A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  Things had ended badly between them, and he kicked himself mostly for losing control and letting himself get close. Just the touch of her hands, the proximity … It had been too much to fight.

  He would never forget the sight of her wild red hair being tossed by the wind as they stood out by the corral. Her coppery hair and radiant green eyes had burned a brand on Adam’s heart. Because of her, he couldn’t think straight. Because of her, he lay awake at night. Because of her, he’d looked forward to coming to the city with its honking horns and sirens, its exploding lights and colorful signs, and its food scents mingled with exhaust fumes. Just being in her city, knowing she was near, settled his mind for the moment.

  For most of the last hundred years, the King family had been leasing a stall at the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia. Founded in 1892, the market had gone through some dismal periods and major renovations to become the current bustling marketplace of colorful wares and fresh produce.

  Today was Adam’s turn to make deliveries for the King Family Dairy, a weekly duty that rotated through the family. The task entailed hiring a driver, packing a van with cheese from the dairy and quilts recently sewn by the women, many based on special orders, and transporting it all into Philadelphia, where Adam’s cousin and his wife managed the stand six days a week. Joseph King, known as Market Joe, had run the market stall with his father since he’d graduated from eighth grade. When Joe and Lizzy wed, Joe’s father, Perry, bowed out of the marketplace to focus more on his harness business back in Halfway.

  “You have four new quilts for us?” Market Joe hitched his black-framed glasses up his nose and hoisted a box of cheese from the cart. “The women have been working hard.”

  “They get a lot more quilting done when the weather is cold,” Lizzy observed as she unfolded a Basket quilt in bold navy blue, yellow, and red. Five rows of five small basket patches made up the cheerful pattern. “Such nice warm tones for winter. Perfect for curling up by the fire.”

  “If the person who buys it even uses it,” Adam said. “The last two quilts I sold went to collectors, who said they were going to frame the quilts and put them under glass.”

  “Funny, isn’t it?” Lizzy hung the quilt over a wire strung behind the booth, and then smoothed it out to show off the craftsmanship and colors. “An item as basic as a blanket to keep you warm in the winter, and it becomes a showpiece, never to be touched.”

  Adam loaded the last of the cheese into the refrigerator as Market Joe greeted a customer at the counter.

  “How’s your sister Mary faring with those little ones?” Lizzie asked as she handed him a plastic carton.

  “She’s fine. Sam has started doing small chores and Katie is talking more and more.”

  “Your mamm taught Mary well. It won’t be long until all of us have young ones of our own. Of course, you will have to wed first. And from what I’ve been hearing, that won’t come easily.”

  “I’ve been reminded of that lately.” The meeting with his bishop, preacher, and uncle was still fresh in Adam’s mind, though when it came to finding a wife, he really didn’t know where to begin. The idea of attending a singing always brought Annie Stoltzfus’s berry-red smile to mind. And now there was talk of interest from Emma Lapp, the schoolteacher. A nice girl, but a girl, a child really.

  God, I know you’ve got someone in mind for me, he prayed. And I’m hoping she’s not ten years younger than I am. As he prayed that God would lead him to a suitable wife, his thoughts returned to Remy, and he pictured her sitting at his right hand during breakfast. He could hear her laughing over the milking story, and he imagined her learning to milk a cow, easy as one, two, three.… What crazy thinking. Verhuddelt thoughts.

  He was stacking crates when she caught his eye from across the marketplace. A flash of coppery hair, shining like a new penny against her stark black leather jacket.

  Remy … as if she had materialized from his thoughts, there she was.

  He froze in his tracks, surprised to see her and shocked by his reaction, the way his heart lifted at the sight of her, as if God had shown him the path to heaven.

  Adam lifted his black hat to rake back his hair.

  An Englisher girl. This could not be.

