by Marta Perry
Andrea found she could breathe. He’d be all right. That terrible moment when she thought the truck had hit him—she could stop thinking about it now.
But she couldn’t kid herself about her feelings for him any longer. That brief instant when she’d thought he was gone had been a lightning flash that seared heart and soul, showing her exactly how much she cared.
The paramedic leaned on the back of a kitchen chair, looking at him doubtfully. “Might be a good idea to let the docs check out that wrist.”
“It’s a sprain.” He cradled his left wrist in his other hand. “The wrap is all I need.”
She’d urge him to let them take him to the hospital, but she knew that was futile. She wrapped her fingers around the mug of coffee someone had thrust into her hands, wondering how long it would take for the shaking to stop.
Grams’s kitchen was crowded with paramedics and police, but for the first time in her memory, Grams seemed to have given up the reins of hospitality. She sat at the end of the table, robe knotted tightly around her, her face gray and drawn.
Love and fear clutched at Andrea’s heart. Grams had to be protected, and she was doing a lousy job of it.
Please, Father, show me what to do. I have to take care of them, and I’m afraid I can’t.
The paramedics, apparently giving up on Cal, began packing up their kits, leaving the field to the police.
There were two of them this time. The young patrolman who’d come before stood awkwardly by the door, and the township chief sat at the table. Obviously the authorities took this seriously. As they should. Cal could have been killed.
The chief cleared his throat, gathering their attention. Zachary Burkhalter, he’d introduced himself—tall, lean, with sandy hair and a stolid, strong-boned face. He must be about Cal’s age, but he wore an air that said he’d seen it all and nothing could surprise him.
“Maybe you could just go over the whole thing for me, Mr. Burke. Anything you saw or heard might help.”
Cal shoved his good hand through his hair, disturbing a tuft of grass that fluttered to the table. She probably had her own share of debris, and she thought longingly of a hot shower.
“I didn’t see much. Seemed like it took forever, but it probably wasn’t more than a couple of minutes at most. We noticed the outside lights had gone off. I thought it was a fuse, started across toward the toolshed where the box is. The four-by-four was behind the garage, out of sight.”
She nodded, agreeing, and the chief’s gaze turned to her instantly. Gray eyes, cold as flint.
“You agree with that, Ms. Hampton?”
“Yes. I saw the truck come out from behind the garage. To be exact, I heard it, saw the lights. It crossed the back lawn to the pond, turned around and came back, went past the garage again and down Crossings Road. It took less than five minutes, certainly.”
And they’d fought for their lives the whole time.
“Can you identify the driver?” His gaze swiveled back to Cal.
“Too dark without the security lights. As Ms. Hampton said, they’d just gone off.”
“That ever happen before?”
“No.” Cal’s voice was level. “It hadn’t.”
She knew what he was thinking. Someone could have tampered with the fuse box. Would they have had time to do that and get back to the truck before she and Cal went outside? She wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t say how long the lights had been off.
“And the truck?” Burkhalter obviously wanted a description they couldn’t give.
“The rear lights of the vehicle had been blacked out somehow. It was a four-by-four, some dark color—that’s about all I could see.” Cal was probably berating himself that he didn’t get a better look.
Burkhalter nodded. “We’ve found it, as a matter of fact.”
Cal’s brows shot up. “That was fast work, Chief.”
“Abandoned down Crossings Road, keys missing, scrapes along the fender from hitting the wall. The back lights had been broken.”
“Whose is it?” The question burst out of her mouth. If they knew who was responsible…
Burkhalter’s gaze gave nothing away. “Belongs to Bob Duckett. Easy enough for someone to take it—he leaves the garage door standing open and the keys hanging on a hook.”
Of course he would. Half the township did that, probably, thinking this place was as safe as it had been fifty years ago.
“Bob Duckett wouldn’t do anything like this.” Grams finally spoke, her voice thin and reedy.
“No, we’re sure he didn’t.” Burkhalter’s tone softened for Grams. Then he looked back at her, and the softness disappeared. “You reported an earlier incident, Ms. Hampton?”
“Yes.” She glanced toward the patrolman. “We had a prowler.”
“This was considerably uglier than prowling.”
She glanced toward Rachel, shaken by the bereft look on her face. Rachel had expended hours of work and loving care on the garden, only to have it devastated in a matter of minutes.
“You have any idea who might want to do this?” He glanced around the table, aiming the question at all of them.
Grams straightened, clasping her hands together. “No one could possibly have anything against us, Chief Burkhalter.”
Andrea moved slightly, and Burkhalter was on to it at once. “You don’t agree?”
She was conscious of her grandmother’s strong will, demanding that she be silent. Well, this once, Grams wouldn’t get her way.
“There are people who are opposed to another bed-and-breakfast opening here,” she said carefully.
“What people?” Burkhalter wouldn’t be content with evasion.
She had to ignore Grams’s frown. “Margaret Allen, for one. And I understand Herbert Rush and some of the other old-timers don’t like the idea.”
“It’s ridiculous to think they’d do this.”
Grams’s tone told her she’d be hearing about this for a while. Grams couldn’t imagine anyone she knew stealing a four-by-four to drive it through the grounds, but someone had.
