by Marta Perry
Things had changed so much in her life in just the past few days—since she’d spotted the smoke announcing the fire at Julia’s barn, in fact. Normally, despite the fact that they lived so close, she wouldn’t see much of Aaron except at worship on alternate Sundays, or when everyone pitched in to help with the haying. She’d seen him more often this week than she had in the previous month.
It should become easier with repetition, shouldn’t it? Well, it didn’t. She couldn’t see him without feeling the jump in her pulse and the longing in her heart.
And now to be committed to working closely with him on the festival project—how had she gotten into this predicament? He’d been trying to help her, most likely. And it was just as likely that Allison, who knew her secret, thought it a great idea to throw the two of them together. Sarah had to admit that just the thought of being with him that much sent her nerves singing.
Julia’s house was just ahead, and she gave herself a mental shake. It was time to stop fretting about her own wayward heart and concentrate on something else.
When Julia had phoned the shop earlier, she’d sounded triumphant. She’d gotten rid of Donna for the morning, she’d said, and she wanted Sarah to come over and search for her stored quilts without, apparently, having to argue with her cousin about it.
The woman had sounded like her usual feisty self, and Sarah thought again that Donna must be wrong about Julia failing mentally. Donna was one of those people who always saw the worst in every situation, and she was probably just taking an unduly pessimistic view of things.
The flower borders along Julia’s front porch were crowded with marigolds, snapdragons and dahlias. They were all drooping, looking as if they could do with a drink of water. Sarah would offer to water them before she left.
She pushed the doorbell and then opened the unlocked front door, not wanting the elderly woman to struggle from her chair. “Julia?”
“In here. Come on in.” Julia sounded stronger today, probably delighting in having outwitted the cousin she considered interfering.
Sarah found her in the usual chair, her walker on one side and a tray table in front of her with a laptop computer on it.
“Well, come on, come on. I found something I want to show you.” She swung the small computer around. “Here, look at this.”
“How are you feeling, Julia?” Sarah crossed the room to her. Julia’s wiry hair stood out from her head, and her eyes glinted with enthusiasm.
“Fine, fine. I want you to see this article I found.”
The lightweight laptop was Julia’s latest toy. With her boundless curiosity and energy, she’d always been quick to adopt the latest technology, and she loved to show off her knowledge.
Sarah bent obediently to stare at the laptop screen and found she was looking at a display of quilts. “What is it?”
“An article about a big quilt festival they put on out in Indiana. Just look at the people they pulled in.”
Julia clicked through a series of pictures, showing crowds browsing between rows of quilts, each displayed completely on a long rack. There were close-ups of individual quilts and another series showing what appeared to be classes in quilting.
“It says they made thousands of dollars in just three days. Imagine that. There’s no reason why we can’t do just as well.”
We? Sarah asked herself silently. Clearly Julia had adopted the quilt festival idea as if it had been her own. Still, it was probably good for her to have an interest other than staring at the television.
“I don’t think we can start out too ambitiously. Allison feels it’s the sort of thing that will build over time,” Sarah said, trying to be diplomatic.
“Even so, it will raise the money needed for the fire company. Not that people shouldn’t make individual donations. I intend to. But some people have to have a little excitement to make them loosen the purse strings.”
“I guess so.” Sara studied a Sunshine and Shadows pattern done in brilliant, unconventional colors. “That’s lovely. Startling, though, and I’m not sure I’d want to sleep under it.”
Julia gave a snort of laughter. “It’d give you nightmares.” She clicked through more screens impatiently. “There’s another one—drat, I can’t find it. Anyway, it’s an antique postage-stamp quilt done in a Double Wedding Ring pattern, and you wouldn’t believe what it sold for. Thousands! And I’ve got one that’s every bit as good in a trunk up in my attic.”
Clearly the treasure-hunting bug had bitten Julia in a big way. “I’ll be glad to search for your quilts if you want. Is Donna still fussing about them?”
“She claims I got rid of them years ago. Silly hen. I might be getting old, but I know better than to dispose of something that valuable. You go on up to the attic. You’ll find them.”
“I’ll try, but you have to stay put.” Sarah gave Julia a stern look. “I don’t want you trying to lug that cast up to the attic.”
“I’m not that foolish,” she said. She glared at the cast. “I’ll be glad to get rid of this thing. It’s cramping my style. Well, go on. You know where the stairs are, don’t you?”
Sarah nodded, suppressing a smile at her comments. “Yes, I remember.” She’d hauled down some things that Julia donated to the Amish auction for Haiti relief last year.
“All right, then. I’m pretty sure I put all the quilts together in a trunk, but it might have been a storage box. You’ll just have to check anything that’s a likely container. And don’t bother to tell me I should have labeled things. I don’t have the time or patience for it.”
That certainly didn’t narrow down the search. Sarah would probably be at it for hours. Resigning herself, she went to the back hall and the door that opened onto the narrow attic stairs. At least it wasn’t a trapdoor and ladder.