  He had fallen for an Englisher girl once, and though the relationship had ended amicably, his time in the fancy world had turned him inside out. Although Jane had stayed with him for less than a year, during that time he had met other people who shared his interests: a greengrocer interested in building a city garden, a carpenter who designed and built crates for shipping artwork, a retired sea merchant who built precision chests.

  The Englishers had admired Adam’s skills with a hammer and nail, as well as his honesty and determination to get a job done. In his second year he had started a business with Cap, the retired seaman, designing and building furniture by hand. Old Cap, cranky with people, patient with wood. Cap Sawicki had taught Adam how to make woodworking a craft. In turn Adam organized Cap’s shop and worked with his clients, building up the business.

  Thinking of Cap, Adam wheeled the cart of crates from behind the counter. Although some might call his pride in the old carpentry business hochmut, Adam had felt good about leaving the profitable business in the hands of a man who’d once been destitute. Sometimes he wondered how Cap was doing, though the old man had promised him he would absolutely not be writing any letters, and Adam had told Cap that it was highly unlikely he’d be calling.

  Strange, saying good-bye to a friend, realizing you would probably never see him again on this earth.

  But when he’d been visited by a police officer with the sickening news about his parents, Adam had known that his time in the Englisher world was over.

  In a flash of youthful independence he had left home, left the Amish community and his family behind.

  A foolish move.

  But never again.

  He was a baptized member of the community now. He made his choice, and there was no room for a girl like Remy in the life he had chosen.

  Across the marketplace, she seemed to sense him. In the light of the terminal, her hair looked redder than he remembered. Red and vibrant like the coals of the fire after they’ve been stoked.

  She caught him looking and a sunny smile lit her face as she waved from beyond a spray of flowers. How did she know he was watching her?

  He nodded and turned back to Lizzy, who followed his gaze.

  “What’s the matter?” Lizzy asked, squinting into the distance. “Oh, there’s Remy.”

  “Wait. Do you know her?”

  “Joe and I met her earlier this week. She stopped by looking for you, and I told her to come back today, as you happened to have the delivery.”

  “Really?” She’d come looking for him.… Why did the thought of her seeking him out make his day?

  “She said you knew each other, but there was something about business.” Lizzy spoke quickly as a customer stopped at the counter. “Can I help you, sir?”

  Adam was glad to have Lizzy and Joe busy when Remy approached.

  “Hi. I bet you didn’t expect to see me again so soon.” She looked like a healthier version of herself, with a blush of pink on her cheeks that reminded him of a sun-warmed peach.

  “You look good … healthy,” he corrected, annoyed with himself. Why was he so happy to see her? It was as if the energy in the cavernous market was buzzing now, its warm center a halo around the two of them. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Much better. But I really appreciate everything your family did for me. You guys were there for me when I needed it most.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “I am planning a trip back to Halfway. I promised Sadie we would hang out again.” She stepped over to the side table where the new quilts hung, diamonds and zigzags of color. “But I wanted to talk with you first.”

  Again, he felt a mixture of excitement and alarm. “Why me?”

  “You’re the head of the family, right? It’s abo
ut getting permission from you.”

  “Permission? My sister doesn’t need permission to have a fancy friend. It’s not encouraged, but … she’s in her rumspringa.”

  “I know, but I wanted to ask you about something else.”

  He could barely decipher her language for the distraction of her emerald eyes; every time he looked her way, he lost track of the conversation.

  “What was your question?” he asked, realizing his short responses probably seemed cold.

  “Did I tell you I worked for my father? I wanted to—”

  “Is he an antiques dealer?”

  She shook her head.

  “A designer?”

  “No, he’s … Herb McCallister. Do you know the name?”

  “It doesn’t ring a bell. Is he interested in the quilts?”

  “Oh, no, not Herb. But I’m interested. I love this Sunshine and Shadow quilt. But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I …” As if she’d run out of breath, she let her gaze drop to the quilt. Her fingers ran over the small patches of turquoise surrounded by navy, then orange, then peach.

  Was she talking about buying quilts or was something else going on here?

