Plain Peril

by Alison Stone

  “No.” The single word came out sharp, angry. Hannah flattened her palms on the table and drew in a calming breath and said more softly, “Not yet, Mem. Not yet.” Hannah scratched her forehead. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t happy in Buffalo.” She was lonely and didn’t enjoy her job, but she hadn’t decided to return to the Amish way of life. Not permanently anyway. She was toying with the idea. Searching for happiness. Wondering out loud to her sister if she had been naive in her decision to leave the Amish community in the first place.

  Perhaps saying as much to please her sister.

  Or perhaps, in a way, dissuading her sister from making any big decisions that would alter her life irrevocably. As Hannah’s decision had forever changed her life.

  Hannah covered her mother’s hand. “I’m here for the short-term until I know the girls are okay. Please, don’t get your hopes up about me returning for good.”

  Disappointment creased the corners of the older woman’s sad eyes. “I thought with Dat gone...”

  Although the rift between Hannah and her father was apparent to anyone with eyes, it pained her to hear her mother talk about it.

  “Mem, please, let’s talk about this another time. We’re all trying to come to terms with Ruthie.”

  “Gott has a plan.”

  Hannah’s body tensed. “I wish God’s plan was to leave Ruthie here on earth with us. With her daughters.”

  Her mother’s lips quivered. “Life is hard. You have to make decisions that are gut for the family. You can’t be selfish.”

  The sting of her mother’s comments wounded her. Had Hannah been selfish?

  “One day at a time, okay?” Hannah hated throwing out a silly platitude, but she wasn’t ready to make life-altering decisions right now.

  Will I ever be ready?

  Hannah didn’t want to discuss Ruthie’s husband, but it couldn’t be avoided. Not with John running around out there, somewhere. “Did Ruth ever say anything negative to you about John?”

  Her mother’s eyes flashed momentarily dark. “Neh.” She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t know how things work in the English world, but a woman does not speak ill of her husband. And if she does, she’s just being gossipy.”

  “I’m not gossiping.” She placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Was John ever mean to Ruth?”

  “John Lapp is the bishop’s son.” Agitation shook her mother’s hands, and she refused to meet Hannah’s gaze.

  “John left Apple Creek when he was a teenager. He was gone for a long time. Maybe he wasn’t the son the bishop had raised.”

  Her mother lifted her chin. “John came back. Was baptized. Married. It was gut.” Which was more than Hannah had done. The accusation in her mother’s eyes made Hannah’s cheeks fiery. Couldn’t her mother see she was doing everything she could? Everything short of promising to be baptized Amish.

  “You like John Lapp?”

  “Your sister and her husband took care of me. I am grateful to them.”

  Unease settled in Hannah’s belly. Learning Ruthie was murdered would kill her mother. Hannah pushed away from the table. The whole truth would wait for another day.

  Hannah brushed a kiss across her mother’s soft cheek. Her mother pulled back and widened her eyes, startled by the display of affection. Hannah started to leave but turned back one last time. Her mother was holding her fingertips to her cheek, where Hannah had kissed her.

  * * *

  “Burning the midnight oil, huh?” Mrs. Greene, Spencer’s elderly landlady, sat in her wicker rocker on the front porch, nursing her tea.

  The screen door slipped out of his hand and thwacked against the door frame. “Sorry about that. Didn’t see you sitting there.”

  “Got no air-conditioning in there. Cooler out here. Can’t imagine how hot it’s gonna be later if it’s already this hot at—” She squinted up at him “—what time is it?”

  “Early.” Too early, considering he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. The red numbers on the digital clock by his bed read a blurry four-something by the time he left Miss Wittmer’s and climbed into bed. Despite assigning another officer to check in on the Lapp farm, he felt unsettled.

  What was it about the brown-eyed beauty that had gotten under his skin? And what kind of danger was she in with John Lapp still out there?

