by Leanna Ellis
“Samuel,” Levi continued, “I had a private hope that the trip might be useful for me to explain some things to you, things I was never able to discuss with you before.”
Samuel crossed his arms over his chest, feeling betrayed once again. “You mean about Jacob? About his death? Did Pop tell you? Or maybe Roc did.” He hesitated before speaking the words, which sliced at his throat like serrated knives, but he wasn’t going to hide from the truth either. He threw the words at his older brother with careless aim. “I killed Jacob. I was the one.”
Levi blanched.
“And I have to live with that.” Samuel slapped his chest. “So yeah, now I wanna know what my brother was doing in Ohio when I thought he’d been long buried in Pennsylvania. And yeah, I’ve been trying to figure things out. And maybe I’ve even hung out with an English girl. Because I like her. Because she doesn’t lie to me.”
“Samuel”—Levi gestured toward the rocker—“I want to help you understand.”
“Where’s Roc? He’ll tell me the truth.”
Chapter Sixteen
Brydon walked beside the woman to the diner, keeping a respectful distance. The night was pleasant and the streets deserted. His natural instincts were to pounce and enjoy the taste of her. But he liked the game, the anticipation, and the pursuit more. He also liked them to eat sugar and caffeine. It made a powerful kick, and he got a nice buzz afterward.
Her thoughts told him what a fun evening she was planning, and he’d let her tease and toy with him, then he’d jolt her with a surprise of his own. He hadn’t yet decided if he would drain her or change her. She might be open to this lifestyle. She had certainly latched on to the information about Aleister Crowley. If the articles he’d copied for her intrigued her, then he would find an appetizer for them to share.
His sharpened senses detected a presence behind him, and he felt the tiny tentacles probing into his thoughts, which told him another vamp was nearby. But in his experience, vamps only came around other vamps when they encroached on their territory or wanted something. Never good. Always required caution. He kept walking, very aware that Andi was even more vulnerable. Another vamp might fight him for her and ruin his plans.
Finally, Brydon asked, “What is it you want?”
Andi gave him an odd look. “What?”
A deep, rumbling chuckle came from ahead rather than behind.
Brydon came to a sudden halt. A body materialized out of the darkness and stood in front of them, blocking the sidewalk. More than one vamp meant danger. He pushed Andi toward the building. A low guttural growl came from his throat. Three vamps looking like the dark-of-night mafia stood in a wide half circle, barring any escape route.
The lead vampire spoke first. “We are here for you.”
Brydon lifted one eyebrow. “What for?”
“You have much to answer for.”
Brydon crossed his arms over his chest. He suspected this to be a ploy to get him out of the way so they could feed on Andi. They would think nothing of dispatching him quickly to the hereafter. “About?”
One vamp stepped forward and grabbed Brydon’s right arm. “You can tell Jezebel.”
“Who the hell is that?” Brydon struggled against the vamp’s grip.
“Didn’t Giovanni tell you?” The vamp gave a vicious smile. “Did he ever mention the one you should fear? Your day of reckoning has arrived.”
The other vamp edged forward, sniffing the air and staring at Andi, hidden partially behind Brydon. “We might be delayed.”
“She won’t take long.” The one that seemed to be the leader licked his lips. “A ménage à trois, eh?”
“Andi,” Brydon warned.
“I’m not afraid of them.” Her voice sounded like steel.
The leader laughed, and the other two joined him. “You should be, my dear. But if you aren’t now, then you will be. Oh, you will be.”
She stepped out from behind Brydon and walked toward the leader. “And why’s that?”
“Because—” But he never finished his sentence.
Andi yanked her hand out of her bag and aimed something right at the vamp’s head. She sprayed something in his eyes. The vamp hollered, swiped at his eyes, and doubled over.
Several things happened at once. Brydon blocked one of the other vamps from advancing, shoved Andi toward the street, and yelled, “Run!”
And she did.
