When Secrets Strike

by Marta Perry

  And then Sarah was thrown forward, crashing into the porch rocker, losing her grip on the bell rope. But the alarm was given. Voices—distant, calling from the Kings’ house on one side and the Whitings’ on the other. She sucked in a breath, trying to roll away from the blow she feared was coming.

  But it didn’t. When she looked up, he was gone.

  * * *

  AARON FELT HELPLESS, and he didn’t like the feeling. He bent over Sarah, who was slumped on the top porch step, her mother’s arm around her. Her grandmother hovered in the doorway, her hands clenching together. A raindrop fell from his hat onto Sarah’s skirt.

  “Shouldn’t we get her inside? I can carry her.” He spoke quietly to Hannah, not wanting to alarm the grandmother or the boys, who were in the kitchen behind her, struggling to see, their faces as white as their nightshirts.

  “When she’s ready,” Hannah said. She stroked Sarah’s hair. “Komm now, my Sarah. You’re safe now. It’s all right.”

  Still Sarah curled into herself, wrapping her hands around her knees as if she wanted to make herself as small as possible. A shudder went through her, shaking her slim frame.

  Aaron glanced helplessly at those behind him. Jonah, who had run over with him when they heard the bell clanging, was as white-faced as the little boys in the kitchen. The Whiting men had dashed from their place at the same time. Nick and Jim, his dad, looked as helpless as Aaron felt, standing there with the rain drenching their shirts.

  Mac was already talking on a cell phone, calling for assistance and asking for paramedics. He clicked off, meeting Aaron’s eyes.

  “Medical help will be here in a few minutes. Maybe someone ought to check and see if he’d been setting a fire.”

  “We will,” Jim said, nudging Nick. “Come on.” Obviously Jim Whiting had thought to bring flashlights, and he handed one to his other son as they headed for the barn.

  “Sarah.” Aaron leaned over her again. “Mac has sent for paramedics. They’ll help you.”

  Surprisingly, that seemed to get through. She looked up at him, her wet hair hanging, loosened from her kapp. “I don’t need them. I...I just need a minute.”

  “Gut.” He held out his hand, and she grasped it. “That’s gut. But just let them check you out, or how will Mac fill in all his reports?”

  Her eyes were dark with shock, but she nodded.

  “Gut,” Hannah said briskly. “Now, Aaron will carry you inside. And all the questions and explanations can wait until you’re dry and warm.” She sent a warning look at Mac, and he nodded.

  “I can walk.” Sarah stood, a little shaky but determined, clinging to Aaron’s hand until she was upright on the porch, her mother’s and grandmother’s arms around her waist. She let go of his hand with what seemed like reluctance, and a wave of tender protectiveness overwhelmed him.

  Slowly they made their way inside, leaving him with Mac and Jonah. Aaron studied his brother’s face, thinking the boy had had too many shocks of late.

  “She’s going to be all right.” He tried to sound confident. “You go on home now and tell the folks what happened. They’ll be worrying, and we don’t want Daad walking over in the rain. I’ll be along later.”

  Jonah, looking relieved, turned. He stopped at the sound of Mac’s voice.

  “Just a minute.” Mac looked from him to Aaron. “Was Jonah with you when Sarah was attacked?”

  The youth looked as if he’d burst out at that, but Aaron put a restraining hand on his arm. “Jonah was with the whole family.” He could feel the stiffness in the words and reminded himself that Mac was doing his duty. “We were all on the back porch, watching the storm roll in, when we heard the bell. Jonah and I came running to see what was wrong.”

  “Good.” Mac sounded relieved. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He clapped Jonah on the shoulder. “You go along home now and get some dry clothes on.”

  Jonah swallowed whatever he wanted to say and went, trotting off toward home in the rain and dark.

  “Jonah wasn’t involved. Not in this, not in the fires.” Aaron gritted his teeth, angry that he had to spell this out for someone he’d known all his life. “Or is it me who needs an alibi? If I’m a suspect in Matt Gibson’s death, maybe you’re thinking I would attack Sarah.”