Sarah went up the steps, expecting to be met by a blast of hot air. But Julia’s attic was as modern as the rest of her house, and was well ventilated, brightly lit and clean despite the stacks of boxes and pieces of furniture that filled most of the space. Obviously when she’d moved, Julia hadn’t been able to bring herself to get rid of all the mementoes of her old life, no matter how loudly she’d talked about the folly of hanging on to things.
“Well?” The woman’s shout was loud enough to penetrate to the attic. “Did you find anything yet?”
Sarah sighed, fearing it was going to be a long day. “Not yet. I’m just getting started.”
With no clear idea where to search, she decided to begin with the trunks. Maybe Julia’s initial thought had been right, before she’d started second-guessing herself.
There was an unfortunately large number of them—some flat-topped like a dower chest and others with a rounded lid. Sarah moved boxes from atop the first one to begin searching.
She soon decided that the only way she’d get through this was to ignore the temptation to look at everything she unearthed. Julia had saved things she could never possibly use again. One trunk was filled with long dresses—elegant things wrapped carefully in tissue paper. Relics of a more formal era in the woman’s life, she supposed.
“Anything yet?” Julia sounded closer.
“Some pretty gowns,” Sarah replied. “You’re sitting down, aren’t you?”
There was the scrape of a chair. “Of course,” she said.
Sarah grinned. Julia was about as subtle as the average six-year-old, to say nothing of being as single-minded.
“I wore those gowns when I was first married.” She sounded nostalgic. “My husband’s company used to have formal dinners to celebrate their accomplishments. Not that I ever looked that good in a dinner gown. When you’re built like a fireplug, the priciest gown doesn’t help.”
“You’re not,” Sarah said, although to tell the truth, it was probably an apt description of Julia’s short, compact body.
“Try
the other trunks. The quilts have to be up there somewhere. I know perfectly well I—”
The words cut off, followed by a thud and a cry. Sarah’s heart stopped. She jumped to her feet and bolted for the attic stairs.
By the time she reached the bottom, she’d imagined finding Julia’s lifeless body stretched out on the floor. Instead she found her struggling up with the aid of the walker and using language not fit for a lady.
“Are you all right? Where are you hurt?” Sarah grasped her arms and tried to ease her back to a sitting position. “Can you just sit here while I call the paramedics?”
“I don’t need paramedics!” Julia snapped, her normally ruddy face nearly mahogany with rage. “I’m perfectly fine, no thanks to that idiot of a cousin of mine. Look what she’s done. There’s no pad underneath that throw rug.”
Sarah spared a quick glance for the rucked-up rug. “Let’s make sure you’re okay before we worry about what caused you to fall. Do you hurt anywhere?”
“No.” Julia managed a slight grin. “Lucky I came down on my bottom. It’s well padded.”
“Does your leg hurt?” Sarah looked uncertainly at the cast, not sure what she expected to see.
“It’s fine,” Julia muttered. “Nothing wrong with me except my pride. No thanks to Donna. Here, help me up.”
Bracing herself, Sarah got one arm around Julia, clasped her firmly and helped her to rise. Her worry abated as she realized that Julia was able to manage a lot of the process. Once she was up and leaning on the walker, she paused, breathing heavily.
“Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
Sarah obeyed, using the time to survey the scene of the fall. There was nothing Julia could have tripped over, and the rug sliding on the polished wood floor did seem the most likely culprit. “Do you usually have a slip-proof mat under the rug?”
“Of course I do. I’m not an idiot.” Julia thumped the walker and started to make her way back to the living room. Sarah hurried to assist her.
Once she was settled in the chair, Sarah surveyed her uncertainly. “It’s not possible—I mean, you aren’t thinking Donna would do that deliberately.”
“Deliberate? Donna? She’s never carried out a deliberate action in her life. She drifts. You know that. It’s amazing she remembers to take her insulin shot every day. Anyway, she’s not malicious. She probably took the mats to wash and forgot to tell me. It’s just like her. Just you wait until I see her.”
As far as Sarah was concerned, she’d just as soon not be present for that meeting. “Suppose I bring you a cup of tea? Or something cold, if you’d rather.”
“Cup of tea would be nice.” Julia cocked an eyebrow. “But if you’re thinking it will soothe me, you’re wrong. Of all the crack-brained ideas, Donna—”
Sarah escaped to the kitchen before she could hear the rest of that complaint. Poor Donna. She was in for a rough time when she showed up. If this spat followed past performances, the two of them would be on the outs for days.
Just when she carried the tea in, Sarah heard the front door rattle. “Cousin Julia? Are you here?”
“Of course I’m here,” Julia shouted, her face darkening. “Get in here.”
A few seconds passed—no doubt Donna making it known that she didn’t like being addressed that way. Then she appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Sarah. I didn’t know you were here again.” She brandished a quart jar. “I brought you some soup from the café,” she told her cousin.
“Is that your way of making up for half killing me?” Julia said.
“What are you talking about? I wasn’t even here. How could I do something to you? I’ve been out. Anyway, what happened?” Donna flung out the stream of questions, gesturing wildly with the container.
Sarah rescued the soup. “I’ll take this to the kitchen.”
