Their pie came then, and Deborah dug into her piece with gusto. Her mind was racing too much to talk to Abby.
The memories had come back, when she’d been sure Perry had run off to the city. She would sit by the window and stare blankly out. Wishing for a sign that he was on his way home.
Wishing that he would return and miraculously be the boy they’d always loved instead of the man he’d turned into.
But of course he never came home.
When Mose had appeared on their doorstep, hat in hand, and had told her parents the news, it had truly been one of the darkest moments in her life.
But now she realized that there had been some sense of relief, too. She and her parents had imagined Perry being homeless and hungry.
Or doing unlawful things. Or being hurt and unable to ask for help.
Deborah had learned that her mind could be a terrible foe in the middle of the night. At three in the morning, her worst fears about Perry surfaced . . . and those fears had been too frightening to ever share in the morning’s light.
“I don’t know how well I’m handling things, but I’m glad you think I am.” When Deborah smiled, Abby continued. “My grandmother told me it’s not a good idea to try to guess why God does the things He does. His plans are far bigger than ours could ever be.”
“Well said, Abby,” she said softly. “What your grandmother said is gut advice, for sure. It’s human to doubt, though. Our mind plays tricks on us. Makes us doubt what our parents taught us. Or what the Bible says. Sometimes that’s the hardest thing not to do.”
Abby’s gaze was piercing. “When I was following my girlfriends on that field, everything inside of me was saying that it was the wrong thing to do. That I should stop and turn around. I really wish I had listened.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“Deborah, do . . . do you think that voice was God?”
“I do not know.” And that was the truth.
“If I would have listened to that voice, I wouldn’t have been in the field. And someone else would have discovered . . . your brother. Maybe Jessica and Emily. Maybe somebody else . . .” Her voice trailed off with a shrug.
Deborah understood her confusion. What would have happened if Abby hadn’t discovered Perry’s body when she did? Would things be better for her parents if they still held a grain of hope?
Or would they all have delved into a darker place by now, not only sitting in silence in the evenings, but letting the doubts and worries and blame take hold of them. Turning what was already a terrible situation into something far worse?
She weighed her words carefully, then realized that there were no “right” words. What was in her heart counted. “That might be true. But perhaps other people might have been so disturbed by what they saw that they wouldn’t have told anyone. Or perhaps they would have been too afraid to know what to do. But what’s done is done. And please know that I don’t blame you, Abby. I never have.”
“Who have you blamed, then?”
Ah, so Abby was smart enough to know that Deborah wasn’t strong enough to not blame anyone.
That no matter how easy it was to hope and pray for forgiveness, it was a far different thing to realize that instant forgiveness was almost impossible to do.
“I blame everyone and no one.”
As Abby’s eyes widened, she continued. “The truth is that I blame Perry and the detective and myself and my parents.” She paused as the waitress refilled their mugs of coffee. “I blame Walker and Lydia and the drugs— And . . .”
“And?”
Unable to say the truth, unable to mention the letter she’d found in Perry’s bedside table, Deborah shrugged and lied yet again. “And then? And then I try my best to blame no one at all.”
Seemingly satisfied, Abby forked another piece of pie.
And Deborah wondered if she was becoming more and more like her brother with every day.
Chapter 17
“I used to know the name of just about every person in Crittenden County . . . until Perry started hanging around those men from the city. Then I was glad some folks were strangers.”
WALKER ANDERSON
There was something wrong with Beth.
From the moment Frannie had walked in and had taken a good look at her friend’s expression, she’d known something was off. Beth’s expression was distant, and her questions and comments awkward.
It was if they were strangers—or as if Beth was walking through a dark cloud.
Whatever the problem was, Frannie was determined to get to the bottom of it.
But first, she needed rest. Her eyes were so tired that she was struggling to keep them open. As soon as she had made a wonderful cup of hot tea, she went to bed and lay down. Moments later her eyes drifted closed and she was settled into the bed for a quick nap.
It happened to last for two hours.
When she woke up, Frannie went in search of her friend. She discovered Beth sitting in one of the uncomfortable ladder-back chairs lining the front parlor’s walls. Beth was sitting perfectly still, staring hard at the front door. So intently, in fact, that she jumped when Frannie entered the room.
“Bethy, are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Beth still hadn’t moved a muscle. “For starters, you’re sitting in front of the door like a beagle needing to be let out,” she teased.
Beth rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t staring at the door.”
Still attempting to discover the source of her discomfort, Frannie said, “It’s okay with me if you were . . . are you waiting on someone?”
“Not at all,” she said quickly. “Who would I be looking for, anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “But I’ve never seen you look so tense or worried, Beth.” Racking her brain, she said, “Did something go wrong with the inn that you’re worried about telling me?”
Beth bit her lip. For a moment, Frannie was sure she was going to come clean, to tell her that a sink was clogged, or she’d messed up a bill, or had forgotten a reservation. But instead, Beth stoically remained silent.