  Mac ran a hand through his rain-wet hair. “Look, I’m just doing my job as best I can. I’m not saying I suspect either of you. But I figured you’d rather I asked the questions than someone else.”

  For a moment they glared at each other. Then Sarah’s mother was calling to them from the kitchen. Well, it would wait. Sarah was most important at the moment, but then Aaron had to have it out with Mac. The lawman couldn’t go on suspecting Jonah of being the arsonist when he had been right there with the family while Sarah was attacked. As for himself...well, Aaron had to believe the truth would come out.

  Sarah sat at the kitchen table, a sweater wrapped around her over the fresh dress she’d already put on. Her hair, still damp, was back in its usual neat bun under a crisp kapp. Hannah put sugar liberally into a mug of steaming tea and set it in front of Sarah, who wrapped her fingers around the cup as if needing its warmth.

  Mac took a quick glance around. “The boys safely out of earshot?”

  Hannah nodded. “Their grossmammi took them upstairs.” She drew a chair as close as possible to Sarah’s and sat.

  Mac took the seat across from Sarah, studying her face as if looking for a sign she wasn’t going to fall apart on him. He didn’t need to worry. Sarah was a strong person. After the initial shock, she’d cope. And Aaron would be here to see that Mac didn’t push her too hard. He leaned against the counter, no more than an arm’s length from her.

  “The paramedics will be here quick, so let’s just get a couple of questions out of the way first.” Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his damp hair in his face, Mac looked more like the boy he’d been than the police officer he was now.

  Sarah nodded, her face pale but composed.

  “Let me tell you what I understand, and then you can just fill in anything I missed, okay?” His tone was gentle. “When you heard the thunder, you ran out to get the quilts off the line. Your mamm says she went upstairs to close windows. Somewhere near the quilts, someone attacked you.”

  “I...” Sarah put her hand to her throat. Her voice was husky, not much more than a whisper. “I saw the outline of him when the lightning flashed.”

  “Not his face?”

  She shook her head. “He was a shadow.” Her soft words trembled, and then she went on, seeming to draw up strength. “He came at me, but I had enough warning to get away.”

  Aaron’s own throat was tight. If not for that lightning, Sarah wouldn’t have had any warning.

  “You ran to the house?”

  “He was between me and the door. I got behind the other line of quilts. Tried to keep him from seeing me. When I got close enough, I ran.” Sarah stopped, taking a gulp of the hot tea. “He caught me at the steps.”

  She closed her eyes, and Aaron made an involuntary movement. She shouldn’t have to relive it so soon—

  Mac glanced at him and shook his head warningly. “I understand. You struggled, you reached the bell rope and rang it.”

  “Ja,” she whispered. “The dogs...the voices...he ran away.”

  “Who was it, Sarah? What did he look like?” The questions were suddenly urgent, and Aaron saw Mac’s hands clench into fists for an instant before he flattened them.

  “All I saw was a shadow.” She sounded inexpressibly weary. “An impression.”

  “Big? Skinny? Any sense of his clothes?”

  “Not Amish,” she said suddenly, as if surprising herself. “No beard. Bigger than me.” Her eyes lost that dazed look as her mind started to function. “Heavier, more...solid. A man, not a boy.”

 
“Some boys are pretty big,” he suggested.

  Sarah seemed to grope for words. “He was older, I know. Just the way he moved, the set of his shoulders. A man, not a boy,” she repeated firmly. Again she put her hand to her throat.

  Aaron glared at Mac. Couldn’t he see she’d had enough? The distant wail of a siren punctuated the thought.

  “Just one more thing before they get here.” Mac drew a cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll have to take a photo of those bruises on your neck.” Before anyone could protest, he went on. “We won’t show your face. Your mother can hold a towel to shield you. But this is a police matter, and I need a photo for evidence.”

  Sarah and her mother exchanged glances. Wordlessly, Hannah took a tea towel from a drawer and unfolded it, holding it so that Sarah’s face was hidden. Sarah’s fingers fumbled to pull the sweater away from her neck.