  Spencer eased down, balancing his coffee and sat on the top step. Mrs. Greene spoiled him. She brewed the best coffee and left a to-go mug on the hall table inside the front door every morning. She claimed she missed having her boys around. All of them had grown and moved on with their lives, leaving her to dote over the tenants of her two upstairs apartments, only one of which was occupied.

  “You finally meeting some people in this town? Doing things besides work?” Mrs. Greene had a say-whatever’s-on-her-mind way of talking that didn’t always allow room for him to get a word in edgewise.

  Smiling, Spencer lifted his coffee and inhaled its rich scent. “Last night was work.”

  Mrs. Greene made a tsking noise. “How are you ever going to have a life if all you do is work?”

  Spencer leaned back on the railing and shifted to look at Mrs. Greene. “I need to find you a hobby so you don’t pay so much attention to me.”

  “Someone’s got to pay attention to a handsome man like you. You can’t tell me you haven’t found one pretty woman in Apple Creek who you’d like to take for a nice Friday fish fry.”

  Spencer laughed, nearly choking on his coffee. “Is that what women like to do around here? Go to a fish fry?”

  “That’s what they did in my day.” Mrs. Greene seemed to go somewhere for a minute before snapping out of it. “Nice crispy haddock and tartar sauce. Yum.”

  Spencer watched the content expression on Mrs. Greene’s face. The look of a woman who had lived a good life and was now satisfied to sit back and watch the world go by—and to micromanage his.

  “That girl you left behind in Buffalo hasn’t come to her senses yet?”

  Why had he told Mrs. Greene about Vicki? Because she had a way of prying things out of people, that’s why. Spencer shook his head and rolled his eyes, feeling very much like a schoolboy under the inquisitive gaze of his grandmother, who always had an interest in everything he did. Unlike his parents, whose only interests involved all the things they required him to do.

  “I’ve been here a year. I don’t think she’s suddenly going to show up at my door.”

  Mrs. Greene thrummed the pads of her fingers on the arm of her wicker chair. “Country’s not her thing, you say?”

  “Vicki was definitely a city girl.” And last he heard, she was engaged to a surgeon. So very Vicki. Looked like she was going to get everything she wanted out of life.

  He and Victoria had both been in law school when they started dating. She told him she had signed up for one kind of life, and Spencer had turned the tables on her by signing up for the Buffalo police exam.

  “Heard she’s engaged,” Spencer found himself saying.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He narrowed his gaze and stared at the long strands of grass growing up around the railing posts where the lawn service had forgotten to trim. “I’m not. Now I don’t have to feel guilty for stringing her along for so many years.”

  Mrs. Greene made a disagreeable sound. “That’s not like you to string someone along. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  It was tough not to be hard on himself when even his own father claimed disappointment. His father had been a police officer, but he had wished something more for his son. Spencer was the first college graduate in the family. A lawyer—a nice, stable, safe profession.

  Spencer grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. “Maybe it’s time I got back into the game.” Miss Wittmer’s pretty face came to min
d. He smiled wickedly at Mrs. Greene. “Maybe I should find me a nice Amish woman.”

  Mrs. Greene’s eyes flared wide. She waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t be getting any crazy thoughts. The Amish don’t take to the English. Not for datin’.”

  Spencer felt a smile pulling on his lips. He walked over and tapped Mrs. Greene’s knee. “No, no crazy thoughts. I’ll just stick to my job.”

  And his job was to make sure nothing happened to Miss Wittmer and her two nieces out there on the Lapp farm. Until he had John Lapp in custody, he feared he wouldn’t be getting much sleep.

  He couldn’t screw this up. Not like he had let down Daniel, the teenage boy in Buffalo who had ended up another grim statistic. He wouldn’t let that happen again. Not on his watch.

  THREE

  Hannah slipped back into the house after visiting her mother in time to find Emma coming down the stairs in her sleeping gown, one hand on her doll, the other fisted and rubbing her eyes. Sarah came down only when it seemed hunger had gotten the best of her.