Brydon grabbed each of the other vamps—a sleeve, the back of a jacket—and hurled them against the building. They fell in a heap, rolling across the sidewalk and snarling and snapping at each other and him.
Chapter Seventeen
The sun bled red across the evening sky, smearing a trail along the horizon. Following Levi’s directions, he took Highway 30 West on his motorcycle. Samuel noted the distance wasn’t far the way a crow flies, but the drive took longer, as he had to take the accessible highways and byways, turning onto Tower Road and then Furnace. He passed through Buzzards Roost and Schulls Rock, the terrain much rougher than typical Amish farmland throughout Pennsylvania. Eventually the roads lost their names and were simply dead-ends or forks that led in new directions. Remote didn’t come close to describing this out-of-the-way place. He’d thought Harmony Hollow, where his parents lived now in Ohio, had been in the backwoods.
Thick growth surrounded him on either side of the narrow road, sometimes making it difficult for his motorcycle to pass fallen limbs or broken branches, dips in the neglected road, or even hairpin curves. Obviously not too many traveled this way. Tree limbs overhead dappled the remaining sunlight, and he drove through shade and flashes of light and then into darkness.
Rocks and remains of dried, wintry brush obscured the splintered turnoff. He had to stop his motorcycle, turn it around, in order to take the even narrower road up a steep embankment. Off to his left, the Susquehanna River stretched below him. He veered away from the river, through more woods where leaves had collected and shadowy areas still held snow. Spring had not yet arrived here, and he felt a chill in his bones.
Samuel approached one last decline only to come to an abrupt halt where the road jutted straight down the embankment. It looked more like one of those climbing walls at Andi’s gym. For a moment or two, he pondered his options before deciding to leave his motorcycle hidden in a copse of trees. He half slid down the embankment and continued until he came to a flat section. Searching, he located what appeared to be the remains of a trail and followed it until he came to a bend.
A field opened before him, and farther back a small home nestled into the base of a rolling hill. The wind blustered through this tiny valley, which seemed to be cut off from the rest of the world, and slapped the laundry hanging on the line. Samuel followed the footpath to the gate, noticing an unpaved road leading from the barn into a forest, the tall, thick trees, hiding the trail.
Did Roc and Rachel now reside here? Was it even a farm? Roc had never seemed the farmer type, and he chuckled to himself as he remembered Roc trying to muck out the stalls in his father’s barn. But this tiny farmhouse didn’t seem to have any farmland accompanying it. A corral, however, kept a horse and a lone cow. The horse’s ears pricked upward at his approach, and the mare eyed him warily. An oversized barn dwarfed the house.
He angled across the yard, toward the porch steps. Something felt wrong—very wrong. Whoever lived here didn’t value company. He stood at the base of the steps for a moment, hesitating, wondering what he should do. It felt too still, too quiet. Again, he waited and watched, noting the wave in the tree branches, the sway of the sun-bleached sheets, the deceptive tranquility. He couldn’t name what it was, but he felt…like he was being watched again.
Glancing right, toward the barn, then left, toward the woods and even behind him, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that should alarm him, nothing to make him think someone was spying on him. And yet that uncanny,
eerie feeling crept along the base of his neck, like a cold finger trailing his spine.
Shrugging off the sensation as simply memories or paranoia, he jogged up the steps, his heavy boots hollow on the planked steps. When he set foot on the porch, the boards beneath him sagged and gave way, dropping out from under him. He crashed through the opening, knocking a shoulder against a wooden plank, and landed with a hard thump on a dirt floor. Pain hit him in several places at once—shoulder, side, hip.
Coughing, he struggled to sit upright and pulled air into his lungs. He blinked against darkness, thought he saw a shape loom over him. Then something kicked him hard in the chest.
The next thing he knew, a bright light hit him in the eyes, and a deadly voice said, “What the hell do you want?”
Chapter Eighteen
Naomi crimped the foil around the metal pan to keep the lemony chicken casserole nice and warm for the evening meal. With each pinch, words popped into her head. Spring. Blue. Daffodils. Silly words that began to pair up into phrases.