  Aaron’s breath caught at the sight of the ugly marks on her pale skin, and a temper he’d never known he possessed made him want to smash something. He fought down the rage until he could speak.

  “Just another minute now,” he said gently. “Then you can rest.”

  Mac snapped several photos. His face was impassive, but the cords on his neck stood out like ropes, and Aaron could feel his anger boiling. Mac had known Sarah ever since he could remember, of course. He couldn’t look at this like any other assault—that was certain sure.

  Mac and Aaron went out onto the back porch together when the paramedics arrived—a man and a woman Aaron knew vaguely. Mac greeted them by name, murmuring a few words as they went into the kitchen, and then turned away to stand with Aaron staring out into the gently falling rain.

  “We’ve been hoping for a break in the drought,” Aaron said. In any other circumstances, he’d be elated, but not when Sarah was inside hurting.

  Mac stared gloomily at the rain. “Washing away any signs this bird might have left. But as careful as he’s been so far, he’s not likely to have been that cooperative tonight.”

  The bobbing of flashlights announced that Jim and Nick were coming back from checking the outbuildings. Quickly, before they could reach the porch, Aaron spoke.

  “Jonah isn’t the arsonist. You must know it. Who but the arsonist would go after Sarah that way?”

  “I know. And I’m glad to clear the boy out of the way. But as far as Fielding is concerned...” Mac let that trail off, shaking his head. “I’ll do my best to make him see sense.”

  “Denke.” No time to say more, as Jim and Nick were upon them, shaking themselves like wet dogs once they’d reached the shelter of the porch.

  “We had a thorough look around.” Jim Whiting had the same lean, rangy build as his sons, though his hair was graying. “Not a sign of any attempt at a fire.”

  “He was after Sarah,” Aaron said. “This proves it. But she can’t identify him. Why doesn’t he see that by now?”

  Mac shrugged. “A lot of people around here know the Amish are reluctant to go to the police. I’ll start confiding in a few of the local gossips that she doesn’t know anything. They’ll spread the word.”

  Aaron didn’t care for it as a solution, but likely Mac was right. The firebug would be more likely to heed something his neighbors said than to take stock in any official statement from the police.

  “No point in you hanging around.” Mac glanced at his father and brother. “Go home and get dry.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Nick said. “Spend the night on the porch swing?”

  Mac grinned. “Something like that. If the town council would give me another patrolman, I wouldn’t have to.”

  Nick cuffed him lightly. “I’ll bring you some dry clothes. And I’ll be back to spell you after a few hours.”

  “I can stay,” Aaron said.

  Mac shook his head. “I can deputize Nick, if need be. But not you, unless you want to be in big trouble with your bishop. Sarah wouldn’t like that, would she?”

  No, she wouldn’t. “All right. But I’ll be by, patrolling for fires, anyway.”

  “Not likely, with this rain,” Nick said.

  Mac nodded. “I think he’s done for tonight. He’s going to lie low for a while, if he’s smart.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Aaron swung around sharply as the paramedics came out. “How is she?”

  The woman paramedic gave him a reassuring smile. Maybe she thought he had a right to be asking. “She’ll be fine after a day or two of rest. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital, and there’s really no reason.”

  “We gave her something to help her sleep,” the man added. “That’s the best thing for her right now. That and knowing the guy who did this is behind bars.” He looked at Mac.

  “Nobody wants that more than I do.” Mac bit off the words.

  The paramedics left, and Jim and Nick headed toward their place. Mac settled in on the swing.

  Aaron opened the door with a certain amount of hesitation. Sarah might not want to see him, but he couldn’t go home without making sure she was all right.

  She was getting up from the chair when he entered, and she froze, looking at him with an expression he didn’t quite understand. Was she upset with him about that unexpected kiss? They’d have to talk, but not now.

  “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” He felt awkward saying it. He looked from her to Hannah. “Is there anything you need? Do you want me to stay with you until Eli gets home?”