She shivered a little, her gaze meeting Cal’s. Do I say anything about Levi? Surely he couldn’t be involved. He doesn’t drive, for one thing.
Cal cradled his left hand, his expression giving nothing away. A bruise was darkening on his forehead. Her heart twisted.
“Could have been teenagers,” Burkhalter said. “Hearing their elders talk about the inn, deciding to do something about it. Clever enough, though, for him, or them, to put the vehicle behind the garage while they tampered with the lights. No one would see it there unless they were driving down Crossings Road, and likely enough not even then.”
And no one was likely to be going down Crossings Road at this hour. It led to several Amish farms, but they were probably dark and quiet by this time.
“I trust you’re not going to just dismiss this as casual vandalism.” Rachel spoke for the first time.
“No, ma’am.” Burkhalter’s gaze lingered on Rachel for a moment, but Andrea found it impossible to read. “We won’t do that.” His glance shifted, sweeping around the table. “Anyone have anything else to add?”
Someone stood outside the house one night. Someone might have pushed me into a closet. Someone probably followed me back from the Zook farm yesterday. Someone—Margaret, for choice—tampered with our reservations. There were good reasons for saying none of those things.
“We don’t know anything else.” Grams’s voice had regained some of its command. “Thank you for coming.”
Burkhalter rose. “We’ll be in touch.” He jerked his head to the patrolman, who followed him out the door.
Grams waited until the outer door closed behind them. She stood, pulling her dignity around her like a robe. “Cal, you must stay in the house tonight. Come along, I’ll show you to a room. Andrea, please help Rachel back to bed.”
She was too tired to argue. Besides, if she did have a chance to speak to Cal privately, what could she say? Her feelings were rubbe
d too raw to have a hope of hiding them. Maybe it was better this way.
Andrea walked into the breakfast room the next morning, wincing as the bright sunlight hit her face. The French doors stood open, and Rachel sat in her wheel-chair on the patio.
She walked outside and put her hand on her sister’s shoulder in mute sympathy. Rachel reached up to squeeze it.
“Stupid to cry over a garden.” Rachel dashed tears away with the back of her hand. “It’s just—”
“It was beautiful, and you and Grams made it.” Andrea finished the thought, her stomach twisting as she looked at the damage. Dead or dying flowers lay with their roots exposed, and deep ruts cut through the lawn. The birdbath was nothing but scattered pieces, and the patio wall where she and Cal had sat bore a raw, jagged scar where stones had been knocked out. The only thing that hadn’t been hit was the gazebo, probably because it stood off to one side.
“It’s hard to believe that much damage could be done in a few minutes.” Something quivered inside her. It could have been worse, much worse. It could have been Cal or her lying broken on the lawn.
“I am so furious.” Rachel pounded her fists against the arms of the wheelchair. “If I could get my hands on the person who did this, I’d show him how it feels to be torn up by the roots.”
The fury was so counter to Rachel’s personality that Andrea was almost surprised into a laugh. Rachel was a nurturer, yet when something under her care was hurt, she could turn into a mother lion. “Maybe it’s a good thing we don’t know, then. I’d hate to see my little sister arrested for assault.”
“It might be better,” Rachel said darkly. “Then I wouldn’t have to see the guests’ faces. They’ll be here the day after tomorrow, Dree. What are we going to do?” The last words came out almost as a wail.
“We’re not going to waste time on anger.” She had to give Rachel something to focus on other than the fury that could give way, too easily, to helplessness. “You make a list of what you want, and I’ll head out to the nursery first thing. I’ll spend the rest of the day putting new plants in. They’ll at least last while the guests are here.”
Rachel’s brows lifted. “You? When was the last time you dug in the dirt?”
“Probably when I left the sandbox stage, but you’ll tell me what to do. Look, I know it won’t be the same—”
“What about the wall? And the lawn, and the birdbath? It would take an army to get things in shape by Saturday.”
Andrea grabbed the chair and turned Rachel to face her. “Look, this is no time to give up. Now stop acting like a baby and go make that list.”
“You stop being so bossy.” Rachel glared at her for an instant, and then her lips began to quiver. “Um, remind me how old we are again?”
Laughter bubbled up, erasing her annoyance. “About ten and twelve, I think.” She gave the chair a shove. “Go on, write the list. We’ll make this work. I promise.”
Smiling, Rachel wheeled herself through the doorway.
“Rach?”
She turned.
“Has anyone checked on Cal this morning?” She forced the question to sound casual.
“Grams said he was dressed and gone an hour ago,” Rachel said. “I’ll get some coffee started while I make up the list.” At least she looked more herself as she wheeled toward the kitchen.
Andrea walked to the patio wall and surveyed the damage. She might be able to plant flowers, given enough instruction, but this she couldn’t fix. Disappointment filtered through her at Cal’s absence. She’d expected that today, of all times, he’d be here to help.
Well, he had a business to run. Once that would have been a guaranteed excuse, at least from her perspective. She’d changed, if all she could think was that he should be here.
Stepping over the patio wall, she began to gather the stones that were scattered across the grass. Maybe she couldn’t fix the wall, but she could make the area look a little neater.