Unfortunately, even from the other room she could hear the resulting argument, with Julia accusing and Donna protesting that she’d taken the mats to wash them, but had told her cousin she was doing it.
“If you got hurt, it’s your own fault. You didn’t remember what I told you, any more than you remember what you did with those precious quilts of yours.”
When Sarah returned to the living room, Donna was looking sulky and defiant, her arms wrapped around her thin body. “I’m trying to take care of you, and that’s all the thanks I get. Well, you can just take care of yourself for all I care.”
“Good!” Julia exclaimed, and Donna flounced out, the door slamming behind her.
“Idiot,” Julia said again. She leaned back in her chair, looking refreshed by the quarrel. “Even so, there’s no denying I could have been hurt. And I know I never got rid of those quilts. You won’t let me down, will you, Sarah?”
“No, of course not.” She glanced at the shelf clock atop the bookcase. “But I really have to get back to the shop now.” She didn’t, but Julia would probably calm down more quickly if she left. “I’ll come back another day and look some more for the quilts. Do you want me to heat up some soup for your lunch?”
Julia shook her head. “My cleaning woman will be in before long. She’ll take care of my lunch. You go on back to the shop. But you won’t forget, will you? I’m counting on you.”
“I won’t forget. I promise. I’ll just go and set things right in the attic before I leave.”
This seemed to be a day of agreeing to things Sarah really wasn’t eager to do. But she didn’t have a choice, did she? She’d help Julia, despite all the other claims on her time, because Julia needed her.
And she’d work with Aaron on the quilt festival because she was needed there, as well, despite the risk of further bruising to her already wounded heart.
CHAPTER SIX
AARON WALKED TOWARD the house, yawning a little, after cleaning stalls in the barn. The nights spent watching for any sign of fire were beginning to tell on him. Jonah claimed it didn’t bother him, but Aaron noticed it was harder and harder to get him out of bed at five thirty for the morning milking.
Movement across the road caught his eye, and he watched as a pickup pulled into the drive leading to Matt Gibson’s place. Two men got out and began setting up something. It took a moment to recognize what it was. Surveyor’s equipment. They were surveying the property lines.
Frowning, Aaron watched them for a moment and then began walking out the lane toward the men. Harvey Preston, the real estate agent, had been vague about the intentions of the buyers. Maybe the surveyors would be a little more forthcoming.
The July sun beat down with oven-like intensity. The younger of the two reached into the cab of the pickup and came out with a baseball cap. Slanting it down to shade his eyes, he picked up a tripod and began walking along the berm of the road, apparently following the gestures of the older man.
Aaron crossed the road, heading for the fellow who seemed to be in charge. He’d be the one more likely to know the answer to the question that pricked at the back of Aaron’s mind.
What was going to happen to the property? There were plenty of potential uses that would constitute an annoyance to neighboring farmers.
When he neared the surveyor, the man was frowning at a clipboard. He looked up at Aaron’s approach.
“Morning.” He glanced from Aaron to the King farm. “You the neighbor?”
“Ja, that’s right. Aaron King. My family owns the land across the road.”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about the property lines over here, do you?” The man’s face was flushed from the heat, and he adjusted the hat he wore to shield his bald head, looking as if he’d rather be doing something else.
“A little, I guess. Matt Gibson was our neighbor for fifty years or so.”
The surveyor seemed to assess Aaron for a moment before giving a nod. “Maybe you can interpret this for me.” He held out
the clipboard.
The document was apparently a photocopy of deed records. Aaron stared at it for a moment, trying to orient the words to the reality. Typical of old deeds, it didn’t give any precise markers.
“The line runs from a mark on a willow tree to the center of the bridge over the stream.” The surveyor sounded exasperated. “I can see the bridge, but where the heck is the willow tree?”
Aaron tried to keep his lips from twitching. “That would be the big old willow that overhung the power lines down a ways.” He pointed east along the road. “Trouble is, it came down in a windstorm ten years ago or so.”
The man shook his head. “I might have known. We’ll have to measure from the bridge, then.”
He’d have to give the man more bad news. “I’m afraid that’s not a good marker, either. That bridge washed out in the flood of ’89. The flood changed the course of the creek bed, so the bridge isn’t even in the same spot.”
The surveyor groaned. “I might have known this wouldn’t be straightforward. The lines never are when you’re dealing with anything out in the country, especially around here. Out in the western states, even the property lines are set in a grid, most places.” He nodded toward the clipboard Aaron still held. “Are any of those markers still there, do you know?”
Aaron studied the description. “I think this stone marker in the woods is still there. I walked up that way with Mr. Gibson once a few years ago, and he pointed it out. And you can probably get a good corner where Gibson’s farm adjoins the land the Amish school is on. We had a surveyor when we built the school.”
“Thanks for the help.” Shaking his head, he gestured to the younger man to come back. “Just what I wanted to do on a blazing hot July day—take a hike up into the woods.”
Grinning in sympathy, Aaron pointed to the lane behind the barn that headed up to the woods, eventually degenerating into a path. “If you go up that way, the path will take you to an abandoned railroad bed. Walk to the left along that, and you should come to the marker. It was on the uphill side, as I remember.”