“Beth,” she said kindly, “Just so you know . . . if something did happen, I would never get upset. I’ve made a lot of mistakes myself—so many, that I’ve learned that nothing is so bad that it can’t be fixed.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong, Frannie.”
Well, that settled it. The inn might be running smoothly, but everything was certainly not all right. Frannie knew it in her bones as surely as she knew she’d always have a scar near her eye.
However, it looked like Beth was intent on keeping whatever was bothering her a secret, too. And though Frannie couldn’t understand why, and because she owed Beth so much, she attempted to be a little more joyful and carefree than she felt. “Do you know where my hand mirror is?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see my face, of course.”
Something clicked in Beth’s expression and she stood up abruptly. “I don’t think seeing your face would be a good idea.”
“No one at the hospital would let me see just how bad the damage is. It’s time, I think. Go find me a mirror, would you?”
She hesitated, glancing at the door again warily. Like she was afraid it was about to blow open or something.
“Please, Beth?”
“Oh, jah. Sure.” Moments later, she returned with the mirror and with obvious reluctance, handed it to Frannie.
She held it up and gasped—all her worries and concerns about Beth and her secrets vanishing the moment she saw the great many bandages and black stitches covering her face. And the bruises from the surgery.
“I look like a pincushion!” Frannie exclaimed, unable to temper herself. “A giant pincushion with scary black thread sticking out of it.” She hated to sound
so sad and sorry for herself, but the reality was worse than her imaginings.
She hated to feel so vain, but she now was certain that she would never look like her old self again. Forever, she would be marked with red lines—a constant reminder of a silly accident that could have been prevented.
Oh, but she couldn’t believe that Luke had never once told her how ugly she was!
Feelings for him warred. She felt grateful that he’d been so thoughtful to not say a word about her wounds, but dismayed that he’d been able to hide the damage so well.
Or . . . maybe he’d never thought she was pretty in the first place? If that had been the case, then perhaps he hadn’t even seen her cuts as anything to be concerned about.
“Come, now, ” Beth said with a smile. “You look nothing like a pincushion. More like a scary doll that’s been mended too many times.”
Leave it to Beth to pull her out of her pity party and coax a smile! Tilting her head from one side to the other, she had to agree with the doll comparison. Her face did indeed look like it had been chewed on and then hastily repaired. “I suppose I do kind of look like a torn-up doll destined for the rag bin,” she grudgingly said. Casting a look Beth’s way, she felt a small measure of relief. At least her little outburst had shaken off Beth’s worries. “I cannot wait until the stitches are removed. I look horrible.”
“Nonsense. You don’t look horrible. Besides, mended dolls are the favorites, don’t you think? They were in my haus.”
Frannie rolled her eyes. “I’ll remember that, danke.”
“Anytime, friend.”
The sweet tone in Beth’s voice reminded her of just how much she had to thank Beth for. Not only had she called for the ambulance, but she’d cleaned up after accident, and had even given up a few days of her own job to keep things running at the inn.
“How can I ever thank you enough for all you’ve done?”
Beth’s gaze warmed, then the light dimmed as her gaze darted away. “That’s the good thing about us, Frannie. You don’t need to thank me at all. Friends help each other.”
Beth had a point. There was no way Frannie could repay Beth for her friendship, and it would hurt them both to try.
“Instead of me thanking you nonstop, how about you finally fill me in on everything that’s been going on here instead?”
Once again, a shadow felt around Beth’s eyes. “Don’t you want to rest first?”
“I just woke up.”
Beth blinked, making Frannie realize that she’d been in such a state that she’d already forgotten her nap. “I know . . . but maybe you still need to take it easy?”
Now she was truly getting worried. “I’ve done nothing except sit on a small bed in a beige room. I definitely do not want to rest right now.”
“But the detective said you were supposed to rest.”
“And I will. But come now, Beth. Don’t be stingy. This inn is like my child. Give me some news. What food did you make?” She paused, remembering how much Beth was ill at ease in the kitchen. “Were you able to cook anything?”
“You don’t need to sound so skeptical. Yes, I cooked.” After a pause, she added, “Lydia came over to help, too.”
“That’s gut. Did everything turn out all right?”
A slow smile lit her lips. “I baked the best cinnamon rolls this side of the Mississippi.”
“Did you, now?”
“I found your cookbook and followed the directions exactly.”
“Cookbook?”
“Yes, the cookbook. You do have them, you know.”
“I know, I’m just trying to imagine where you found one.”
Beth’s eyebrows rose. “There were several on the back bookshelves. And one in particular that looked well used. It was black and red and had a torn cover.”
Frannie had almost forgotten about that. Now the memories flooded back . . . of her Aunt Penny pushing it her way with a sad smile when she’d been so sick with cancer. “The book was Aunt Penny’s.”