  Sometimes women made no sense. He often felt this way around Mary and Sadie; that they were not saying what they meant, or that there was some special meaning to be coaxed from their words. As if they were speaking in their own language, a strange dialect.

  He noticed the pink gleam of her fingernails. Her hands seemed smooth and delicate, not the hands of a woman who ran clothes through a wringer or tended a garden.

  And she seemed nervous.

  Afraid of him?

  That was ridiculous.

  But something gave her pause.

  “Not to be rude,” he said, “but what is it you’re looking for?”

  Her eyes grew round, as if she’d been caught stealing an apple. “I’m going to come visit you in Halfway … away from the distractions and all the noise here.” She nodded, as if convincing herself. “That’ll work better.”

  “You mean, you want to visit Sadie,” he said.

  She was digging in her purse. “Of course. And the twins and Simon and Mary, too. And Ruthie …” Remy smiled as she jotted something down on a slip of paper. “Ruthie is a pip. I really love your family.”

  “That’s good.” Again, Adam felt as if he were missing the meaning of the conversation.

  She handed him the slip of paper. “This is my phone number, if you need to reach me for any reason. And tell Sadie I said hi, and I’ll be heading out your way soon.”

  He accepted the paper, nodding. “Okay.”

  “Okay, then. See you soon.” One last flash of stormy green eyes, and she was leaving, weaving past the flower vendors.

  Adam stared down at the phone number—not too useful for someone who shared a phone shanty along the road with two other neighbors.

  Remy was a mystery, and he was not a man who liked unanswered questions in the air. But whatever her association with Sadie, he knew that his feelings for Remy could not be based on anything real. This was proof that the church leaders were right; he had been away from the courtship ritual so long that now his mind was dreaming up feelings for an Englisher girl.

  He needed to get back on track.

  This weekend, Sunday night, he would hitch a buggy to Thunder and head down the road to the singing.

  TWENTY-THREE

  he troubled words spilled into his sleep.

  The voice was small and helpless, the voice of a child. “Please, Dat! Don’t go.”

  Adam opened his eyes to darkness, the velvety blackness of a safe space. It was still night, but the voice wasn’t coming from a dream.

  “Don’t go down there, Dat! He’s a bad man.”

  “Simon …” In an instant Adam was out of bed, fumbling on the bedside table for a match. The flare illuminated Simon pacing at the foot of the bed, arguing in his sleep. Another night terror, though this time the tone was different and Simon had spilled a new detail. He had mentioned a man, not a bear, and Adam wanted to hear more.

  The kerosene lamp burst into light, but Simon didn’t seem to notice as he continued his rant.

  “Dat, no! Please don’t go talk to him. Didn’t you hear what he said?” Simon’s eyes were wild, his cheeks wet with tears. “He’s got a gun!”

  “Who?” Adam moved closer to his brother, trying to get through to him. He knew the boy was sleepwalking, but maybe in this subconscious state Simon would give him some detail … a description or a name. “Who has a gun? Who do you see, Simon?”

  “I don’t want you to talk to him.” Terror pulled Simon’s features taut, making his eyes seem huge in the shadows. “Kumm …” He tugged on Adam’s arm. “Let’s go home. We need to get away from the man.”

  Fear was a bitter taste on the back of his tongue as he faced the boy, leaned down, and put his hands on Simon’s shoulder. “Who, Simon? Who do we need to get away from?”

  “No, no, don’t!” Simon pushed him away and paced to the corner. “Please! Don’t go down there! Stay with Mamm and me.”

  His shrill plea cracked open the nightmare, and Adam saw the scene of their parents’ murders, the episode Simon kept reliving in these night terrors. Although Adam had been hundreds of miles away, he could picture it.

  A winter’s eve, just after sunset. The family buggy sitting on the side of Juniper Lane. And a man on the side of the road … someone beckoning their father to leave the buggy.

  Had light from the moon washed over the landscape?

  Had headlights cast watery beams from the killer’s vehicle? If the man had one.