  After feeding her nieces breakfast of, in their opinion, too-lumpy oatmeal and runny dippy ecks, Hannah had the girls get dressed then ushered them outside. She needed to check on the farm animals and thought perhaps the outdoors would brighten the young girls’ dispositions.

  Hannah reached the door of the barn as the sun was haloing the roofline of the gray, weatherworn barn. Sarah and Emma seemed content to plop down on the slight incline leading toward the barn and drag long strands of grass through their fingers. As long as the young girls stayed close to the barn, there was nothing they could get into. The freedom the Amish children had to explore was far different than the constantly monitored existence of English children.

  A little voice in her head warned her that her non-motherly way of thinking was likely to get her—or her new charges—into trouble. She considered taking each by the hand and advising them to stay close, then decided it was best not to draw attention to her slipping into the barn to check on the animals.

  With two hands, she peeled back the door and stepped inside. The familiar smell of manure assaulted her nose even though the barn had been swept clean yesterday for her sister’s funeral. She lifted her apron to her nose, wondering how she had ever gotten used to such a foul smell. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Emma and Sarah kicking a volleyball back and forth. Their long blond hair dangled down their backs.

  The morning light filtered through the slats of the barn. The cow mooed as if happy to see her. A neighborhood boy, Samuel, had come over both in the mornings and afternoons to milk the cow and feed the horse the past few days. Samuel had told her he couldn’t come this morning, but he’d be available this afternoon.

  Planting her hands on her hips, she let out a heavy sigh. Even though John’s move away from farming for a living had been a point of contention for her sister, Hannah was grateful. Now she only had to worry about a few animals and no crops. Seemed a shame, though, considering all this land her family’s property sat on.

  Hannah grabbed a milking stool and sat. She glanced at her soft hands, now foreign to the rigors of physical labor. A shadow crossed the open door, and Hannah’s hand immediately went to her head. She had taken the time to twist her hair into a messy bun, but she wasn’t wearing her cap.

  “Gut morning.” The words flowed naturally from her mouth. She held up her hand to block the sun as a man strolled into the barn.

  “Morning, Miss Wittmer.” The casual, warm greeting brought her up short.

  “Sheriff Maxwell.” Hannah drew in a deep breath and found herself wishing she had on her English wardrobe complete with a little eyeliner and smoothing hair gel. She lowered her hand and forced a smile. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

  “Call me Spencer.”

  “Then you’ll have to call me Hannah.” She scrambled to her feet then looked past him to see her nieces hanging on to the door frame, studying the visitor.

  “Go back to playing, girls. The sheriff won’t be here long.”

  “No, I won’t.” Spencer shifted his stance. “Is there anyone who can take care of the animals for a while?”

  “Why?”

  “I think it would be safer if you and the girls left the farm for a while. Until we get this all sorted out.”

  “I can’t pick up and leave.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “This is the only home my nieces have known. They lost their mother. And my mom lives next door...and I don’t know offhand who could care for the animals full-time.” Her brain swirled with all the responsibilities.

  “Sounds like you have a lot of reasons to stay.”

  “I have a lot to figure out.” Outside the barn, her nieces returned to their seats on the grassy incline and plucked long blades of grass and twisted them around their fingers.

  “Maybe you can find other family to stay with the girls until we locate John and figure out what’s going on here.”

  “My sister was all I had. As far as reaching out to other Amish families, I won’t be welcomed.”

  “I’m sure a family would welcome your nieces.”

  His words felt like a knife stabbing her heart. “I’m not going to leave my nieces.” She had promised her sister she’d make sure the girls were cared for. Hannah couldn’t run away.

  Spencer studied her with unnerving intensity. Then he snapped out of it and jerked his thumb toward the cow. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your morning chores. You can milk a cow?”