“You didn’t mind me using it, did you? It was full of recipes for foods you seem to make often.”
“You know, I’d forgotten about that book. It’s been years since I followed a recipe. Those family recipes are all in my head.”
“Since nothing was in my head—of the cooking nature—I was very glad for it. I made those rolls and some more quiches, and a fruit salad, too. Oh, and some apricot scones.”
“Scones?”
“They’re in the cookbook, Frannie. You really should read it.”
Rather than debate the cookbook some more, Frannie attempted once again to discover the source of Beth’s uneasiness.
And that’s when she realized that not once had Beth mentioned their newest guest. “Hey, Beth, is Chris Ellis still staying here?”
To her surprise, Beth’s expression stilled. “I think so.”
“Think?”
“Well, he left yesterday and I haven’t seen him since. But his things are still in his room, so I don’t think he’s gone for good.”
Beth’s report was very peculiar. Frannie didn’t understand how she could be so unaware of one of the guests’ comings and goings. Frustrated, her head was starting to pound. “I could have sworn that he booked a room for a whole week. Did he say what he was doing?” Maybe he’d decided to go explore another town for a day?
Beth shook her head with a quick jerk. “He . . . he didn’t have a chance. But I hope he’ll be coming back.”
Beth was speaking in so many riddles that Frannie was becoming annoyed. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Beth.”
“All right. Yesterday, some men came and he left with them.”
Some men? Beth made it sound like she didn’t trust them. Playing detective, Frannie sought more information. “All right. Did he give you any clues about what they were doing?” Sometimes guests asked for maps of the area.
“He wasn’t able to.” Tears began to fall down Beth’s cheeks. “It was so awful. And what’s worse, I don’t think he wanted to go with them.”
Her mouth went dry. “How do you know that?”
“He looked really worried when he got into the truck with them. He looked like he wanted to escape but couldn’t.” Her voice lowered. “Actually, I think he was protecting me.”
What was Beth talking about? Perhaps she was becoming way too involved in the goings on of the guests?
“Look, a lot of things happen between people that you may not agree with,” she said as patiently as she could, “but that doesn’t mean we spy on them. Everyone has the right to their privacy.”
“I didn’t spy on him. All I did was stand at the window and watch them leave.”
“People don’t like that. Maybe he got upset with you about that, and now he’s never coming back.” There was a good chance that Beth’s curiosity had made him feel uncomfortable. Remembering how upset Luke had been when she’d been too interested in his comings and goings, she frowned.
Full of indignation, Beth said, “It wasn’t like that, Frannie. I had started to talk a little with Chris. We had a connection, of sorts.”
“What was it like, then?”
“Chris is different. I think he was keeping secrets from me.”
“Just because he was staying here didn’t mean he had to become your friend, Beth.”
“Stop. You’re not listening to me.” Looking very agitated now, she glared at Frannie. “I am not as silly or naïve as you think I am. I may only watch children for a living, but I know when someone is evading the truth, and that’s what Chris was doing.”
Now she felt horrible. “I am sorry, Beth. I didn’t mean to make you upset. Please go on, and I’ll be quiet.”
After taking a fortifying deep breath, Beth continued. “When I asked him things, like where was he working or what was he doing here, h
e never gave me a straight answer.”
“That does sound strange.”
“And these men who came to see him, they didn’t look like they were friends of his, either.” Her voice rose. “And now he’s gone and I don’t know what to do.”
Stunned, Frannie stared hard at Beth. “I don’t know what to do either . . .”
“But wait, it gets worse.”
“What else happened?”
“I . . . I got your master keys and went into his room.”
Frannie closed her eyes. Oh, but this was not good. “Beth—”
“I only went inside to try to figure out who he was, what he was.” She rushed forward. “I found a gun, Frannie.”
“A gun?”
“He had a gun and it’s sitting upstairs, and he might have needed it to fight those men who took him away.” She breathed in and out deeply. “Oh, Frannie. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.”
“Nee,” she said weakly. “I don’t imagine so.”
A chill passed through Frannie. She’d thought coming home would be wonderful. She’d thought all of her worries that she’d harbored in the hospital would disappear and she’d feel the sense of peace that always infused her when she stepped through the front door of her little inn.
But now, instead of feeling better, she felt only more confused and stressed.
Suddenly she longed for her hospital roommate and her chatty laughter and playful comments.
But all she had now was a missing guest and a distraught best friend. And no earthly idea of how to make any of it better.
Chapter 18
“Perry had the kind of smile that could light up the world. He had the same type of temper, I’m afraid.”
FRANNIE EICHER
Luke pulled into an empty space at the end of small parking lot. As the car idled, he kept his foot on the brake and seriously contemplated putting the car back into gear and driving away.
It had been just hours since he’d last seen Frannie. He didn’t want to question her now, but he didn’t have a choice. The latest update from Mose had made avoidance impossible.
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