  And, judging by what Simon was saying now, there had been a man at the roadside, someone Simon feared. Had he been afraid because he knew the man, or because the man had a gun?

  “I’m so afraid, Dat! So afraid of what he’ll do to us!” Simon brushed past Adam with his hands clapped over his ears. “You heard what he called us!”

  “What?” Adam asked. Watching his little brother go through this again was like having a knife twisted in his gut, but Simon seemed to have broken through to a new memory this time, and Adam wanted answers before his brother’s visit to the past faded. “What did he call us?”

  “You know I can’t say the terrible words,” Simon said as footsteps shuffled in the hall, “but he thinks you’ve cheated him!”

  Someone Dat cheated … It might be a telling clue, though Adam couldn’t imagine his father cheating another man. It was not the Amish way, not in Dat’s nature.

  When Jonah appeared in the doorway, raking back the sides of his dark hair, it occurred to Adam that Mary was probably still out with Five on their Saturday evening buggy ride. There was no telling what time Mary’s beau would return her to the house, but Adam had handled this before.

  “Simon, what’s wrong, boy?” Jonah reached out to Simon’s shoulder, but the boy darted out of his grasp.

  “We’ve got to get away!” Simon shrieked.

  “A bad dream?” Jonah asked.

  Adam nodded as he crouched down to his brother’s level.

  “But this seems worse than usual.” Jonah’s voice held a jagged edge of panic.

  “Because he’s remembering.” The horror gleaming in Simon’s eyes cut deep to the marrow of Adam’s conscience, and he wished he could protect this boy, protect not just his body but his mind, too. “Who do you see by the side of the road, Simon? Who do you see?”

  “I can’t see his face! I can’t!” A keening wail came from Simon’s throat as he blinked through his tears and made eye contact with Adam. “I’m cold … so cold.…” He crossed his arms, his teeth chattering.

  “Wake him up,” Jonah insisted. “Help him!”

  “Okay, we’ll warm you up.” Adam hugged him close and rubbed his back. “You’re all right now. You’re safe.” Lifting Simon in his arms, he headed downstairs, explaining to Jonah that they needed to get a fire going in the potbellied stove.

  Whi
le Jonah added wood to the embers, Adam settled down in the rocking chair with Simon in his lap and tried to calm the whimpering boy. Soon the room began to warm in the glow from the stove, and Simon’s body relaxed in Adam’s arms.

  The whimpering stopped, and his chest began to rise and fall with steady baby breaths. Still on the sweet side of boyhood, Adam thought. Although he felt glad when Simon’s body went slack in his arms, he knew it was a temporary release. The night terrors seemed to be getting worse, coming more frequently, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  “That’s a terrible place he goes to with that nightmare.” Jonah’s face was turned away as he fanned the coals with the bellows. “A boy his age shouldn’t have to suffer that way.”

  “You’re right,” Adam said. “And maybe my reaction was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed him for details.”

  Jonah’s mouth stretched in a grimace as he closed the latch on the stove. “I was wondering about that. Why did you ask? It seems to prolong his misery.”

  “I think it could help Simon.”

  “By finding the killer?” Jonah shook his head. “You can’t go there, Adam.”

  “It’s not about solving the murders.” In his heart Adam believed that would give them all closure, and yet they could not seek justice. Punishment was something the Amish left up to God. “I want to help Simon work through his pain and fear, and the only way to do that is by helping him separate fact from the stories his mind has created out of fear.”

  Jonah rubbed his eyes. “That will be hard to do, when we’re not to speak of it.”

  Adam frowned as he cradled Simon, caught in the web of rules that sometimes made life difficult in an Amish community. “I still can’t piece together why they were out there that day. Hunting, some of the papers said, though Dat didn’t believe in the killing of animals. At least, not in my lifetime. Do you remember what he told us about the annual butchering day when he was a boy? It upset him so much that he chose to stop the killing of animals on this farm.”