  Hannah’s arm tightened around her daughter’s waist. “That’s wonderful kind of you, Aaron, but no. You go on home and get dry. We’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will. Mac’s going to spend the night on your back porch to make sure.”

  Hannah shook her head. “That boy. I can’t get used to thinking of him as a grown-up policeman. As far as I’m concerned, he’s still the little boy who showed up at the back door every time I made doughnuts. Well, I’ll take him some coffee once I have Sarah settled.”

  “You can feel safe, anyway.” Aaron longed to touch Sarah, just to be sure she was all right, but he’d better not. “Try to get some sleep. If you want, I’ll take my sister in to the shop tomorrow to help Allison.”

  “That’s sehr kind,” Hannah said, before Sarah could speak. “We can trust Becky to help, and that will ease Sarah’s mind. She’s not going in tomorrow, if I have to sit on her.”

  Sarah almost managed a smile. “You two are talking about me as if I’m not here.” Her voice was still husky but not quite as strained. “Denke, Aaron. I...I’m wonderful glad you were here.”

  He nodded, daring to clasp her hand for an instant. “Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He went out quickly before he could give away the tumult of emotions that were roiling inside him.

  * * *

  SARAH MADE A few protests at staying home the next morning, but the truth was she was just as glad not to face anyone. And when Mamm insisted she go back to bed for a bit, she realized that her legs were shaky enough to make that a good idea.

  She slept for a while, but when she woke again, she found that lying down encouraged the reliving of everything that had happened last night. She sat up abruptly. Even the protests of stiff muscles were better than lying there thinking of hands closing around her neck.

  Getting out of bed slowly, Sarah moved to the chest of drawers to consult her mirror. The bruises, hand-shaped, were black against her skin, and something inside her started to shake.

  Stoppe, she commanded. It’s over, and you are safe.

  The question of what to wear troubled her. Englisch women had a choice of styles, including no doubt some that would hide the marks. All Sarah’s dresses were made to the same pattern, but the green one did fit a little higher on the neck. Moving as stiffly as if she were Grossmammi’s age, she began to dress.

  It t
ook an effort and cost her some pain, but once she was done, her hair neat under her kapp, Sarah felt more like herself. There—that was the best she could do. Maybe by the time she returned to the shop the next day the bruising would have faded a bit.

  When Sarah reached the kitchen, she discovered the boys at the table, consuming a little snack of shoofly pie under Grossmammi’s indulgent eye. Mamm was putting a pitcher of milk in the refrigerator, but she turned at the sound of Sarah’s entrance.

  “Ach, you shouldn’t be up. I was just going to bring you a cup of tea.”

  “I didn’t want to stay in bed any longer,” she said quickly. Her voice was no longer the whisper it had been last night, but talking was still an effort. “Tea sounds like a good idea.”

  “It will soothe your throat,” Grossmammi said, urging her to the table. “Maybe with some honey in it. And a piece of shoofly pie will go down easily, ain’t so?”

  Sarah doubted it, but she took one to please her grandmother. Then she realized that her brothers were staring at her with varying expressions. Noah, the little one, looked almost afraid, and that hurt her heart.

  She held out her hand to him. “Komm, Noah. It’s all right.” She drew him close beside her. “Don’t worry. I’m fine, really I am.” At her gentle voice he seemed to relax.

  He touched her neck. “Does it hurt?”

  “A bit, but it will soon pass away. No more than your bruises hurt that time you fell out of the apple tree, remember?”

  He nodded, his smile returning. “Let me carry the tea for Sarah, Mamm.” He scurried to the counter, to return holding the mug with both hands.

  “Denke,” she said gravely, and he smiled.

  Thomas seemed relieved once his little brother had been satisfied, but Jonny... Sarah hesitated, troubled. He looked angry.

  “Jonny?”

  He clenched his fists. At twelve he’d shot up recently, and his shirtsleeves showed bony wrists and tight hands. “I wish I’d been there. I’d have hit—”

  “Jonny!” Mamm said, shocked.

  “You’re angry.” Sarah understood his desire to protect her. But this was one of those moments when the older must teach the younger the Amish way. “I know.”