by Marta Perry
“Ach, it was nothing. Jonah and I got knocked off our feet for a minute, that’s all. I’ve had worse dealing with a bad-tempered bull.”
“Was there an explosion? The arsonist...”
Aaron shrugged. “It looked like arson, but I don’t know that the investigator has said for sure. Anyway, the arsonist probably couldn’t have known that the homeowner had decided to stock up on kerosene for his heater. That was what caused the trouble.”
Shivering a little despite the warmth of the day, Sarah kept her voice low. “They have to catch this person before there’s a real tragedy.”
“Daadi, I thought the kitty liked me,” Lena said, coming to tug on Aaron’s hand. “But then he jumped up in the window instead of playing.”
“That’s his favorite spot,” Sarah told her. “He likes to watch what’s going on outside from there. Why don’t you girls come to the back room and we’ll find something for you to work on?”
“I like to make things,” Anna said, tucking her hand in Sarah’s. “Lena does, too, but sometimes she gets impatient.”
At eight, she had a look of Aaron about her, Sarah thought, especially in the eyes, though she was more like Becky. Odd that neither of the girls looked more like Mary Ann.
Anna had a sweet smile and a responsible air, as if conscious that she was the big sister. Lena, skipping beside her, was the image of Becky with her pert, lively expression.
Sarah drew out the box of quilt squares she kept for just this purpose. “You can take this out front if you want and pick out some pieces you’d like to use for a quilt. Have you started a nine-patch yet?” It was a safe question, since just about every Amish girl from a quilting family started with that pattern.
“I made one for my doll,” Anna said, taking the box. “I could start another one for my bear, ain’t so?”
“A fine idea.” Sarah turned to Lena, who was surveying the shelves of boxes and bolts of fabric. “What about you, Lena? Do you like to quilt?”
The girl screwed up her nose. “Can’t I help you some other way?”
“For sure. I have a big tin of buttons that need to be sorted into jars according to their colors, and I never get time to do that. Could you take on that job?”
She nodded. “Easy. Can I carry them?”
Sarah pulled the button tin from the shelf. “You take that, and I’ll bring the jars.”
When she turned to the door, she discovered that Aaron was standing there, watching his daughters, his brown eyes serious. “They’re fine,” she assured him. “You don’t have to worry.”
“Sure I do. That’s my job.” He said the words lightly, but there was an underlying gravity that she couldn’t help noticing. Was he missing Mary Ann? Probably. Even with the help of his mother and sister, it couldn’t be easy to raise two girls on his own.
Back in the main shop area, Allison had already set up a table and spread out the first of the quilts that needed work. Sarah paused to be sure Esther and Becky had everything they needed.
“The owner asked us to put new binding on, but I think we’d better do a careful cleaning first and check for any other weak spots.”
“Ja, I can already see some that need stitching.” Esther bent over the quilt, tilting her glasses a little as if that would help her focus. “We’ll brush it first to get out any loose dirt.”
Sarah nodded. A soft brushing was usually the best way to approach any old quilt. “We have a small hand vacuum you can use after the brushing, if you think the stitching will stand it.” She smiled, glancing from Esther to Becky. “Ach, I don’t need to tell two such wonderful fine quilters as you what to do.”
Becky flushed at being categorized with her mother, ducking her head a bit. “We’ll enjoy it, ain’t so, Mamm?”
“If you’re finished with your consultations, maybe Sarah and I had best get on our way.” Aaron tapped his summer straw hat against his leg, a sure masculine sign of impatience with female chitchat.
“I’m ready.”
Sarah grabbed the bag containing her notebook, pen and a folder of notes about what they’d need to house the festival. She was definitely ready in that respect. Whether she was ready to spend so much time alone with Aaron—well, that was another question, stirring up a mix of trepidation and excitement.
She glanced back at the shop as they went out. Esther and Becky were bent over the quilt, absorbed, while the little girls sat at the small table kept especially for young visitors to the shop. Allison, standing behind the counter, met her gaze with a mischievous smile and a thumbs-up that made Sarah turn her head away quickly, not sure whether to laugh or be annoyed at her friend’s matchmaking.
She and Aaron had nearly reached the outer door when they had to step back for someone entering. Harvey Preston swung the door wide, holding it for them.
“Here you go. Aaron, nice to see you’re all right. I heard about the fire last night.” He shook his head, his jovial face sobering. “Terrible business. Terrible.”
“It is that. At least no one was seriously hurt.”
“Yes, we have to be glad at least that this madman hasn’t been targeting houses instead of barns and garages. Even so, it has to be stopped. I’d think with all the expertise the state police have, the investigator would have gotten somewhere by now. But maybe they have?”
He gave Aaron an inquiring look, apparently assuming a member of the fire company would know more than the average citizen.
“Not that I know of.” Aaron touched Sarah’s elbow, detaining her when she’d have gone on out the door. “I’m glad we ran into each other today. It gives me a chance to ask you something.”
Harvey’s eyebrows lifted. “About the fires?”
“No. About what the buyer of the Gibson farm has planned for the property.”