The stones proved far heavier than she expected. She straightened her back, frowning at one particularly stubborn one.
“Take it easy.” Cal’s voice spun her around. “I’ll do that.” The bag he carried in one arm thudded against the wall.
“I thought you left.” Did she sound accusing?
“I went to get cement mix to repair the wall.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Not very complimentary that you thought I’d desert you this morning.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Well, you do have a business to take care of.”
“Friends come first,” he said shortly.
Are we friends, Cal? What would he say if she blurted that out? She wasn’t sure she even wanted to hear the answer.
Movement beyond him on the lane distracted her. “What on earth…?”
Cal turned. “Looks like the Zook family think friends come first, too.”
Her breath caught, and tears welled in her eyes. Three buggies came down the lane, packed with people, and a large farm wagon bore so many flowers that it looked like a float in the homecoming parade.
She could only stand and stare for a moment. And then she bolted toward the house.
“Rachel! Rachel, come here this minute! You’re not going to believe this!”
Andrea sat back on her heels, admiring the snapdragons she’d just succeeded in planting with Nancy’s help.
“Looks good already.” Nancy, Emma’s daughter-in-law, smiled, brushing a strand of dark hair back into the neat coil under her prayer cap. “We brought enough flowers, I think.”
She nodded. They’d certainly brought enough help. Eli and Cal fitted the last stone into place on the wall, while Nancy’s small son stood by holding the bucket with cement. Nancy’s husband and another Amish man, their red shirts a bright contrast to black trousers, used a lawn roller to smooth out the ruts. The grass seemed to spring into place in their wake. And the flowers…
“You must have gotten up at dawn to dig all of these plants to bring. We can’t thank you enough for this.”
“We always get up at dawn,” Nancy said. “This is just being neighborly.”
All along the flower border figures knelt, setting out new plants to replace the ruined ones. Children ran back and forth, fetching and carrying, the girls with bonnet strings streaming, the boys small replicas of the men.
Funny. When she’d spread the Sunshine and Shadows quilt over her bed this morning, she’d felt that they were locked into a dark stripe. Now the sun had come out. She glanced at Cal, who seemed to be keeping himself busy well away from her. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that the dark was interwoven with the bright.
A time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted.
A clatter of spoon against pan sounded. Emma stood in the doorway. Her face was still red and painful-looking, but she’d arrived with the others and marched into the kitchen. “Breakfast when you are finished. The flowers must be in before the sun is high.” She vanished back inside.
The comment seemed to inspire a fresh burst of industry. Nancy handed her another flat of blooms. “Impatiens,” she said. “Along where it’s shady.”
Andrea nodded. The move brought her next to Levi, who was setting out clumps of coralbells. When he saw her, his round blue eyes became even rounder.
“Hi, Levi. Thanks for helping.” In the light of day, her suspicions of him seemed silly. Levi was, as he’d always been, an innocent child at heart.
He ducked his head, coloring a little. “Help is good.” He seemed to struggle with the words, and she realized he’d be far more comfortable with the language of the home. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten whatever German she’d learned as a child.
“Yes. You’re good neighbors.”
He stared at her, and she saw to her horror that his eyes were filling with tears. “Sorry. Sorry.”
He scrambled to his feet, arms flailing awkwardly, and ran toward the barn.
She was still staring after him when Nancy knelt next to her, picking up the trowel
he’d dropped and finishing the planting in a few deft movements. “It makes no trouble. Levi will be fine. One of the children will get him when it’s time to eat.”
“I didn’t mean to upset him.”
“He’s been—” she paused, seeming to search for a word “—funny, just lately. He’ll be all right.”
“You don’t know what’s causing it?”
Nancy shrugged. “He doesn’t talk so much. Sooner or later he will tell his mother, and she will make it right. Some simple thing, most likely.”
Nancy was probably right. She certainly knew Levi better than Andrea did.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder. Why had Levi begun to cry at the sight of her? And why had he said he was sorry?
FOURTEEN
Cal pulled into the driveway and stopped close to the back garden. He’d seen Rachel mourning over the pieces of the birdbath earlier. The one he’d found at the garden store out toward Lancaster should be a decent replacement.
He got the wheelbarrow from the utility shed in the garage, struggling to manage it. Even with his wrist taped, using that hand was awkward. Lucky it wasn’t the right, or he’d be out of work until it healed.
Andrea emerged onto the patio, carrying a watering can. She checked at the sight of him, then waved and began sprinkling the potted plants along the edge of the patio.
Maybe Andrea hadn’t quite figured out what had changed between them last night, either. He hefted the birdbath onto the wheelbarrow with one hand. They were both trying to look busy, which probably meant they were both confused.
During those moments when they’d fought for their lives, there hadn’t been time to think, only to act and feel. Trouble was, he felt too much.
Lord, does it make any sense at all for me to fall for someone like Andrea? If You’ve taught me anything in the past year, isn’t it that this is the life that’s right for me? Andrea could never be content with that. She’s itching to race back to the city the minute she’s free.
If he told her what he felt—but that could only lead to pain and awkwardness between them.