  She laughed, genuinely laughed, for the first time since she had received word of her sister’s death. “I’m certainly capable of milking a cow or two.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “This is the first morning I’ve had to deal with farm life since I arrived. I’m facing one thing at a time. First my nieces, then the farm animals.”

  “All God’s creatures.”

  Hannah stared at him for a minute. The smile lines at the corners of his eyes softened all his features. Yet his broad chest and solid arms would intimidate any criminal. She scooped up a metal bucket, fully aware that he was watching her. “An Amish boy has been helping me. That’s one thing you can say about the Amish. They always look after their own.”

  “They do.” The two simple words held more weight than she dare explore.

  She shifted the solid milking bucket from one hand to the other. She patted the backside of the cow, running her hand over its coarse fur. “How do you feel about a city slicker milking you?” The cow shuffled its back feet and let out a deep moo that vibrated through her chest. Hannah patted the animal again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Hannah pulled up a stool and straddled it. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Spencer standing close. Did he doubt her abilities? Inwardly she laughed. What did he know about farm life?

  Hannah glanced at the empty bucket to make sure it was clean enough for fresh cow’s milk. Three tiny holes marred the bottom of the metal bucket. The milk would leak out.

  She put the bucket down and stood. She brushed past Spencer, his clean scent mixing in with fresh hay and too-fresh manure. She picked up a second pail from a nearby table. It also had several neat holes in the bottom, as if someone had taken a nail and driven it through the metal with a hammer.

  “Something wrong?” Spencer’s voice sounded from behind her.

  Biting her lip, she turned the pail over. Bold red letters spelled out the word English. A red slash cut across the entire bottom of the pail, as if to say, No English Allowed.

  Her knees grew weak. Suddenly, the heavy cotton of her Amish dress clung to her neck, strangling her. She pushed past Spencer and returned to the first pail and found the same thing. She shoved the pail into Spencer’s chest.

  “Look. The person who slashed my tires was busy last night.”

  Spencer’s brow furrowed as he gl
anced down at the bucket in his hands.

  “You have to find John. If it’s John who’s doing this,” she quickly added. “He mustn’t be in his right mind.” Hannah tugged on her bun to loosen it. “To kill my sister and now try to chase me away. What does he hope to accomplish?”

  “I can’t speculate on his motive.” Spencer inspected the pail. “We’re doing everything we can to find him. To get answers.”

  “Maybe it’s just kids. A prank...” Even as she said it, she doubted it. But John...that didn’t seem right, either. The thought of spending another long, restless night in this house made her wish she had the ability to speed up time. There were no locks on the doors, but maybe she could move furniture in front of the doors at night. She said a silent prayer in hopes of calming her frazzled nerves.

  She bowed her head then lifted it and met his gaze directly. “I refuse to abandon my nieces. Because—” she swiped the bucket out of his hand “—that’s exactly what he wants me to do.”

  * * *

  When Spencer emerged from the barn a half step behind Hannah, the little girls were each holding an Amish woman’s hand. The girls tugged and pulled on the woman’s arm as she marched directly toward them, an expression, a combination of disgust and scolding on her plain features.

  “There you are,” she said, narrowing her gaze at Hannah. “These girls have been wandering around half-dressed.”

  “They are perfectly dressed.” Hannah fingered the older girl’s blond curls. “If it’s their hair you’re concerned with, I didn’t have a chance to do their braids yet. I wasn’t expecting visitors.” Hannah touched her own messy bun.

  The woman’s gaze shot to Spencer, and her nose twitched.

  “Morning. I’m Sheriff Maxwell.” He held out his hand then let it drop when it was obvious the woman wasn’t going to accept it.

  The woman sniffed the air. “I’m Fannie Mae Lapp.” She lifted the girls’ hands. The pout on the older girl’s face was unmistakable. The younger of the two was on the verge of tears. “I’m the girls’ aenti.” She glared at him as if he were going to challenge her claim.