Blue skies smiled.
Daffodils danced.
Hearts collided.
She shook her head at her wayward thoughts. Her skin prickled even now at the memory of Samuel dancing her around the kitchen. Not really dancing, yet he had held her in his arms. Only to keep her from falling.
A creak of a floorboard brought her back to reality. Hannah came into the kitchen, holding one of her babies against her shoulder.
“Can I get you anything?” Naomi asked.
“Danke, Naomi,” Hannah gave a tired smile, “you are such a godsend. Did you know that?”
“I’m happy to go where God asks.” Naomi pulled the cherry crunch from the oven. “Would you like some lemonade?”
“I should be helping you.”
“Not to worry.” Carefully, Naomi set the pan on the stove, the cherry filling bubbling up around the crumbly topping, and she sprinkled on bits of walnuts. “I forgot to add these.”
“That’s easy to do anytime. It smells delicious. You have spoiled me rotten.”
“Every new mother needs rest and some pampering, so Mother says. I’m just glad to be able to help you, Hannah.”
“Someday, I hope I can help you when you’ve got a little one.” Hannah smiled.
But Naomi felt the needle of reality piercing her dream. She hid the deep ache, which she seemed to be doing more and more.
Hannah gently shifted her baby, peeking down at the sweet, slumbering features. “Levi was saying what a mighty fine lunch you fixed. Beef and noodles is his favorite. You’ll make a fine wife and mother one day.”
“If it’s God’s plan.” The words tasted sour in her mouth. Bitterness, like milk left out on the counter, turned quickly and benefitted nothing. Naomi forced a smile. “I’m delighted Levi liked it.”
“We should let Samuel know dinner is almost ready.” The baby stirred and Hannah joggled him, patting his back until a soft burp came from the parted lips. “Is he at the barn?”
“I don’t believe he’s here at all.”
Hannah’s eyebrow went up in question.
Naomi shoved the pan back into the oven. “Samuel took off on that motorbike. I would have thought you heard it too. It’s awful loud.”
Hannah’s expression closed like a door. “Maybe Levi sent him on an errand. Well, we’ll save him some dessert for when he returns.”
Nodding, Naomi kept her questions to herself. What was there to say? It wasn’t her business where Samuel had gone. And yet, she wondered.
Her feelings for him at one time had been infatuation. He’d liked her. And she’d liked him. Or so she had believed. But they had been young, awkward, inexperienced, passing glances back and forth at singings and other social events in the district. She’d helped him with schoolwork in the meadow beside Hallelujah Creek. He’d even surprised her with a late-night visit when they were beginning their running around years. She had believed they would court, get baptized, and then marry. Then things had changed.
Now, although she was still just as inexperienced, she understood more about relationships. She’d watched her sister Grace and other friends being courted over the years. No one in their district talked openly of such things. It was done quietly, often in secret, but one who paid attention could learn much.
After Jacob Fisher died, Samuel and his parents had left town almost immediately, which had not afforded her even the chance to offer condolences, especially because there had been no funeral to speak of. In fact, many had spoken in hushed tones about the oddity of the situation. Most had agreed that the sudden and senseless death had been too much for Jonas Fisher. The loss of a son at such a young age might have made any of them behave in peculiar ways.
At first, her teenage sensibilities had been wounded, because Samuel never even said good-bye. But she’d let go of any hurt years ago. How did she know what it was like to lose a sibling? To up and move so far away from what you’d always known as home? To have your family split? Over the years, she’d come to understand grief and suspected Samuel’s interest had been eclipsed. She’d prayed for him and his family to find peace.
Of course, there had been no promises between them, and she held nothing against Samuel for his actions or lack thereof. The whole experience, however, had made her wary of stoking an infatuation again, and she’d kept her eyes off boys. Her older sister had chided her gently that she should be more encouraging, but that only pretzeled her nerves. So she’d kept to herself and ended up feeling lonely as many of her friends paired off, and most had already married.
