightly. The night air blew into the room, chilling her. Footsteps raced across the drive, but she saw nothing in the darkness. Her mouth went dry and her ears roared.
He was running away. A swell of relief fluttered through her. Then another sound came from below.
Bam, bam, bam.
Her heart lurched. He hadn’t run away after all.
Still clutching the rifle, she retraced her steps and crept down the stairs. Every nerve in her body pinged, like an elastic band stretched tight. A large form stood on the porch, his fisted hand pounding on the kitchen window so hard she expected it to break.
Her heart nearly stopped. She hugged the wall and watched the huge bulk of him press his face against the glass. With trembling hands, she raised the rifle to her shoulder, knowing he would gain entrance to the house at any moment. She needed to be ready to defend herself. She also needed to be strong and remain calm, although the thought of shooting someone, even in self-defense, made her tremble even more.
Again, he peered through the window. Mustering her courage, she placed her thumb on the hammer. Her breath caught. The hammer stuck and failed to cock. She tried again, then again.
He jiggled the doorknob and pounded on the window. In the blink of an eye, he would crash through the door. Terror filled her. The rifle was useless, and there was no other way she could defend herself.
Tree branches thrashed against the house. The roar of the rain hitting the tin roof echoed in her ears. Through the din, another sound made her tilt her head and listen.
Sirens screamed in the distance. Law enforcement was on the way, but they wouldn’t arrive in time. Hot tears burned her eyes. She glanced at the rag rug covering the bloodstain at the foot of the stairs. Her father and brother had died violently in this room.
“Oh, Gott, don’t let me die like them.”
FIVE
Lights flashed as the sheriff’s sedan raced toward the farm, filling William with relief but also concern about what Julianne would do until law enforcement arrived.
“Lower the rifle, Jules.” He kept his voice even and his gaze focused on where she stood in the open doorway with the rifle on her shoulder and her finger poised on the trigger.
She looked like a spooked mare, wild and dangerous. Coming back to Mountain Loft had been hard. She had admitted as much earlier, and whatever had happened tonight seemed to have sent her into a tailspin.
“The prowler ran away,” he told her, his voice calm and consoling. “You no longer need to worry, Julie.”
“Stay where you are, Will.”
He heard the tremble in her voice and saw the fear in her eyes. “Everything’s okay,” he soothed. “Law enforcement’s here. They’ll make sure no one hurts you.”
The scream of the siren ended abruptly as the squad car turned into the drive, and the flash of lights played over the side of the house. She turned toward the car as the driver’s door opened. A deputy climbed from behind the wheel, weapon in hand. He was tall and slender, midtwenties, with deep set eyes that moved from Julie to William and back to Julie again.
“I’m Deputy Sheriff Terence O’Reilly, ma’am. You can lower that rifle and place it on the floor of the porch, nice and easy.”
“I—I didn’t think you’d get here in time.” She glanced down as if only now realizing the rifle was in her hands.
“Lower the rifle, ma’am.”
“Yes, of course.” Slowly, she stooped and placed the weapon at her feet. “The trigger jammed,” she explained as she stood upright. “It wouldn’t have worked even if I had wanted to fire a round.”
“Step away from the rifle, ma’am.” The deputy’s voice was firm but not threatening.
She nodded and moved to the side of the doorway.
“You want to tell me what happene
d, ma’am?” O’Reilly asked, his weapon trained on Julianne.
She looked confused as she glanced at William and then at the officer. Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders and seemed to have a surge of determination as she declared, “You can put away your gun, Deputy. The only firearm I had was my father’s rifle.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s good to know.” O’Reilly hesitated a moment, then holstered his weapon, climbed the porch steps and retrieved the rifle. “So how did all this start?”
“Start?” Julianne glanced again at William. “I heard sounds, like footsteps. The door to my father’s workshop slammed in the wind.” She pointed to the small outbuilding. “I planned to secure the door, but I found a man wearing a bandana-type mask hiding in the shop. He ran after me. Somehow, I managed to get back to the house and locked the door behind me. He rattled the knob and then pounded on the window. I feared it would break.”
O’Reilly glanced at William. “Did you go into the workshop?”
“No, sir. The man was on the porch when I arrived. He fled. I lost him in the woods and came back to check on Julie.”
Will pointed to his own farm. “I live across the road. When the storm hit, I was concerned about Julianne. She came back to Mountain Loft last night and was accosted here on her property. I accompanied her to town today when she talked to the sheriff. He suspected a vagrant and said the man was in custody. I was worried the guy might return and wanted to make sure Julianne was okay.”
“So you banged on the door and scared her into getting her father’s rifle?” the deputy asked.
“If I’d had a phone, I would have called her.” William heard the irritation in his own voice.
“Did this man cause you any harm or distress?” the deputy asked Julianne as he pointed to William.
She stared at him. “I—I thought...” Then with a definitive shake of her head, she sighed. “No, he frightened the prowler away.”
William didn’t know if she believed what she told the deputy, but he was grateful she had corroborated his story. He’d had a bad reputation as a teen, and some people had a hard time forgetting the mistakes he had made in his youth. He recognized O’Reilly from his younger years, and although they’d never run in the same circles, rumors had a penchant for living on in Mountain Loft, and Will didn’t want his past to cause him problems tonight.