“Ah, that. Well, I couldn’t say, actually. As far as I know, the company was looking to invest in land in Pennsylvania and thought this would be a good buy. Which it was, with the increasing pressure on available farmland in Lancaster County, as I pointed out to them when they inquired.”
“So you didn’t know they’re surveying the property, apparently with a view to dividing it into some sort of building lots?”
“Really?” Harvey’s eyebrows lifted further still. “No, I had no idea. How did you find this out?”
“The surveyor was on-site yesterday, and I talked with him.”
Harvey shook his head. “Sounds like a mix-up to me. The people I dealt with didn’t give me any indication of development. And I pointed out to them that the land is zoned for agricultural use.”
“Ja, it is. Now,” Aaron added.
But Harvey’s expression had cleared, and he didn’t seem to hear the implication. “Count on it, that’s what’s happened. The surveyor probably didn’t understand their intent. Being that far away, the owners just want to make sure they have good boundary markers, since they’re not around to see to the property themselves.” He clapped Aaron on the shoulder. “Glad I could be of help. You just let me know if I can do anything else.” He headed on toward the stairs without waiting for a response.
Sarah waited until they were outside before she spoke. “Did that explanation reassure you?”
“No.” Aaron’s flat tone was uncompromising. “Harvey probably thinks that’s the answer, but I’m not so sure he’s right. I just wish I knew how we can find out what’s going on.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
AARON, WORKING ALONG the second story of Ben Stoltzfus’s new barn, found himself wondering whether the rapid rebuilding might be tempting fate—or in this case, the firebug. Might his twisted mind find it amusing to destroy the replacement? It was an ugly thought—one that would keep him awake nights if it were his place.
He sent a wary glance toward his father, who was working beside him. Daad would
never admit that he couldn’t keep up, but on such a hot day, he ought to take breaks. Convincing him of that might be difficult, though.
Pushing his hat back, Aaron mopped his forehead with his sleeve. Hot, dry days, one after another—this was prime weather for the arsonist to strike.
“Your mamm liked working on that old quilt yesterday.” Daad’s hammer didn’t stop its steady tapping when he spoke. “Don’t quite see it myself. Wouldn’t brand-new quilts be what would bring folks out to spend money?”
“From what Sarah told me yesterday, they’ll expect to sell a lot of new quilts at this festival of theirs, too. But she says showing the olden quilts will bring in Englisch visitors from out of town.”
“She should know, that’s certain sure, making such a success of that quilt shop of hers.” He paused. “Sarah’s a gut girl. It’s a shame she never married.”
Aaron made a noncommittal noise. Was Daad matchmaking? He wasn’t sure. And he couldn’t argue with Daad’s comment, since he’d been thinking the same thing himself just yesterday.
Their search for a proper site hadn’t been too productive so far, but they had hopes the old movie theater building might work out, so they’d look at it next. He’d heard the owner had begun remodeling in hopes of renting it, removing the old seats and redoing the floors.
Sarah and Allison were impatient to get the location settled, but with the barn raising today and worship tomorrow, they couldn’t get on with it until Monday. He’d told Sarah he’d let Mamm drive his buggy home when she and Becky finished at the shop that day, and he could ride home with Sarah when she went. That way they’d have more time.
He’d seen a moment’s hesitation in Sarah’s face before she agreed, and it puzzled him. It was a reasonable suggestion, wasn’t it? And surely no one would start gossiping because two old friends were together.
It had been gut, spending time with Sarah that way. As often as he’d seen her in recent years, they’d seldom actually had a private conversation. It was as if he was just now getting to know the woman she’d become, and she intrigued him. Funny, how you thought you knew someone and then found greater depths than you’d imagined.
He’d seen Sarah’s dedication to the project in her determination not to take any shortcuts. She wasn’t likely to accept second best.
Was that why she’d never married? She had so much warmth and love in her heart that it seemed a shame she didn’t have children to pour it on. But maybe she’d never found the right someone to love.
The thought drifted away when the youngest of Ben’s boys came sidling along the rafter toting a thermos of water. Obviously proud of being entrusted with the task, he held it out to Aaron’s father first, who drank and passed it to Aaron.
“We’re keeping you busy with the water, hot as it is today, ain’t so?” Aaron handed the thermos back.
The boy grinned. “Daad said if I do gut with the water maybe that means I’m big enough to help with the finishing work.”
“Before you know it you’ll be working up top with the rest of us,” Aaron told him.
Ducking his head, the boy scurried on to the next set of thirsty workers—Jonah and one of his rumspringa buddies.
“Jonah’s been working hard today,” Aaron ventured.
Daad nodded, and Aaron thought he’d seen a little softening of his attitude toward Jonah since Aaron had told him about the incident at the fire scene. Nothing wrong with Jonah that a little time wouldn’t cure, he suspected.
“A fine turnout today,” Daad said, stretching his back as he surveyed the raw skeleton of the new barn, with men clambering over it looking like so many ants at work. Boys ran about fetching and carrying, while on the ground, the women and girls were starting to put out food on tables and benches brought in on the church wagon.
“Every family from our church district is here,” Aaron said, “and a gut crew from as far away as Ephrata. We’ll get it done today, that’s certain sure.”