Seeing Samuel again brought all those sheltered feelings from deep inside her heart to the surface. She hadn’t realized those feelings still existed—feelings that made her hope his return was an answered prayer.
“Can you hold Gabe for a moment?” Hannah asked.
“Hmm?” Stirred out of her thoughts, Naomi wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course.” She reached for the baby, taking the bundle into her arms and cradling him close to her body. The newborn fussed for a moment, then quieted. Naomi smiled down at the infant and cooed nonsensical words to him. He was such a beautiful baby to behold that watching him sleep made her chest ache with longing. Babies were a special blessing from the Lord.
After a minute or so, Hannah emerged from the pantry. “I thought I had—” She stopped when her gaze landed on Naomi. “Is everything all right?”
It felt as if she wore her emotions plastered on her sleeves, and Naomi attempted to erase her hopes and wishes but her embarrassment only deepened. Her skin tingled and grew hot beneath Hannah’s studious gaze. She pretended to fuss over the baby.
Rushing forward, Hannah asked, “Something’s wrong. What is it, Naomi?”
Flustered by the question and attention, she angled around toward the stove. “It’s warm in here is all.”
“It is indeed,” Hannah finally said. “I thought it was just me.” She set a five-pound bag of sugar on the counter and unlatched the window above the sink, pushing it open. Then she turned on the faucet and filled the sink with sudsy water.
“Oh, I’ll take care of that, Hannah.”
“I don’t mind.” Hannah pushed up her sleeves and plunged her hands in the water. “Feels good to get my hands good and clean. Might as well scrub the pots at the same time. Gabe looks like he’s finally content. He’s been fussy this afternoon. He had a gas bubble, I reckon.”
Naomi readjusted the blanket around the rosy-cheeked baby. “Do you think Samuel will be back?” She could have bit her tongue for asking such a question, but the words had tumbled out before she’d thought. “I mean—”
“Of course he’ll be back.” Hannah offered an understanding smile. “Samuel is trustworthy. He simply went on an errand for Levi. He’ll be back. Don’t you worry.”
Despite the cooling breeze drifting in through the open window, Nao
mi felt her pulse pounding in her temples. She turned away and walked the perimeter of the kitchen, giving a light bounce to her step for the baby’s sake. “I wasn’t really worried, I just wondered…” She shouldn’t be wondering about Samuel Fisher at all. “I mean…”
A warm, damp hand touched her arm, and Naomi looked into Hannah’s kind brown eyes. “He’s a nice man, Naomi. I’m glad he’s come home to Promise.”
This time, she kept her thoughts to herself, but in her heart she heard the whispered words—me too.
Chapter Nineteen
Stunned by the blow to his chest, Samuel lay flat out, unable to move or breathe. His chest pinched as if his lungs had collapsed, then slowly, by tiny, painful degrees, his chest expanded and dank air seeped back into his lungs. He stared at a wickedly sharp object aimed right at his throat, but the bright light above blinded him from seeing who held it.
Scuffling noises surrounded him.
“What happened?” A new voice came from above him, from the hole he’d fallen through. “Who is that?”
“How do I know? A shoe nudged his leg. “Who are ya? Speak up before I ram you through.”
“Samuel,” he managed, coughing again, his side aching with the effort. “Samuel Fisher.”
“What are you boys doing?” a commanding voice, distinct from the others, boomed from above. “Let him up. Bring him on up here.”
Strong, rough hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. Stern faces spun around him. The room where he’d fallen was small, like a dugout beneath the porch, and was made even smaller by the other men crowding around him. A rope ladder hurled downward, and someone shoved Samuel toward it.
His limbs protesting, he struggled but finally grasped hold of the rope. His foot slipped once, and the rope’s rough edges scraped his shin. Slowly, he started to climb toward the rosy light. When he emerged back onto the front porch, feeling shaky and tense, Samuel looked into a familiar face.