“Ja.” Daad patted the raw new timber that stretched upward. “Just hope the firebug isn’t tempted by it.”
Hearing his own notion echoed by his father seemed to reinforce it.
“I’ll mention it to Ben, though probably he’s thought of that risk already. Some extra watchers the next few nights might be best.”
Daad picked up his hammer. “There’s a lot of Englisch here today. Might be as well to keep an eye on them.”
His father seemed unusually suspicious, but that was what fear of a firebug did to people. Aaron had heard of one farmer letting off with his shotgun when he’d heard a noise, and peppering his neighbor’s stray goat.
“Probably just here to help,” he said, keeping his tone mild even as he looked from one to another of the non-Amish figures.
Most of them were people he knew well, like the Whiting family, who were all here today, the men working alongside their Amish friends, while Ellen and Allison helped with the food and young Jamie scampered around looking for a job.
Aaron’s hand tightened on a two-by-four when he spotted one less-familiar figure—it was Fielding, the investigator. What was he doing here? The man seemed to be everywhere lately, but what progress he was making, no one knew.
Sarah had told him about her encounter with the man at Gus Hill’s cottage, and Aaron had been bothered both by the idea of her going alone to see Gus at the isolated cottage and by the investigator’s attitude. Aaron had to admit that Sarah seemed to have handled it well, but she shouldn’t have been put in that situation to begin with.
His attempts to make her see that had been futile, as he might have known they would be. Julia Everly had needed something, so of course Sarah had jumped to fill the gap, never thinking of herself. Maybe sometimes she ought to put herself first, odd as that idea would sound to her.
The bell on the farmhouse porch clanged its announcement of lunchtime. All over the structure, men began scrambling down the ladders. They’d started at sunup, and after a long morning’s work, they’d be ready for the spread the women had put out.
Aaron followed his father down the ladder, but hung back when he went to the table.
“Not hungry?” Sarah, a pitcher of lemonade in each hand, paused to speak to him. She looked as bright and cheerful as a new penny, despite having been up since well before dawn. Her blue eyes sparkled, and there was a light blush on cheeks that were as smooth as silk.
Sarah looked younger than most Amish women her age, he realized. Maybe it was because she wasn’t chasing young children and managing a household. She seemed very little older than the girl he’d known so well before his marriage had seemed to put a barrier between them. Well, that had been natural, he told himself quickly. Mary Ann had wanted them to be friends with other young marrieds, not single girls. That was usual enough, he supposed, since in most Amish households, the wife was the one who managed their social life. But Mary Ann had seemed to exclude Sarah. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed their friendship.
“I’m hungry, all right, but I’m curious, too. What do you suppose Fielding is doing here?”
“He’s here?” There was an edge in Sarah’s voice. “Where is he?”
Aaron tipped his head toward where the man stood on the edge of the crowd, looking and probably feeling out of place. He was talking to Ben Stoltzfus, making Aaron wonder what questions he had left to ask.
“He acts like he’s watching animals in the zoo when he looks at us,” Sarah said softly. “I wonder if he’s actually going to find out anything.”
Aaron shrugged, trying to suppress his own doubts. “Mac says Fielding’s one of their top men.”
“But he doesn’t know anything about our ways or the people here,” Sarah protested. “I’d think Mac would stand a better chance of learning the truth.”
“I know. But Mac says he has the technical expertise t
hey need. I think he’d expected the man would work more closely with him, though.”
Aaron supposed that knowledge was important when it came to analyzing the fires, but Sarah was right. Didn’t they also need someone who understood the community?
Mac had just shrugged helplessly when asked that question. Probably he didn’t have a choice about who the state police sent.
“I’d better deliver this lemonade before they start shouting for it,” Sarah said. She turned toward the drinks table. “Mind you get something to eat, now.”
He nodded, feeling reluctant to let her go and knowing that was foolish. They both had things to do. What was wrong with him?
Apparently the investigator had been looking for Gus Hill when he’d encountered Sarah at the Everly place. Had he found him? Gus seemed to be aware of everything that went on in the township, including some things people would probably rather he didn’t know. He might easily have seen something suspicious and be squirreling the knowledge away, not trusting authorities in any shape.
His mind made up, Aaron headed for Fielding, nodding to Ben as he escaped the man’s questions. “Taking a look at a real barn raising, Mr. Fielding?” Aaron asked.
Fielding stared at him for a moment, as if attempting to place him. “You’re the firefighter who was hurt the other night. King, is it?”
“Aaron King.”
“That’s right. Your brother was involved, too. You’re both okay?”
“No damage,” Aaron said easily. “Jonah’s at the lunch table. There’s plenty for everyone, if you’re hungry.”
“No, no, thanks,” the man said quickly.
Would that be too much like eating with a suspect? The investigator was a mystery to Aaron, hiding whatever he thought behind an official mask.
“I understand you were looking for Gus Hill,” Aaron said. “He’s not much for strangers.”
Fielding grunted. “So I’ve heard. I’ll catch up with him.” He was looking over the crowd of men settling at tables with their food. “Which one is your brother?”
